Chapter Text
The sky beyond the cradled architecture of Sumeru City had long since turned from a pure blue streaked with white clouds to a burnt orange that washed out to golden yellow. As the sun set and the horizon shifted hues like a flame, the city’s bustle began to slow, the crowds thinning to a trickle as lights flickered on at the prospect of the encroaching darkness.
From Zephyr’s perspective, sitting on one of the many broad branches that stretched outwards from the gargantuan trunk of the Divine Tree, the view of the sunset was unobstructed. His chosen perch was on the western edge of the city, far from the bustle of the Grand Bazaar, and also provided him a direct line of sight to Lambad’s Tavern. He prided himself on being able to recall the names without a moment of hesitation— he had gotten to know the city well in the past months, upon Nahida’s request. The God of Wisdom had suggested that such familiarity could prove to be useful, and that it would also help him adjust to what was now his… home, for lack of a better word. Once Zephyr had memorized the streets, he’d utilized his new abilities to propel himself onto rooftops and terraces, and finally, onto the limbs of the Divine Tree itself. It was in doing so that he had discovered this particular spot, and without ever thinking about it, he found himself coming back day after day to watch as the sun fell past the horizon.
There was a certain kind of peace he felt only when he was high above the ground. He could hover above the world, watching from a safe distance like the people were so many ants crawling to and fro below him. He could observe from the hidden shelter of the foliage, unseen as passers by remained blissfully unaware of his mere presence.
He did not fear falling, at least not as much as many humans reasonably did. After all, humans were made of blood and bones, of things that were so easily broken. Zephyr had survived much worse than any plunge from heights that could befall him. Now, with the power of the wind flowing through him, there was even less to fear. Nahida had still insisted he wear a wind-glider, even hiring a tailor from Mondstadt to create one, for the sake of safety. He had argued a little, but the way it allowed him to carve through the air and drift like a bird soon brought his halfhearted complaints to an end. He couldn’t fight against such efficiency, after all. As a result of this, he did not fear falling, for falling could quickly be turned into flying, and that was becoming something he enjoyed more than he would ever admit.
The sky deepened into shades of red and purple as the sun continued its path out of sight. Zephyr let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and as if agreeing, a breeze floated past, rustling the foliage around him and sending the tails on his hat dancing like ribbons. In the background, laughter and chatter floated up from the tavern, an incomprehensible but faint babble of human noise. One sound stood out from its miasma, though, a sound that drew his attention enough to break his gaze from the sky and glance around for its source.
In the outdoor seating area around the tavern, a young bard had struck up a song on a lyre. He was the only customer outside— Zephyr assumed he was a customer, given the glass of wine and emptied plate on the table next to him— but the few passers-by drifted closer as the music floated through the air, as if being pulled in by an invisible whirlwind. Zephyr felt the pull too, as plucked notes strung together into a mournful song, melodious yet melancholy. This was not a song made for an audience, even he could tell that, with the way the bard cradled the lyre, hair and cape fluttering in the passing breeze. The bard was clearly a foreigner, with dark hair that faded into blue in the mirroring braids that framed his heart-shaped face, his ruffled shirt and ballooning shorts over pale tights decidedly not Sumeru fashion. A cap was pulled over his head, with a pale flower affixed to one side. He hardly seemed to notice the presence of the passer-by’s that he had unknowingly transfixed. His eyes were closed, even as he plucked out the song with skilled hands, and his head was lulled, only swaying slightly with the music. It was a song of pain, Zephyr realized. A song of loss, of grief. It pulled at him, made an aching in his chest, an aching he wasn’t comfortable in recognizing.
Eventually, the song came to and end, and the last few notes hung in the air like a breath. A small collection of listeners had gathered, lingering nearby, but seemed to snap out of it and headed their own ways, dispersing through the city’s streets until only the bard and Zephyr remained. The bard’s eyes had opened, and he seemed to let out a sigh, which the wind echoed with a gust, and drained what remained of his glass of wine. As he set it down, his eyes drifted upwards, and after looking around aimlessly, lit up with curiosity as his gaze caught on Zephyr.
“You get stuck up there?” The young bard called cheerfully, a hint of laughter in his warm voice. Whatever air of solemnity had fallen over him seemed to have disappeared without a trace, and he regarded Zephyr with interest.
“No,” he responded flatly.
“You sure? No shame in needing help getting down.” He smiled at Zephyr like they were friends. Given his apparent abundance of amicability, he might think that was true.
“I’m good.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Zephyr frowned. It seemed that no matter what he said, this foreigner wasn’t planning on leaving him alone. Besides, he could find some amusement in watching the young stranger struggle to climb up to reach him, especially in those clothes. Instead of responding, he simply shrugged.
The bard seemed to take that as a yes, and left a couple of coins on his table as he stood and walked over to a open space of courtyard roughly beneath the branch Zephyr sat on. He offered another smile, then tossed his lyre in the air in front of him. Zephyr stared, a bit startled, waiting for the lyre to plummet to the stone and shatter, but instead, it dissolved in a shower of sparkling light, and a massive gust of wind launched the bard up in a spiral. Clearly accustomed to this powerful method of launch, the bard flew effortlessly upwards, drifting lazily like a leaf on a breeze, then came to a far too graceful landing just to Zephyr’s right. As soon as it had started, the wind was gone, tousling the bard’s hair and the anemo vision on his hip as it left. The bard, newly ascended, beamed at him.
“I’m Venti. What’s your name?”
“…Zephyr.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely name! Did you know that Zephyr means wind? Well, ‘one who travels on the wind’, more specifically.”
Zephyr recalled the look on the Traveller’s face as she had told him. A bit on the nose, he thought wryly, then turned back to the bard— to Venti.
“My name actually means wind too,” he said. “What a coincidence, right?”
“You’re from Mondstadt, then.”
Venti laughed. “Was it that obvious?”
“Yes,” Zephyr answered bluntly. Venti only laughed again.
“I travel a lot, but Mondstadt is my home. Ah, nothing beats a warm breeze as you look over the hills, a glass of cider in hand.” He paused, then giggled. “Or a couple of glasses. Where are you from?”
“Inazuma.” The word came out tersely, a warning. Don’t push it, bard.
“Oh, Inazuma! I was there not too long ago, for some event about light novels, I think. It was sort of an accident,” he admitted with another laugh. “But I enjoyed my time while I was there. Where the wind goes, I follow.”
“Is that your approach to life? Lack of discipline?” His tone was a bit cold, but Venti paid it no mind.
“Some might say I lack discipline,” he admitted with a breezy shrug. “Maybe I do. I enjoy good food, good drink. Even better, a story, a song. I enjoy the finer things in life, but is that such a crime?”
“Life isn’t all music and fun,” Zephyr said. “You can’t hide from reality for forever, bard.”
Venti’s perpetual friendly expression faltered for a split second, but he quickly covered it up with a smile. “Who says life isn’t all music and fun? Or, rather, that music and fun aren’t what life is worth living for?”
He scoffed. “You’re naive, if you believe that.”
Venti shrugged again. “I wouldn’t say naive. Just… hopeful.” He leaned back, shifting his position to lounge further.
A breeze wove through the air, sending the bard’s cape fluttering and the tails on Zephyr’s hat twirling before sweeping past them entirely. Thoughts bubbled like one of Dottore’s alchemical substances at the surface of Zephyr’s mind, but it took a minute for them to properly form.
“Is hope worth it, bard?”
Venti looked over, blinking. His eyes were oddly colored, Zephyr noted. They had seemed green at first appearance, but they were not the green of the leaves surrounding them so much as an unnaturally teal hue. They shone with almost a luminescent edge sometimes, when the light caught them just right. Probably just a trick of the fading sun, he thought to himself. Or a vulnerable mind.
“…of course it is,” he said, with a softness that was a startling contrast from his normal boisterous tone. “Freedom is always worth it.” He paused, then looked at the anemo vision that hung over Zephyr’s heart. “You must believe that, in some way, if you were given that vision.”
The freedom to choose. The freedom to be better. The freedom to… be.
“Is that why the Anemo Archon gives out visions?”
“Barbatos, like all the archons, doesn’t give them out personally,” Venti explained. “It’s about the will of the gods aligning with a persons ambitions. If those feelings, those ambitions, are strong enough, and resonate with an archon’s beliefs and core ideals, sometimes that person will be granted a vision. It’s… not very exact.”
“So the archons themselves might as well not be involved at all,” Zephyr said dryly.
“Hey, c’mon, I didn’t say that! Just that they don’t descend from the clouds to hand visions over by hand. They feel it, yeah? When someone’s reached that point. They grant them their wish, provide them a blessing to assist them in their journey.” Venti gestured vaguely.
“So Barbatos resonates with freedom, or something equally as vague and artsy sounding?”
Venti put a hand to his mouth as he giggled. “I suppose so. That’s one way to put it.”
“What other way is there?” He said with a frown. Venti looked a little rueful.
“Well, it’s just not that simple.”
“How would you know, bard?”
“I’m hardly Barbatos,” Venti responded with a cheeky smile, eyes glittering, cheeks rosy. “Am I?”
“You have your hair like his,” Zephyr pointed out bluntly, feeling like this was a joke he didn’t quite understand. “At least, like the statues.”
Venti blinked, and one hand reached up to touch a braid, as if he had almost forgotten.
“I suppose I do,” he said, a little surprised. “I… a friend wore their hair like this, a long time ago. I do it to remember them. It’s been so long now, I forget it’s a little conspicuous.”
“A long time?” Zephyr raised an eyebrow. “You’re really young. I’m surprised you convinced Lambad to give you wine.”
Venti’s surprised genuineness was replaced by a performative pout as the bard crossed his arms with a little dramatic huff.
“I’m old enough to drink,” he insisted.
“Sure.”
“I am!”
“No way,” Zephyr said flatly.
“You say, like you’re not young,” Venti retorted, changing tactics.
Zephyr was a bit taken aback— he was used to people knowing that he was a puppet, and that he was far, far older than he looked, but of course this young stranger didn’t have that context. To him, Zephyr might as well be close in age to him, when in reality, that was far from the truth.
“-I’m older than you,” he shot back, fumbling for a moment.
“Oh ho?”
“Don’t give me that look, bard.” He scowled, but he didn’t really mean it, and Venti could tell.
“Who are you to tell me I’m naive when you’re little more than a sprout in the scheme of time?” He poked, almost teasing.
“At least I’m not a minor.”
“The only use of the word minor about me is referring to the musical key,” Venti said loftily.
“And legally.”
“Why, wanderer-on-the-wind, you offend me!” Venti said over-dramatically, hand resting delicately over his heart. The bard really did look young— too young, really. What was he doing in Sumeru all on his own?
“What feels like a long time for you is really only a small portion of your life,” Zephyr said with a slight shrug. “The older you get, the more you understand that.”
Venti laughed, which he seemed to do often. “You have no idea how true that is, Zephyr.” There was an aching tone in his voice, an echo of pain. A pain that should not, could not, be coming from someone that young. The memory of the song the little bard had been playing floated back.
“…what are you doing in Sumeru, Venti?” Zephyr asked, face scrunched slightly. The look on the bard’s face dissipated in a flash as he turned his gaze to him, head tilted.
“What do you mean? I’m a wandering bard, so I wander.”
“Shouldn’t you be with a… guardian, or something?” Zephyr was unsure of how that all worked, given his lack of experience, but he was under the impression that Venti was probably too young to be traveling from Mondstadt to Sumeru on his own. There were still a great many monsters and enemies one could encounter on the road, and despite the vision on his hip, Venti didn’t seem like the fighting type. Venti stared at him for a long moment with wide eyes, then let out a peal of laughter that shook him, the wind once again sweeping through as if joining in.
“What do you mean, a guardian?” He asked, voice still light with warm amusement.
“You’re a kid,” Zephyr said brusquely. “It’s dangerous for you to be traveling alone.”
“I’m hardly more of a kid than you, Zephyr,” Venti said with a grin. “Besides, I can take care of myself.” He made a small dismissive wave with his hand. “I’ve been traveling on my own for quite a while now.”
“How long.”
“Eh?” Venti blinked, caught off guard.
“How long,” Zephyr repeated. Venti opened his mouth, eyes flickering to the side as he hesitated. Zephyr could practically see the little bard’s mind hard at work trying to craft a suitable answer.
“Er, ah…” the bard waffled, then switched tactics with a beaming smile. “How about I get us a bottle of wine?”
“That’s not an-“ But the little bard had already slid off the branch, falling a short distance before a pale wind glider resembling snowy white wings slid out from either side of his trailing cloak, carrying him safely to the ground, where he landed with the ease and grace of experience. He scampered across the courtyard and pushed open the doors to Lambad’s Tavern before disappearing from view.
“…answer,” he finished dryly, the word hanging in the air. He sighed.
Why did he even care about how long the little bard had been alone? He was just some stranger, another insignificant human. They broke so easily, so fragile, so weak. Even if he did live to an old age, humans withered away so quickly. Zephyr had seen many humans die, a great deal of them at his own hand. He had seen children younger than the little bard die. So why did he feel that ache inside his chest? Why did he care? When… when had he started calling him the little bard, when had the cold indifference turned into something almost close to affection?
It was while turning these thoughts over in his head that Venti re-emerged, holding a bottle of wine aloft triumphantly with a grin that felt as warm as the sun. He airily made his way back over, half dancing as he went, then cradled the bottle more securely in his arms before a flash of pale blue-green sparks sprayed and another powerful gust of wind launched him skyward. This time, as Venti landed delicately on the branch, Zephyr noticed that his two braids were glowing. Or, at least, they were— as soon as his gaze settled on it, the luminescence had vanished. Must have just been the glow of his powers making it look that way, Zephyr decided, but part of him wasn’t quite convinced.
“I offer you a taste of Mondstadt,” the little bard said with a doff of his cap, offering the bottle to Zephyr. He took it with a frown, and peer at the label. It read Hurricane Wine. Notes of bitter Philanemo mushrooms, rich Valberry, and the fresh green edge of Cecilia. Brewed by Dawn Winery, Mondstadt, aged 10 years. The label had a drawing of a windmill and twirling lines of wind, as well as a pale, three petalled flower with long green leaves. Zephyr looked back up at Venti.
“It’s the same flower as the one on your hat,” he noted, indicating the label. Venti nodded happily.
“A Cecilia,” he explained. “They only grow where the wind is harshest. There’s fields of them on Starsnatch Cliff, in the spring. They’re my favorite flower.”
“Why?” Zephyr could not comprehend why the little bard seemed to care so much about flowers, let alone enough to have a favorite.
“Why are they my favorite?” Venti paused, thinking for a moment. “…I like that they bloom in spite of the harsh environment. A glimpse of beauty amidst the savage winds that attempt to ravage them.” He hesitated, then added, “And… a friend I had liked them.”
Before Zephyr could speak, the bard hurriedly took the bottle back, popping off the cork, which flew in an arc before tumbling to the ground below. He took a sip, and made a noise of satisfaction. “Oh, that’s some good stuff,” he said, almost melting with pleasure. “Come on, try some.” He offered the bottle to Zephyr encouragingly.
Zephyr didn’t drink— not because he was opposed to it, but because it didn’t do anything to him. Dottore, in one of his many, many, many series of tests, had tried to determine Zephyr’s physical processes. Zephyr could drink, and could eat, though he gained no benefit from it, other than the taste, which the Fatui didn’t consider to be a benefit. He could expel the waste remains of anything he did eat or drink, though not in the way humans did, instead dispersing it throughout his body until it left the pores and evaporated. He could cry— that was what had prompted that particular experiment in the first place, an involuntary reaction to the pain that he had experienced during another test. He couldn’t get drunk, or inebriated, as the Doctor had said, but he could be drugged, in certain ways. The memory of the alchemical solutions forced down his throat and pumped into his body made him shudder involuntarily.
Realizing the little bard was still looking at him, he took the bottle, and took a sip. The taste was a pleasant surprise to the sickly sweet taste he had expected, still half caught up in his recollection. Cool, and zesty, with an earthy, plant like edge to it. It had the flavor of aged fruit that all wine did, but it leaned into the bitterness. It… wasn’t completely bad.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said flatly, handing Venti the bottle. The bard had it to his lips and was halfway through a sip when Zephyr’s accusation made him sputter.
“-uh, what?”
“Spit it out, little bard,” Zephyr said quietly, voice low. “How long have you been traveling alone.”
“…a… couple of years?“ Venti settled on, but his tone rose up in a way that made it seem more like a question than an answer. “Like, uh. Five? No, no. That’s probably too many, right, er… three. Yeah! That. Three.”
“Don’t you have parents?“ Zephyr asked bluntly.
“Parents?” It took a second for the word to click. “Oh, right. I- I don’t have any?”
“Who raised you?”
“Uh…” Venti seemed to be struggling to come up with a suitable response, and let out an awkward laugh. “Heh, uh, haven’t I told you enough about my past already? Must be awfully boring.”
“Did you run away?” Zephyr narrowed his eyes.
“No, I- Uh-“ the bard was getting a bit uncomfortable now, shifting anxiously on the branch. Zephyr had a suspicion that he had struck a sore spot.
“-fine. Don’t talk about it.”
The pair sat quietly, passing the bottle back and forth occasionally, as the sun continued to sink deeper out of sight until it was practically gone. After a time, Venti hesitantly broke the silence.
“You seem awfully interested in my past for someone who’s told me two things about himself,” he commented, gaze flickering over to Zephyr’s face. Zephyr grumbled.
“My past is not a story for you to uncover, little bard.”
“All you’ve told me is your name,” Venti shot back, “and that you’re from Inazuma.”
“That’s plenty.”
“Are you trying to be mysterious on purpose?” Venti continued, having not heard Zephyr’s remark or else electing to ignore it. “I mean, you’re sulking up here all dramatically, ignore most of the questions I ask, and keep frowning at me.”
“I haven’t been frowning,” Zephyr said, frowning. Venti raised an eyebrow.
“Uh huh.”
“And I’m not mysterious,” he added.
“Ok, then, tell me two more things about yourself.”
Zephyr thought. “I hate the taste of sweet things. Does that count?”
“You’re weird, but sure.”
He tried to think of things that would satisfy some of the little bard’s overwhelming curiosity that didn’t sound incredibly suspicious. As he settled on one, he began to speak, slowly, not trusting the words even as they left his mouth.
“…I don’t have parents either. I have a mother, technically, but she… abandoned me when I was… young.”
Some kind of understanding dawned on Venti’s face. “…then, who raised you?” He asked, pushing his luck.
“An answer for an answer, bard.”
Emotions made war on Venti’s face, his curiosity and urge to understand battling against whatever lay in his past that he would prefer stay uncovered. He took a long drink from the wine bottle, still thinking, before he opened his mouth.
“I… don’t remember much from when I was young,” he began slowly, as if each word took effort to leave his mouth. “I was one of many…children that roamed freely, in the city. I was… small. A thread in a tapestry, one gust among the thousand winds. No one raised me.”
Zephyr nodded. It was a rather round about way of saying that he was an orphan on the streets, but you could hardly expect a straight answer from a bard.
“I was taken in by a samurai,” he said, before Venti could prompt him to answer the same question. “He found me and brought me back to his village. I was… raised by all of them, I guess. But they got… sick, and most of them died, or left. So I left, and I’ve been traveling ever since, basically.” It was close enough to the truth that it wasn’t much of a lie. …Why did he care about whether he was lying or not?
“Oh. ‘m sorry.” Venti’s eyes were wide, still that strange, shimmering green.
“I don’t need your sympathy,” Zephyr said brusquely. Venti brought the wine bottle to his lips, and finally when he set it down on the space of the branch next to him, it rang with the dull sound of empty glass. Zephyr looked over with narrowed eyes.
“Did you finish that?” He asked accusatorially. They’d been passing the bottle between the two of them, but he’d only taken small sips at a time. Now that he was looking, he could see a rosy flush to the bard’s cheeks. Venti looked at him with round, innocent eyes.
“Eh?”
“Don’t play coy, you minuscule drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Venti protested, then swayed a little. Zephyr immediately shot out a hand to steady him.
“Yes, you are, and you should not be up here given that,” he said sharply. “I’m going to get you down so you don’t fall and split your head open, because that would be annoying to deal with. You can sleep it off on a bench afterwards, for all I care.” It wasn’t that he was worried, it would just be bothersome to explain why some kid had gotten drunk and tumbled to the ground. Yea. He wasn’t worried.
“I’m fine,” Venti said in a singsong voice. How had he not noticed the stupid bard’s intoxication before? His gaze was distant, eyes half closed, a hint of a slur edging his lilting tone. Damn kid drank most of a bottle of wine, of course he was drunk. Zephyr let out a low grumbling sigh, and shifted to stand up.
“Come on.” He reached down to scoop Venti up— it wasn’t very difficult. The bard was small and quite light, though he was careful to not get his arm tangled in his cloak. Venti meeped a little as he was unceremoniously but carefully hoisted up.
“Hey- c’mon, put me down, I’m fine, I’ll get down. C’mon, Zephyr, ‘m not-“ —he hiccuped— “-a baby, I can just fly— no, wait, that isn’t right— glide down.”
“You’d crash into a roof,” Zephyr replied bluntly, shifting Venti in his arms so that he cradled the bard more securely.
“I am as graceful as a bird on the wind- no, I’m as graceful as the wind itself!” Venti continued in protest, squirming a little. “In fact, it is I who taught the birds to fly.”
“Sure.” The little bard was more drunk than he’d initially gauged, given the nonsense he was now spurting. Making sure his grip was tight and secure, Zephyr leapt from the branch, letting his glider flare out and carry the pair to the ground like a dandelion on the breeze.
It was dark now that the sun had passed out of sight, the street lamps lit but the streets themselves practically empty, the only evidence of people out of sight being the chatter from the tavern and the miasma of noise drifting aimlessly from nearby residences. Venti had quieted once they’d taken to the air, eyes closed as the wind rushed against his face.
“Where are you staying?” Zephyr asked. Venti stirred a little in his arms.
“Dunno,” he mumbled. “Don’t have any more Mora. Was just gonna sleep on a bench or somethin’.”
Zephyr sighed in irritation. He couldn’t just leave the kid to sleep on the street, even if he was a broke, drunk bard.
It was after he had hauled the young bard to an inn, deposited him in the bed, paid the innkeeper, and was on his way back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana that the realization hit him.
He cared about that stupid little bard.
But that, at least, was a problem for another day.