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“Mooorax!”

Morax grunts as a pair of pale arms wrap around his waist and a face presses into his back. He flicks his tail, attempting to nonchalantly dislodge the unwelcome presence plastered to him, but to no avail; it is remarkably difficult to control the actions of the god of wind.

He’s never seen Barbatos take a human form before- the Archon has always preferred the shape of his natural anemo spirit. Morax has been walking the earth in his semi-human form for centuries, and it appears Barbatos has finally followed suit.

Not that he’s seen Barbatos in… well, not since the end of the Archon War, actually. He’d met the wind spirit a couple of times before the war broke out, but Morax had spent the long centuries of battle claiming his territory and sealing his opponents under the mountains and oceans. From what he’s heard of Mondstat’s fate, he assumes the Anemo Archon has been similarly occupied. 

The newly minted Seven had gathered to celebrate their victories, but Barbatos hadn’t shown. Morax hadn’t inquired why, but the Hydro Archon had whispered that he was busy mourning his dear friend. 

“...Barbatos,” he finally grumbles out. There’s a tinkling laugh behind him, like the sound of bells ringing and flowers blooming. “Why are you here?”

“Maybe I just missed you, Rexie! It’s been so long, we need to catch up!”

“Should you not be preoccupied with ruling over your nation?”

One of Barbatos's hands leaves its perch from around his waist, which is all the warning Morax gets before his ponytail is harshly yanked. He can’t contain the hissed growl that escapes his lips, but it just seems to make Barbatos laugh harder.

“Silly Morax,” he chides, “Mondstat is a land of pure freedom! We don’t have any leaders.”

“Such a thing sounds terribly unsustainable,” Morax grumbles.

“Please, it’s much better than trying to contain the wind. We had enough of that with- well, you know.”

It goes silent for a moment. Morax supposes he cannot judge Barbatos quite so harshly in this regard, at least; he’d never witnessed Decarabian’s rumored reign of terror firsthand, but it had cost Barbatos much to liberate the nation of anemo. 

“Well, anyway,” Barbatos flicks the back of his neck, and Morax reflexively swings his tail, which Barbatos presumably dodges judging by the lack of impact. “This is too depressing! We need to catch up. Did you know I’ve been learning music? My lyre is critically acclaimed all over Mondstat, and your adorable little Yaksha seems to quite enjoy my flute.”

“You’ve met Xiao, then.” Morax struggles to rationalize how the Adeptus could find any part of Barbatos enjoyable , but anything that brings the Adeptus peace is… acceptable.

“But of course! He has my Vision, doesn’t he? Honestly, though, all that inner turmoil… you really ought to take better care of your kids.”

“Xiao is not my offspring.”

“I know that , stupid. It was a joke.” Morax can envision Barbatos’s pout. “Well? What have you been doing, you old blockhead? I bet you haven’t picked up any fun hobbies.”

“I have been working to establish the infrastructure of Liyue Harbor and the beginning of what I foresee will become an empire of trade. I have also been working to vanquish any remnants of gods left over from the Archon War in order to ensure the safety of my people,” Morax said matter-of-factly. His voice softened slightly when he said, “I am… working to uphold Guizhong’s dream, in her honor.”

“Guizhong, huh…” Barbatos murmured. “I’m sorry for your loss. I only met her once or twice, but she seemed wonderful.”

“Indeed,” Morax says. “And- likewise, to you.”

Barbatos’s laugh this time sounds less like bells and more like the first gales of a storm. Morax finally turns his head to acknowledge him, and- oh.

Oh. How… odd.

The human form Barbatos has picked is petite and lithe, with short black hair decorated with twin braids tipped in a glowing teal. Morax is hardly one to comment on the promiscuity of one’s dress, especially considering his own outfit, but- well, surely it isn’t practical to show that much skin.

Barbatos raised an eyebrow, face (remarkably pretty face, although Morax wouldn’t ever admit that) twisted into what may have been a smirk but felt more like a grimace.

“Do you like it?” He twirled a few times, his hood stretching into two large feathered wings. “It isn’t mine, not really.”

Morax blinks. Barbatos laughs again. “Don’t worry about it, blockhead. I guess it is my own skin now. It’s been a few lifetimes too long for its old owner to claim ownership.”

“I’m afraid I don’t…”

“You wouldn’t,” Barbatos sighs. He reaches up with a flawlessly pale arm and strokes one of Morax’s horns, smirking when Morax’s face goes slightly pink and he shifts away from his touch. “You look just the same as you did five centuries ago! Where’s your variety, old man?”

“I can turn into a dragon,” Morax grouses, and this time Barbatos’s tinkling laughter is back.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, then pauses like he’s listening to something Morax can’t hear. “It appears I must take my leave, lovely little dragon. There’s a nap calling my name. I’ll see you around!” Then, before Morax can react, the Archon presses a quick kiss to his cheek before disappearing into the wind as quickly as he’d arrived.

Morax stares after him, lifting a palm to his cheek. Barbatos’s visits always left him feeling like this: off-kilter, unbalanced, unsure whether he had witnessed a hurricane or a spring breeze. 

Hmm. How strange. Morax sighs once before turning back towards Liyue Harbor. There was work to be done.