Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s another beautiful day in Mondstadt. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming — on days like this, bards like Venti should be out and about, lyre in hand. He’s been itching head for the courtyard all morning to grace the citizens with his favorite songs, but his heart just isn’t in it today, of all days.

There’s something strange in the air today, and it has nothing to do with Dvalin’s recent attacks.

He still aches for his old friend, lost to the darkness of his own pain. All he could sing of these past few weeks were songs of the Four Winds and Barbatos’ adventures with Dvalin. It’s all he can do to honor his friend who still refuses to come close enough to seek help and solace.

Underneath this misery, however, the wind brings word of a kindred spirit wreathed in stars — a herald of bright, sweet hope. Strange, he knows. The only kindred spirits he knows are the Archons, and the only one who has stayed relatively close to him these past centuries lives all the way to the south and east.

Though his curiosity is piqued, however, he decides to remain in Mondstadt for the time being. He can’t get ahead of himself just yet. Instead, he tells the winds to watch over this stranger.

The lands outside of his beloved city have grown dangerous with Dvalin’s rampage. Whoever this person is — the winds say they will be relevant to Venti, one way or another — he can’t let them get hurt until they can properly meet.

With so much thoughts and speculations in his mind, he lingers outside Good Hunter with a couple of apples in hand. It’s all he can afford with last night’s coin, and it’s enough to tide him over until noon.

He decides to take a walk after his meal. The cacophony of emotions in his heart and ideas in his mind haven’t abated enough for him to be in the mood for a song, but a breath of fresh air in the Cathedral courtyard has always done him some good. It’s not like anyone would give him and his statue a closer look, anyway.

No sooner has he stepped foot in a side alley, however, when a child’s cry echoes through the air.

Warning bells ring in Venti’s mind, but he pays it no heed. Straightening his back to exude confidence, he approaches the source of the sound — a girl in twin braids, breaking away from the clutches of a burly, middle-aged man.

The whiff of stale liquor wafts in the air, born from weeks — if not months or years — of incessant, mindless drinking. It’s unpleasant and frankly infuriating. Wine is to be enjoyed, yes, but not at the expense of everything else. Paired with the way this loathsome man is touching the girl, this does not bode well. On the contrary, it reeks of danger.

It matters not to Venti. He’s faced bullies larger than this fool.

“I suggest that you let her go,” he says as he approaches. He keeps his hands behind his back in a gesture of amiability. “Can’t you see that you’re hurting her?”

“None o’ your business, boy.” The man turns back to the girl. “Now, where did your Mama hide the money?”

“Get off me!” the girl screams.

It’s still too early to draw a crowd — not in a spot as secluded as this. It’s for the best, perhaps, now that Venti has decided upon what to do. However, he decides to give the man one last chance.

“Please back away if you don’t want to get hurt,” he chirps, the smile on his face growing colder by the second.

The man doesn’t pay attention to him this time. Instead, he hurls the girl with enough force for her to bounce against a nearby wall. The latter begins to cry — loud, miserable wails that echo throughout the abandoned alleyway. It pains Venti to hear such a sound. This is supposed to be a city of joy and freedom, and yet people like the man before him keep sullying it throughout the years.

The Archon’s vision turns red. Before he knows it, he summons a gale that relentlessly slams the man against the wall over and over again. He leaves the wind to its own rage and offers a hand to help the girl up instead.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She nods with a sniff. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Save it for later. We better go.” Keeping her hand in his, he guides her out of the alley. “Where do you live, may I ask?”

The girl looks back — towards the alleyway, and the lone door sitting not far from where the wind is still slamming the man against the wall. “There.”

“Oh. Not a good time to go home, then.”

“No.”

“I’m Venti, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

“Nice to meet you, Lily!” Venti keeps walking, back towards the central plaza where he came from. There’s still plenty of Mora in his pocket for emergency food, he thinks. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” Lily pauses, thinking. “We don’t eat much back home — especially after Mama died. It’s not like we have much money. All Papa ever does is drink.”

He nods thoughtfully and reaches out to pat her head. “We’ll get you something to eat then. Do you love apples?”

Her face brightens up at the prospect. “Yes, I do! I haven’t had apples since Mama died.”

That does it, then. He’s going to get this kid some apples.

He’s going to regret spending the last of his money to get this kid all the apples she can eat, he knows, but it’s the right thing to do. Watching her down three apples without even stopping for a drink is quite impressive, but it also gives him a pang of frustration. How could a parent intentionally starve a child?

He doesn’t understand vile people at all. Try as he might, he cannot love them like the rest of mankind. Never shall they be worthy of his songs.

As he hands the girl a glass of water  — courtesy of Sara herself, from Good Hunter  — a couple of Knights approach them with a scowl. Still, Venti graces them with a smile despite their intimidating countenance and the swords pointed right under his nose. Best not to scare poor little Lily away.

Speaking of Lily, Venti spots her despicable sire running after them with a loud huff. He points an accusing finger at Venti. “That’s him, the kidnapper!”

“Don’t take him! He’s not the bad guy!” Lily’s eyes flare with rage as she points back with a vengeance. “He’s the bad man for hurting me!”

“That boy’s spinning foolish tales in her head!”

Venti reaches out to pat Lily’s head before turning to the Knights. “I’ll go along quietly if that’s what you wish. But please do keep Lily away from her father, if you please.”

Venti never thought that he’d step foot in the Knights’ headquarters again, and yet here he is, standing before Jean with Lily and her father. The Dandelion Knight seems not to know what to make of the entire situation. Her eyes shift between the three of them, studying them with her critical gaze.

“Let me get this straight, Abiorn, this young bard here attacked you and took your stepdaughter away?” she asks. The doubt in her voice is as clear as the waters of Starfell Lake.

Abiorn nods, falsehoods and fury in his eyes. “First he taught her to steal from me. Then he attacked me with his Vision and ran off with her!”

“A Vision?” Jean’s gaze falls to the glass orb hanging from Venti’s belt. “Is this true, Mr. Bard?”

“Venti is my name,” he responds with a smile. “Tall the tales I may sometimes sing, I will always stand for truth all the same. Abiorn here is not as spotless as he seems — just ask Lily here, she’ll be glad to tell you all about him.”

“What good is her word? You’ve been telling her all tales.” A mocking laughter escapes Abiorn’s lips.

It takes all of Venti’s self control not to hurl him through a window right then and there. How could a man like this lie and inflict pain so easily? He’s no better than the nobles Venti had urged Venessa to overthrow.

Jean, ever the good leader, remains steadfastly reasonable. She turns to Lily with a gentle smile on her face. “Can you tell us what happened?”

It’s enough for the truth to spill from Lily’s lips. “He married my Mama last year because he promised that we won’t go hungry again, but all he does is hit her and drink. Sometimes, he hits me too.” She lifts her sleeves to show her bruises — some fresh, some in the process of healing.

Abiorn’s eyes twitch. “I had to hit you because you’re a naughty girl —”

“Please, do be quiet.” Jean turns back to the girl with true warmth in her eyes  — a kind breeze holding back a raging storm. “Go on, Lily. No one will hurt you here.”

The girl trembles and sniffs. “Last month, he hit Mama so hard that she didn’t wake up at all anymore. Then he started selling all of her old stuff —”

“To feed your greedy mouth, girl,” Albion snarls.

Before he can say more, Venti swats his face with a gust of wind that earns him a surprisingly amused smile from Jean. He returns the smile in relief.

Lily admirably ignores her stepfather in favor of continuing her tale. “I met Mr. Venti because Papa was hitting me again. He was asking about Mama’s secret savings — b-but I really don’t know anything about it.”

“Thank you for telling the truth,” Jean tells her gravely. “Your stepfather, indeed, has been a bad man. But correct me if I’m wrong —”

“This bard kidnapped my daughter and you’re calling me the bad man?” Albion asks, rising to his feet.

This time, Venti does not hold back at all. He restrains Albion, slamming his mouth shut with the fury of a thousand winds. “You should learn how to wait for someone to finish talking.”

“Thank you for saving me the effort of doing the same.” Jean says with an approving smile. “Now, Lily, please do tell me — do you have any other family members to take care of you in the city?”

The girl shakes her head sadly. “But I don’t want to live with him anymore.”

“And so you won’t. I promise you that as a Knight of Favonius.”

As per Jean’s request, Venti stays in her office as soon as Abiorn is formally arrested and Lily is taken to the Cathedral so the nuns may help her find a suitable new home. Now that the action’s died down, he finally remembers why he’s avoiding potential encounters with the Dandelion Knight.

She’s always been too astute for her own good.

Thankfully, she shows him no signs of recognition. “While the method was unorthodox, I do thank you on behalf of the Knights for helping Lily out of her predicament. If no one stepped in today, I fear that something worse might have happened to her.”

“I did what I have to.” His fists clench in half-suppressed rage. “If there’s one thing I hate irrevocably, it’s a bully.”

“Understandable.” She clasps her hands together. “Now, Venti, you must know that assault is technically a crime in Mondstadt. But we do owe you for helping Lily, so we’ll let you off the hook — just this one time. We hold bards in high regards, and we really expect outstanding conduct even from someone as young as you.”

He raises a slender brow. “Unless it’s another dire situation such as this, you mean?”

A smile quirks up her lips. “Yes.”

Again, Venti returns her smile. If he had any wine in hand, he would have toasted to her right then and there. “Alrighty! We’ve got ourselves a deal.”

Chapter Text

He barely makes it halfway to the Cathedral courtyard when he spots an awfully familiar face among the crowd, peering up at the blasted statue. There’s only one person in this world with black locks that segue to amber, and Venti isn’t exactly prepared to see him right here, right now — not that he’d say that to the aforementioned person’s face, of course. Instead, he flashes his brightest grin and approaches his old friend, hoping he can wheedle a drink or two this time around. 

“Hi, Zhongli!” He skips over to the taller man, using the breeze to speed him up. “By what strange twist of fate do our paths cross anew?”

“I see that you’re as dramatic as ever, my little friend.” Zhongli gives him a curt nod before looking up at the statue once more. “Interesting. Your people managed to carve something as large and long-lasting as that from a simple piece of marble?”

Venti follows his gaze, noting the braids with discomfort. A quick look is all it’ll take to give him away. “They had a bit of help. Newly-raised Vision wielders put their powers to the test to raise this statue, though I begged them not to. No one would listen — humans are stubborn at times, I suppose.”

“Hm.” The elder Archon smiles. “And yet you saw something special in them — it was why you entrusted the future to them, did you not?”

“Together, they are capable of doing great things.” Venti closes his eyes, remembering the earlier incident. His entire body quivers with barely-suppressed rage. “And yet some can still be so vile.”

Zhongli inclines his head in acknowledgement. “A reflection of the gods themselves, I suppose. Did you not earn your place by battling a tyrant in his own throne?”

Venti hums in agreement. “So what brings you here? ”

“You frequently brought me dandelion wine since you awakened. It’s about time I returned the favor.”

“Oh?”

Zhongli’s smile is as indecipherable as ever. He holds out a sweet-smelling pouch made of the finest red silk. “I hope you like tea.”

“It’s not the same as wine, but it helps stave the hunger when I have no coin.” Venti accepts the pouch with a grateful smile. “But that’s not the only reason you came here unannounced. This isn’t about Dvalin’s attacks too, I presume.”

“Quite astute as ever, despite the airy mask.” Zhongli motions with a sweeping gesture. “Why don’t you show me around your city while we talk?”

“With pleasure.” It’s been a while since he’s seen his good friend. They — and what they stand for —  might be as different as day and night, the earth and the sky, but the respect they share is one for the songs.

A nearby bard strums their lute as the two Archons pass her by. Zhongli pauses to place a coin on her upturned hat. Like the earth, he never truly changes.

His countenance never changes, not even when they reach a semi-deserted alley between the upper level and a line of closed taverns. “Forgive me for using the words, my friend, but I have felt a certain change in the air. Something not quite from this world has arrived in your territory.”

“A traveler seeking out the guidance of the Seven, or so I heard from the wind.” Venti closes his eyes, listening to a whispering breeze. “She’s making her way to Starfell Lake as we speak. You’d know it if you would just hear what the earth has to say.”

Zhongli stops under the pretense of examining a fruit vendor’s wares before moving along. “I know who, what, and where she is. I merely hoped that you had more information, given that she’s currently in your lands.”

Venti shrugs, pausing to let a wagon of cabbages pass. “She isn’t upfront enough about her motives for the wind to catch anything for me. Since you’re here, I suppose the earth hasn’t gleaned enough of her secrets yet for you to peruse.”

“No. And yet she brings something I can’t quite understand — perhaps you can enlighten me, seeing as you’ve always had a better grasp of emotions.”

The bard chuckles nervously. A better grasp of emotions is one way to put it, he supposes. “When the wind brought word of her, I also felt… hope.”

“Hope. Such a strange and fragile thing, isn’t it? What are you planning to do with her?”

“I want to see what stories she’ll bring. I might also catch a glimpse once she makes her way to one of my statues — maybe it’ll help me decide what to do.”

“So many maybes,” Zhongli notes. “Nothing truly is set in stone when it comes to you.”

Venti inclines his head in acknowledgement. “For what it’s worth, I am the wind. I’ll take the right path when it presents itself to me. For now, I’ll listen to what she has to say first.” Perhaps this hope the traveler brings will mean something for him and his people too.

Again, they stop walking right at the junction between two alleys. Zhongli eyes his younger companion with wary eyes. “And how, pray tell, will you know that it is the right path?”

“My heart knows that it is.”

Lunch at Good Hunter is splendid as always. To Venti’s relief, Zhongli actually remembered to bring some money with him today. Perhaps his curiosity over the strange traveler actually punched some sense in his gravely brain this one time. Whatever the reason is, Venti is actually grateful. He’s broke. Broker than broke. His pockets have nothing but old apple seeds and lint.

With potential eavesdroppers in the crowd, the two Archons’ conversation is nothing but casual — trade news from Liyue, the latest hit songs in Mondstadt. Thankfully there are no Fatui diplomats lurking around to spot them, but Venti remains on guard.

Can’t trust those little titches.

They lapse into companionable silence at the end of the meal, simply taking in the busy yet peaceful scenery. It’s almost enough to lure Venti into a short nap, trusting his friend not to let him sleep for another stupid century, but the temptation quickly vanishes as soon as Zhongli opens his mouth to speak.

“I confess: I also visited because I was worried about you.”

“Me?” Venti tilts his head. This is something new — people usually leave him to his own devices, trusting in his capabilities whether it’s well-placed or not. “Why are you worried about me?”

“Given the current circumstances surrounding your old friend and your inability to assume your other appearance, there’s plenty to worry about. I’m actually surprised that you didn’t ask for my help yet.”

“You know I can’t.” Venti may have certain difficulties in taking care of his city, but his pride hasn’t dipped low enough to grovel for another god’s help. Approaching people for aid is one thing, but when it comes to such dealings with other Archons, even if they’re friends? Forget it. What kind of Archon would he be if he has to rely on his peers to step in and save his sorry ass? “I’ll figure something out.”

Zhongli grins. “Ah, so you have truly learned. I feared that your constant slumber —”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“Very well.”

They lapse into companionable silence again, broken only when a gaggle of children flock around a bard to listen to her song. The tale of Vennessa rings through the air, high and loud and clear.

Zhongli sets down his empty cup of tea. “I must go soon. I’ve tarried here long enough.”

“Oh?” Though the visit was unexpected, Venti is sad to see it end so soon. He has been so lonely, he must admit. “I hope to see you again, one of these days.”

“You know what to do — just send word with your winds.” Zhongli rises to his feet, waiting for his friend to follow suit.

Venti scrambles up, dusting his cloak with a playful twirl. “I’ll walk you to the gates, at least.”

He lingers by the bridge on the far side of Cider Lake long after Zhongli departs — “Only to Springvale, where I had been staying since the Stormterror crisis,” the Geo Archon had told the guards as an excuse. He watches his friend slowly vanish among the trees, becoming one with the earth so he can travel back home with ease.

Though he hates to admit it, he’ll miss the company. Being around a proper friend is loads better than the crowd his songs draw, but he understands that Zhongli has his own responsibilities to his people.

A gentle breeze blows around him as he turns away, only to die down at the sight of a ghostly woman not far from him, by the lake. She stares at him with doleful brown eyes and a gentle smile on her lips.

“Thank you,” she seems to whisper in the wind.

Curiosity and sympathy piqued, Venti approaches her with a few cautious steps. “Hello, my lady,” he greets. Seeing no wandering Knights and locals who might overhear is a relief.

“You helped my daughter, Lily. I was watching you earlier. I wish I could have done something, but I can’t even lift a blade of grass in this state.”

“I did what I must.” Venti reaches out to pat her shoulder, an Archon — even at his weakest — through and through. “I hate bullies. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Tulip.” She gazes at his touch curiously. “How can you do that?”

He meets her gaze, still smiling. There’s no use hiding who he is to the dead — not when he’s about to guide them to the other side. “I’m Barbatos.”

“My lord, I’m sorry, I didn’t know —”

“It’s alright, Tulip. I hope that the justice the Knights have dealt finally gives you peace.”

“It did.” She gazes at the distant city walls in longing. “I am ready to move on, but I wanted to thank you before I do.”

He raises a brow in curiosity. “Oh? Really, there’s no need. Doing what I should is enough joy for me, indeed.”

Tulip steps aside, revealing a stone hidden beneath her feet. “All I ask is another favor from you, my lord, if that’s alright.”

“I’d be glad to help, as long as it’s within my power.” Venti hopes it is.

The spirit nods with a smile. “I buried my savings beneath this stone. I was planning to leave with Lily before Albion killed me. I want you to give it to her — so I may help her one last time, in any way I can.”

Concentrated Anemo energy moves away the stone and the soil, revealing a pouch of Mora and a piece of what seems to be a piece of diamond shimmering in seven colors — or more. He picks them both up and shows them to her. “You’re talking about these, right?”

“The coins, my lord, yes. The diamond was an offering to you, for Lily’s protection.”

Oh. Venti bows his head in guilt. Her prayer had not reached him during his slumber — otherwise, he would have done something earlier. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you sooner. I-I…”

“You granted my prayers. It is enough for me. Please take the diamond — it is rightfully yours.”

Guilt and remorse battle it out in Venti’s heart, but he shows it not to her. Instead, he takes her hand. “Then I will grant your last request now, so you may move on. Come.”

The wind surrounds them in a whirl of green energy. When it fades, they’re standing in the middle of a small room — little Lily’s new quarters. The girl is sitting at the edge of her bed, clutching a new dress care of the Knights of Favonius. She looks up at the sight of Venti and smiles.

“Mr. Bard!” Her eyes widen at the sight of her mother’s spirit, briefly made visible to the mortal eye by the Archon’s powers. “Mama?”

Tulip turns to Venti with tears in her eyes. “Lord Barbatos, I —”

“Go on. ‘Tis a gift from me. I want you to see each other one last time.” He smiles and slips the bag of coins in her temporarily corporeal hands. Slowly, he steps away to give them space, not wanting to intrude on their privacy.

Instead, he thinks of his old friend. They didn’t even have the chance to talk one last time. He can’t let other people go through it — not when there’s something that can be done within his power.

He knows not how much time passes, but Tulip eventually approaches him with a smile. She clasps her hands and bows her head. “It is time, my lord. I’m ready.”

“Then go with my blessing.” He places his hand on her forehead, warm Anemo energy swirling around her.

She disappears in a flash of silver and green light, leaving silence in her wake.

Lily dashes to him, giving him a hug. “Thank you, Lord Barbatos!”

“You’re very welcome, little Lily.” He returns the hug with a chuckle. “Can you keep my secret?”

“Secret?”

“Don’t tell anyone that I’m Barbatos, okay? It’s a very big secret.”

“Okay, then! I’ll just call you Mr. Bard!”

Outside, a nun calls out to Lily. It’s time for her to meet the other Cathedral kids. Venti steps away and gives her one last pat on the head. “You be good, alright?”

“Alright!”

Grinning, he vanishes in a flash of Anemo energy, becoming one with the wind.

Chapter Text

The last notes from Venti’s lyre fade into the air as his song ends to the crowd’s applause. As always, none of the applauding crowd ever dare look up at the statue right behind him, blissfully aware that their supposedly absent god is hiding in plain sight. On one hand, it’s quite amusing. On the other, it just reminds him of how much he’s actually neglected his people despite the last dregs of faith they still have left in him.

Must internal conflict follow every choice he makes?

His audience fling their spare Mora on the upturned hat by his feet, but a couple of his little regulars place apples instead. He grins at them gratefully — that’s one less meal to think of — before they giggle and run off after their parents.

With his earnings duly collected, he strolls down the scenic city with apples in hand. His eventful day has slowed to a crawl, and with Zhongli well on his way home, the world suddenly feels too lonely and quiet once again. Why must one who thrives in the presence of people have to tread the world alone? It simply isn’t fair.

The sighs of the wind follow him as he heads for Angel’s Share. Perhaps he can chuck down a drink or two before she finally makes it to his Starfell Lake.

Diluc looks up as he approaches, a mistrustful glint in his fiery eyes. He says nothing, however — not even when the bard sits in front of him with a playful grin. However, he picks up a glass and starts wiping it with admirable fervor.

Venti fishes out the coins in his pocket, slowly counting the paltry amount. He can afford a drink — barely — but it’s all he needs right now.

Can’t really go spying on strange newcomers while piss-drunk. It never ends well.

“No.” Diluc doesn’t even look up. How rude. “Come back when you’re a little older.”

“I’ve been drinking for years, and I’ve heard nothing like this from my peers.” He’s used to this argument — it’s been like this since he first arrived, and neither will relent. “Come on now, Master Diluc!”

“I said no.”

“I even have enough Mora to pay for it this time. Look, I’ll find some other way to get my drink if you don’t —”

Diluc finally peers at him, and the disapproval on his face slowly turns into concern. “I’ve never heard you sound so desperate. Are you going through something right now?”

“Something?” Venti blinks. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re practically whining instead of spitting inane rhymes.” The former knight scowls, though it does not diminish the concern practically dripping from every word.

A brief moment of silence follows the question as Venti mulls it over. His arms wrap around his gut subconsciously — a silly attempt to keep himself together, he knows. Going here to blow off his hard-earned money suddenly sounds like a terrible idea.

“I...” He looks up, noting the alarm on the younger man’s face. For a moment, he sees a different person — an equally formidable warrior he had joined forces with to storm Decarabian’s tower. “I’m sorry, Master Diluc. The day just got the best of me.”

“The day? Ah, yes. I’ve heard of your… shenanigans with the Knights. Being the hero of the day not quite to your liking?” Diluc asks.

“It’s not that.” A yawning chasm seems to open in Venti’s heart. In his mind, he watches Zhongli fade into the distance yet again. At least the older Archon has the adepti. “It just reminded me of how much I miss my own family. They’re too far away. Too busy. I’m nothing but a wisp of wind in their greater scheme of things.”

Diluc’s face softens further, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Ah. Family. It does get complicated sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“That it does.” Venti bites his tongue before he spills too much. Having the face of an old friend peering at him with such concern just twists the knife further.

“I’m getting in trouble for this but here.” Finally, Diluc relents and slides a glass of wine down the counter. “Just this once, understand?”

The softest of sighs escape Venti’s lips. For the first time in a long while, the swig of wine feels hot in his tongue. “Thank you.”

They lapse into companionable silence. Perhaps there truly is a first time for everything — the young bard isn’t about to complain about that. His thoughts spiral back to Zhongli, and the brief moment of companionship he provided. He’d hate to say it, but he really envies the Geo Archon. What would it be like to have friends who can live as long as you do? It must be a blessing.

Perhaps usurping Decarabian’s power had been a curse of its own.

He closes his eyes, unaware of the tears seeping out of the corners of his eyes. All he knows is the pain pooling in his gut. This is probably the moment that a human would speak out their desire to go home, but he has none. Mondstadt had never been his, was it? Ultimately, he has no one. Even Vennessa had chosen to stay and protect the city instead of accompanying him — and now he can’t even hear from her.

His hand shakes as he takes another sip of wine. It’s as fiery as the first, burning through his entire body in a reminder of what he’s fought for and lost throughout the millennia. Before he knows it, he finishes his glass and he realizes that he can’t take another even if Diluc offers him. No, what he really needs, perhaps, is some time for himself.

“Thanks again, Master Diluc,” he says instead, pushing the empty glass away from him.

Diluc lifts a brow. “Oh? I thought you’d beg me for more.”

Venti decides against a witty remark. “Not today. I really should be on my way.”

Where? He doesn’t know.

“Might as well.” Thunder rumbles outside as Diluc speaks. “You look like you need some rest.”

Perhaps he does. “I’ll try to get some, then. Exhaustion can get even the best of men.”

He barely makes it outside when the wind brings him news. She’s close to Starfell Lake. It’s time for him to get moving — his nap will have to wait. Slipping into an empty alley, he turns into a lissome breeze that flies off to the northeast, away from the brewing storm.

He comes across the traveler standing by the lakeshore, her hair glinting like stardust in the dim late afternoon light. A tiny creature flies around her — a pixie unlike anything Venti has ever seen.

“That’s a Statue of The Seven,” the pixie explains with a proud little smile. “There are a few of these statues scattered across the land to show The Seven’s protection over the world.”

“So that… figure,” the traveler says, “they’re one of The Seven, I suppose?”

“Yes. Among the seven gods, this god controls the wind. Paimon’s not sure whether the god you’re looking for is the Anemo God, but Paimon’ll take you to the Anemo God’s place first, and there’s a reason why.”

“Why?”

“You’ll just have to see.”

A strange traveler looking for an unknown god? Interesting.

Venti follows the pair as they wade across a shallow part of the lake. The traveler catches a couple of fish with her bare hands along the way, flinging them into an old wooden bucket. They stop before the towering statue — Venti’s statue, really — that still brims with dregs of his ancient power.

“As we all know, poetry and language flow like the wind,” the pixie explains. “There will definitely be someone there who knows your brother! At least, that’s what Paimon thinks.”

“I wish I can be as optimistic as you,” the traveler replies with a sad little smile.

The sorrow in her voice moves Venti, and he brushes her face comfortingly with a gentle breeze.

The pixie giggles. “Well, whether the gods answer you is a different story. You’ll never know unless you try, so let’s hop to it!”

The traveler heads to the statue and kneels. She places her hand at its golden base and begins to pray.

“I know that I am not from this world,” she murmurs softly, her words carried by the winds. “But I beseech you, god of wind. Please, I need your help. I am trapped in this world, separated from my brother. Guide me, for I do not know what to do. Please. I’ll give you everything you wish for in return.”

Venti settles beside her — the gentlest wind that embraces the world. Not even she can grant him his own desire for a lifelong friend, but her plea has moved him. He is, after all, a compassionate god. However, not even the wind  can tell him where her brother is.

She shall set right all the wrongs in the world , it whispers instead.

He doesn’t understand it, but perhaps he can still help her. Should she decide to, perhaps she can also help him.

Mustering the power lingering in the statue, he links his energy to her, lending her some measure of power over the wind. It’s the list he can do — he can’t grant a vision, not even a temporary one, to an outlander like her.

“I cannot give you the answers you seek,” he whispers with the wind. “But I can lend you my power — do not weep.”

She bows her head reverently and clasps her hands together, still aglow with the power of Anemo. “Thank you.”

“May your journey be worthy of a thousand songs.” And may his powers protect her until they can truly meet.