Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Confession is devilishly difficult.

Morax had observed couples of lovers strolling along the port, for centuries. Sometimes they walked apart, sometimes they didn’t even look at each other, yet the blood vessels in their cheeks would expand, filling with blood.

Maybe they were angry, drunk, overcome by the heat, or had recently engaged in strenuous physical labor?

Over time, each explanation fell away, one by one. Soon, there was no reasonable explanation left for why their faces remained flushed. To Morax, it seemed unhealthy. It didn’t trouble him, it just puzzled him. People seemed strange, hypocritical, alien, but there was something noteworthy about them. Perhaps, it was that these tiny creatures so diligently imitated the gods, while remaining entirely different from them.

Or perhaps it was that some gods imitated humans.

And suddenly, their characteristic traits of foolish adventurism, naive dreams, complex yet unreliable relationships stopped having any negative effect on him. They ceased to irritate him — they began to spark pure interest.

Unclouded by pride, curiosity unexpectedly awoke in the ancient Archon, as if something forgotten and covered in dust had been stirred.

Or perhaps, like something that had never before beat in his stone, lifeless heart.

By then, Morax was already considered one of the elders of the pantheon.

And for some reason, it was painful. Companions were leaving.

And the most painful of all was that… he saw his tears.

Morax did not understand people at all. Back then, he would never have looked away from the beautiful and sorrowful Anemo Archon.

Perhaps, if Morax had truly tried to understand humans, he would never have pursued Barbatos all the way to the border of Mondstadt on that very day.

Perhaps then, Barbatos would not have noticed him, and a conversation doomed from the start would not have begun.

Morax calls such conversations empty. Neither side gained anything, no agreement was signed. Yet after the brief contact with the Anemo Archon, Morax could not shake this dialogue from his mind for a long time. It brought something far more significant for him than for his governmental duties.

"Losing a longtime companion is undoubtedly a heavy experience. You…" skipping a few breaths, a few beats of a strangely aching — strangely alive heart. Perhaps it was because he was so close, reach out and don’t let go. Perhaps because he was so open and vulnerable before him. A tear runs down his cheek. And for some reason, there’s such a strong desire to wipe it away, so that no more tears would fall. Morax knows well: a weak ally is worse than a strong enemy. Yet still, for some reason, he allows the young man to express such feelings, without mustering the strength to say a single firm disciplinary word, "You are very young, Barbatos, and sorrow is eternal and relentless. Be glad that the battle did not claim your life. You were in just as much danger at that very hour."

"But the danger truly did not take me… I always thought that even humans, whose lives are so short, could make the right decisions in such cases. Though I am young in the eyes of other Archons, I am still older than any living human… and I…"

Sobs broke into his voice. So pathetic, so human. But Morax does not dare to be distracted even for a second. He doesn’t dare to reproach Barbatos for his weakness in any way. His muscles ached strangely — he wanted to press him, so emotional and frightened, to his chest. Perhaps, to be sure that he wouldn’t rush into the unknown in such a state. Or perhaps to embrace him in a human way, to warm him, so that on a simple pheromonal level, he would know: a strong ally is near.

"And I absolutely cannot make any decisions. I… am too young to see the deaths of those dear to me. Too young, and… even in thousands of years, I will still be too young! She protected people at the cost of her life! Protected me while I hid behind your back like the last coward! If… if I had caught the enemy’s arrow then?.. Perhaps dissolving into the winds wouldn’t have been such a bad fate. Falling into a long, long sleep… She would have had time to…"

The hand of the Lord of Geo wrapped around the younger god’s throat. Painlessly, in its own gentle way, but enough to pin him to the ground, to the soft grass, and to make him pause his loud declarations.

He loomed over him like a mountain, without pressure — only with surprising firmness. The dragon’s eyes burned with some strange anger, fierce dissatisfaction, tearing Barbatos’s soul apart, but strangely — leaving it unharmed.

"In that case, it’s good that death took her. Barbatos, you are alive, that’s the most important thing. The threat is eliminated, and it’s time to stop regretting. You were wounded, that was not cowardice."

The dragon’s chest echoed with a warlike resonance. Something urged him — no, he wanted this himself — to do everything possible to convince the Anemo Archon otherwise.

He… considers himself useless? Dares to blame himself? Barbatos? That very breeze, whose life is more valuable than the entire pantheon combined?

"Do you hear me? Time cannot be turned back, one sacrifice cannot cancel another. If you continue to devalue yourself… I will take you to the Celestial Realm, chain you with an unbreakable chain, and assign the Adepti to watch over Mondstadt. It doesn’t matter what your winds say. Do you hear? I will not let you go in such a state."

Morax was no longer paying attention to what he was saying. Only truth and sincerity in these words: every little threat was true and doable. Barbatos entrusted him with some of his most profound feelings, and though the Geo Archon could not fully understand them, he felt obliged to submit to them and try to fix them. No, not obliged — he wanted to. His heart, covered with a thick layer of dust, shuddered uncharacteristically.

And Barbatos, anxiously brushing the wet grass with his snow-white wings, smiles through the sadness so heavily.

Morax weakens with each passing moment. He cannot bear it, he releases him and averts his gaze to the night sky.

It seems the young man takes all the words that spilled out from prolonged excessive closeness as a harmless joke. At such moments, one does not joke, people like Morax do not joke, but he even thinks that it would be better this way.

Could he… similarly take his confession as a joke?

***

After that night, everything became much more complicated. All thoughts swirl like feathers in the wind, round and round.

Every detail in the Abode reminds the Lord of Geo of him. The gold on his own hands — of the rings on his wings. The birdsong — his voice. Only faintly, only by a tiny fraction. He struggles to listen to these vocal creatures. There is no such bird in this world whose voice would be purer and sweeter, whose plumage would be softer and warmer.

The persistent flush on his cheeks — his ringing laughter, his sorrowful cry. Skin bathed in blood. The body feels completely different under the intrusive — no, because in reality, he himself wants to think about them — thoughts of Barbatos. It feels not like an instrument, not like the stone image of a great ruler — alive.

Alive, hot, demanding to give that swirling tenderness somewhere in the abdomen. Trembling grips his fingers — they still feel those brief touches to soft, warm skin, the sense of rebellious energy flowing beneath it. Morax unintentionally touches his face, trying in some way to dispel the unusual, but pleasant heat.

He cannot understand humans: this feels different from their “butterflies in the stomach.” Different from how carnivorous insects, summoned by the malice of fallen gods, tear apart the tissues of any encountered creature in endless hunger.

This is a pleasant, irresistibly drawing excitement. Concern for that fragile angel who is now far away.

Who is beside him? Can they be trusted?

On that day, very few subordinates visited the Archon.

On that day, the Lord of Geo himself disrupts, rearranges all possible plans to secretly visit the lands of Mondstadt.

For some reason, anxiety settles in his every movement. The closer to the city, the more unnaturally fresh the air, the closer he is. Morax, like his thoughts, circles round and round.

Round and round.

For some reason, now simply approaching him, the dancing and cheerfully singing bard, seems unbearable.

No, no… memories flash before his eyes: his coal-black fingers grasping a slender neck, pressing sideways, forcing him to lie on the wet grass. Barbatos didn’t even resist. He completely entrusted his feelings, his body.

Morax stops, takes a deep breath: amidst dozens of scents, his stands out — cecilias, apples, unconquered merriment, youth, rivers of wine, the freshness of ozone.

And something else that he takes for true freedom. Barbatos no longer looks as defenseless as before. There is not a single tear in his eyes, only a faint shadow of sorrow. Now it’s not Barbatos himself — now the shadow is truly weak here.

"Maybe," a thought whirls through, "if these mortals were not near the Anemo Archon, he would trust and smile only at Morax again…"

But Morax quickly rejects every one of the imagined ways to confirm his fleeting fantasy.

These people are Barbatos’s people. Only he has the right to interfere in their fate.

***

Confessing to Barbatos is terrifying. Not as terrifying as worrying for his people in war, and certainly not as terrifying as fearing for his precious life. People speak often about confessions. In books, they write painfully simple and fairytale-like ways of expressing feelings.

Can he simply tell him about it in passing?

Should he kneel with an expensive piece of jewelry, like before a mortal maiden? Gift him a precious set of chopsticks adorned with a dragon — almost like gifting a piece of himself?

Will he even be able to speak when that breeze is so close, touching his chest? Will Barbatos be frightened by the rapid beating of a stone heart, truly not alive, in response to his closeness?

Will Morax be able to confidently kiss those lips, holding him so tightly that he might then manage to let go?

People are strange. They say the worst that can happen after a confession is rejection. So simple, so ignorant. Barbatos is so kind, so human — he wouldn’t take advantage of his feelings, wouldn’t manipulate or deceive.

However, to the Geo Archon, all these developments in relationships seem much more understandable. Rejection is indeed not that frightening.

What’s truly terrifying is that Morax may not accept him — may not want to accept him. Not for anything in this world.

Not for anything.

Barbatos will be safe, in a place where he’ll never have to shed those bitter tears for anyone.

Venti will be with him, where no one else will interfere with a confession from Zhongli's lips sounding like a vow.

Like a gentle, loving curse.

Chapter Text

The dragon laid still amidst the red mountains, no longer able to rise. Chains, gleaming with amber light, bound his gigantic body to the hard, rocky ground, wrapping mercilessly around its paws, neck, and three pairs of wings. They dug into his mouth to silence the unwelcome guest on its territory.

And only his weary, angry eyes followed the fluttering green cloak in the wind. The young bard wanted to help, but the sturdy shackles only gleamed with dull gold under the force of his discontented winds, remaining just as unyielding despite all his efforts.

They mock him!

Venti then gazed into the large turquoise eyes of his faithful companion, searching for the locks on the shackles. The dragon growled deeply, sensing something within that told him: attempts to find the key here were futile and doomed from the start.

Clearly, the one who placed these chains had no intention of ever removing them.

"Morax!" the bard called out, turning to the man who had been merely watching his fruitless efforts all this time. "You can see that help is needed here! Don't just stand there!"

Zhongli cast a cold glance at the chained dragon, meeting beast's gaze — full of anger and silent threat.

Venti deftly jumped down from Dvalin's back, landing directly in front of Morax.

What are these two talking about?

"This is a Geo element, Morax! No one could handle it better than you!" The Anemo Archon, as expected, grabbed his friend's hand, trying to urge him toward his wounded friend. "Come on, you old rockhead, stop stalling!"

Morax smirked for a moment. Was that how one asked for help?

Dvalin struggled, desperately trying to regain the lost attention with the clatter of chains. Was that how one should ask for help someone like him?

"And what..." The amber in his eyes flashed, and with a slight wave of his free hand, the Eastern Dragon's mouth snapped shut unnoticed. "...can I expect in return for this?"

The bard froze in surprise, inadvertently staring at Morax with a confused expression.

How could someone refuse to help a comrade in trouble just like that?

"You... would consider leaving Dvalin here?" In an instant, the old, seemingly good, reliable friend suddenly became a stranger. "Do you really think of profit first? How low!"

"No... never," Zhongli sharply responded, tilting his head slightly in frustration. He paused for a second, mentally cursing his own carelessness. "I meant that this territory may not be safe."

A ledge on the nearest cliff unexpectedly collapsed, shattering to pieces just before hitting the ground. Stone debris scattered around. Barbatos ignored the land's latest outburst and looked into Dvalin's tired, half-closed eyes.

Morax watched intently as the young man’s hand gently stroked the dusty scales, divine Anemo currents flowing through the fur. Dvalin quieted for a moment — the Archon's aid alleviated his pain.

“The winds wouldn't stay silent if there was a single living soul within ten kilometers that posed any threat.”

“Are you so sure?” Zhongli whispered as he moved closer, placing a hand on the younger one's shoulder. A warm burn pricked his chest, and Venti quickly turned to meet the golden, unfriendly gleam in the Rex Lapis' eyes. “After all, your connection with them has noticeably weakened since you lost your Gnosis.”

“After all,” Barbatos mimicked him without malice, “do you have other information?” he retorted, not missing the way his Guardian's tail twitched and his fur bristled. The main thing now was to free his companion; any disputes could wait.

Zhongli remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest in thought.

“You’re not yourself, Morax. What's this grudge? I thought we settled everything long ago,” Venti said with a hint of disappointment.

And in the next moment, all negativity left his voice, replaced by a trembling tenderness. “Dvalin, we will find a way to help you. It can't be otherwise. We won't leave you, friend. Please, calm down and hold on a little longer. This heavy burden has drained your strength. We just need a little more time while this grumpy old Morax and I find a solution.”

The glowing Vision at the bard's waist faded, and in the next instant, his familiar lyre appeared in his hands.

It immediately captured the attention of both dragons.

Morax watched carefully, his eyes never leaving the bard or the chained creature.

The earth wrapped around the dragon’s three pairs of wings like sharp bark. By then, Barbatos had moved much closer to the other beast than to Morax.

His breath heated up. The Geo Archon hurried to grasp that delicate wrist before those elegant, skilled fingers could let the first note escape.

"Are you saying music is unnecessary here?"

"Now is not the time." Zhongli agreed with surprising ease, striving to maintain a delicate balance between holding the hand and squeezing it just enough to avoid crushing his bones.

The winds swirled anxiously around the snarling and howling Dragon of the East, but quieted the moment the divine lyre's melody reached them.

Venti turned, breaking free from the grip with a single motion.

"I think I know how to help, Barbatos. My power should be enough to shatter the chains," the Lord of these lands reluctantly said, "But for that, you'll have to leave Dvalin and me alone, so that any accidental shockwave doesn't cause an unfortunate incident." Zhongli paused, hiding an almost imperceptible smirk under a guise of simple concern.

His hand hovered in the air, caught between an unwavering desire to touch the younger god's warm form once again, "And… you must promise me something." Soon after, he resumed his usual calm stance.

Despite his friend's instruction, the Dragon of the East forced himself to lift his head, growling faintly as the fog of fear spread through his body — not for himself, but for his Archon, who was being so brazenly deceived and used for unknown purposes.

This was all a lie — a pure lie!

There was no need for such crude measures to remove these shackles!

Rex Lapis wants to separate them, and Dvalin was certain that this ancient deity's intentions were not as harmless as his hypocritical words!

The Wind Dragon understood this all too well. There was no way he could overlook all those ambiguous glances directed at his best friend, his god, to whom he had sworn unwavering loyalty for life!

All those "accidental" touches, the long, reluctant farewells, the overly flattering gestures — Morax even altered his own plans just for a fleeting chance to cross paths with Venti in the wild valleys of a foreign region.

Well aware of the boundaries, the intruder stood at a distance, watching with either silent threat or cunning interest as Venti played with the forest creatures.

And he would disappear from the area the moment the winds caught the first note of his presence.

The traveler hadn't thought much of it when she told Dvalin with fond amusement about the strange habits of old friends.

Old friends...

The Dragon of the East let out a faint whimper. It worked perfectly.

Venti turned, his heart tightening, whispering to his companion with the wind, "Hang on. Just a little longer!"

In Dvalin’s eyes, Venti read something that gave him pause for a moment.

"Morax, you should be the one to make an oath first," Venti stepped closer to the Geo Archon, his arms folded seriously across his chest. It took Zhongli considerable effort not to avert his gaze, especially when the warm, living glow of Venti's tousled braids kept catching his eye. "Promise me that Dvalin will be alright! He’s on your land, and you’re responsible for him!"

Still, the injured dragon remained uneasy.

"You know I can't make such promises..." Morax said slowly, instantly erasing the faint hint of a smile from his face. "I still feel rather uneasy after handing over Liyue to its rightful human representatives. Nevertheless," he took a deep breath of the restless air, "I swear that I will do everything possible to keep the situation from worsening," a reluctant and vague vow that the Morax would never have thought to make or accept.

But it seemed this was enough for the God of Freedom. He stepped back, his brows slightly furrowed, and Zhongli could barely discern what was on his mind.

"So, as for your part, Barbatos... you will spend the next week with me, under the protection of the Adepti, in Liyue. We’ll find those responsible together. And at this point, we need to ensure that the threat affecting one of your companions doesn’t pose a danger to you as an Archon... As I see it, this wasn’t an open confrontation, nor was it a ground anomaly. It was a deliberate trap. As you said, I will take responsibility. This concerns both of you."

Returning to Mondstadt without remaining strong allies would be reckless bravado, wouldn’t it?

"It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such empathy from you," Barbatos remarked thoughtfully.

He’s just worried, having been stripped of his former powers after stepping down as Archon — just like Venti, who still hasn’t fully awoken from a five-century-long slumber. After all, Zhongli could never show genuine emotions even at the most critical moments.

Venti visibly slumped, finally catching on to an unpleasant thought.

"Dvalin is, first and foremost, the Guardian of Mondstadt. Even if he’s a former one... If something could deliberately bring him down, then this... could have a very sinister purpose unrelated to me. Or perhaps Dvalin is merely a collateral victim, resembling the true target in size..." Venti said, his voice unusually quiet and fast.

Worried not only for his own people but also for others. Zhongli narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly.

"I’ll ask the Conqueror of Demons to inform the head of the knights and track Abyss Order activity in your region."

Much troubled the Anemo Archon in that moment, starting with why the Abyss Order had so suddenly become the prime suspects and not ending there at all. He tensed, seeming to shrink even more, appearing fragile, weak, all in need.

It didn’t matter that there was truly great power hidden in that youthful body — it was now laid bare before Morax.

The stone heart tightened with unexpectedly pleasant responsibility... at the sight of the genuine hope on the young face.

"I agree. Please, just do it already. Dvalin has been here for a long time. He’s severely exhausted."

"Of course," Zhongli nodded again, and the ends of his hair glowed with a golden light, "Take the same path you used to come here. My senses tell me that there shouldn’t be anyone on it. I’ll do what I can."

Dvalin gave a final sorrowful rumble, and the fierce wind howled in response as the bard’s silhouette disappeared. After all, they both knew Morax wouldn’t act against his own words.

"Just be careful, Barbatos..."

He watched the Archon’s retreating figure intently, confident that the winds wouldn’t carry an unwanted conversation back to him.

Yet, the Dragon of the East still felt a deep, burning anger toward the ruler of these lands, who, step by step, was stealing away his muddled consciousness.

***

"Let’s drop the formalities, Guardian," were the first words that reached Dvalin after awakening. The air around him smelled of hot, damp earth — one of the many shades of the threatening power that dragon senses easily discerned. So, he’s shed his mask, that snake-like scoundrel. "I hope your stubborn Mondstadt ideology will allow you to make the right choice. It was quite kind of Venti to leave it entirely up to you, wasn’t it?"

"If it weren’t for his interference, these fertile lands would have turned into a wasteland for a long time. Remember, Rex Lapis, it’s the wind that will scatter your illusory might grain by grain," Dvalin growled without unnecessary politeness, pulling himself up from the rocky ground with a heavy jerk. The chains on his limbs crumbled into coarse dust — without a doubt! — through Morax’s good will. A new wave of fury boiled within the beast, but he merely swished his tail, causing a nearby rock to crack, which elicited a mixed chuckle from his adversary.

If Venti hadn’t arrived, sensing something amiss when his companion’s turquoise wings vanished from sight on foreign lands, Dvalin would have shattered those wretched shackles sooner. They would have been nothing more than a futile attempt to delay the inevitable.

Unfortunately or fortunately, it was as clear as day: neither of them would engage in battle now. A hint of superiority was evident in Zhongli’s expression: both of them knew that the victor had long been decided on Liyue’s territory.

"Barbatos trusts you even more than his own Winds... I can’t believe you truly have the audacity to so vilely exploit his trust. It’s hard to imagine a worse enemy than an immoral ally!"

Morax took a deep breath, but instead of calm indifference, there was a subdued irritation in his movements. Dvalin kept his anger and the desire to crush the detestable dragon as a turbulent, verdant storm barely contained at the tips of his weary wings.

"But isn’t that one of Venti’s charming qualities? He knows how to find the good in others’ souls. He knows how to use it for the greater good, bringing it to the surface from the coldest depths..." the Archon replied, surprisingly gently. "And it’s a trait that should be used wisely."

The Wind Dragon faltered, slightly opening his beak with rows of sharp, small teeth.

"One of his charming qualities? Use it?" — who does this dirty lizard think the Anemo Archon is?!

Their gazes crossed again—and Dvalin could do nothing to break that unpleasant connection.

"As for you, Eastern Guardian", Morax pronounced slowly, "The best choice would be to keep this incident and our conversation strictly confidential."

The massive claws of the celestial dragon scraped against the dry, uneven ground. Does he truly dare to hope that the loyal Wind would agree to a direct betrayal of his god?

"I only keep the secrets I consider significant", he growled. This could have served as a refusal, but the Archon was only amused by the misplaced attempt to establish boundaries,  "Don’t even think about trying to blackmail the people of free Mondstadt, Morax. You don’t know the cost of silence."

This proud defiance reminds him of someone.

"I believe we’ve hit a misunderstanding", he didn’t hide his clear smirk. "Let me clarify: our currency cannot be assessed in terms of cost."

***

"Thank you."

Venti watched the silhouette of the sky-blue dragon slowly and painfully making its last circles at the border of Mondstadt and Liyue before disappearing behind the deep blue haze.

"You look at him as if he were your own son."

The bard swung his legs in the air, awkwardly laughing. The crooked smile conveyed more doubt than joy, although he couldn’t deny he was feeling it.

"Is it that obvious?" Another chuckle followed, after which Barbatos paradoxically let his shoulders drop. "He’s been troubled lately. And now this… I feel like Dvalin knows something but can’t share it with me."

He didn’t notice the older Archon sitting beside him. Barely shifting his gaze from the sky to the tips of the reddish mountains, he continued:

"I understand that he might not want to put me in danger. Since the beginning of our friendship, when I found him as a mere hatchling, he’s always taken indirect approaches, rarely telling me about his problems," Venti sighed. The warm hand on his shoulder was just right. Yet, it didn’t lessen the troubling questions, "But still, I think it’s important for me to know. What did you discuss?"

The serious gaze from the azure eyes momentarily disarmed Morax.

"I didn’t notice anything useful. Your Guardian was primarily concerned about the protecting his own region. According to him, the trap was triggered spontaneously, with no sensors or presence of a caster detected."

The Wind God frowned thoughtfully. Was it really the case that such enormous chains bound a dragon, who was not exactly slow, almost to exhaustion? There had to be a reason, and a significant one at that. Otherwise, chaos would reign in Teyvat.

"The Geo element is quite autonomous. Could it be that it was left there, activated remotely?.."

Morax endured a few seconds of disproportionately long silence before calmly nodding, leaning a little closer to the bard. Carefully, presenting it as simple concern, as the changing daylight brought with it the chill of capricious mountain winds that spared even their own god, carrying away the warmth from the bard's skin.

"Although such a setup requires specialized knowledge of elemental workings, including the energy reserves of the user and subtlety of approach, it is a possible scenario."

Venti closed his eyes. Enough pondering for today. Besides the Geo magic, he couldn’t even discern its signature to remember it for the future. It seemed intentionally distorted, making it impossible to gauge the true power of the spell. And it was indeed substantial, considering that neither the Anemo Archon nor the sky dragon could break the chains after so many attempts.

"You’re tired, Venti."

The bard hummed in response to the obvious statement.

"You are too, Zhongli."

He smiled, giving a gentle pat on the other's shoulder.

"That’s why we shouldn’t linger here any longer."

Before Venti could rise, considering the reasonable point, his feet were lifted off the ground, and his body was enveloped in a pleasant warmth.

"You’re really not yourself today."

Nevertheless, Barbatos didn’t object, settling more comfortably in the other’s arms.

Chapter Text

The echo of heavy chains bounces off the walls. Artificial light seeps through her eyelids like a mist, and in the darkness of the empty room, muffled breathing can be heard. The weight of the earth above presses down on the frail shoulders of the girl. She tosses and turns, trying to draw in more of the stale air, but each time she is pulled back by the chains that bind her.

"Mondstadters," the man peers at her delicate, pale face. His attention drifts somewhere beyond her, somewhere she cannot see, "When faced with danger, their first instinct isn't to find safety, but to seek out the wind."

Her skin chills under his piercing gaze. Her skin yearns for the warmth of the summer sun it once felt. Her skin realizes with horror that it is tearing like parchment under the weight of the stones, releasing precious blood that her heart, tirelessly like a mother tending to her child, has been pumping through her body. And there is nothing she can do about it.

In her blue eyes, fear sparkles like a spark from a fire. The shards of flames in his hands dance in shifting patterns on the rough gray walls. She swallows, and a lump forms in her throat, bound by steel.

Suffocating is terrifying. Suffocating is worse than being burned or crucified at the Church's doorstep. Barbara does not want to suffocate, just as she does not want to sever her connection with Lord Barbatos. So she inhales with all her strength, through the pain, her lips barely whispering incoherent words.

He looks down at the girl sitting before him, his amber eyes revealing thoughtfulness and nothing more — they are as cold as ice in the firelight.

"Please..." her strained voice is interrupted by the clinking of metal, "Sir... my sister is worried".

She is going to die. She is incredibly thirsty or at least wishes she could feel her Vision nearby. And she is so, so hungry, but the one standing before her seems to have no concern for this at all. Barbara cannot know what he wants.

Barbara was taught hundreds of lessons on self-defense, on hypothetical situations where she might be kidnapped. Because being a member of the Gunnhildr clan and sister of the current Grand Master, it was bound to happen eventually.

But when it actually happened, nothing she had learned helped. Words were lost, movements scattered, resistance was futile — she knew how to heal, but not how to fight.

No, no, she knew nothing, otherwise, she would have been able to help poor Albert, who had rushed to her aid. He was brave, and she…

She is going to die, and Jean will cry because her little sister is even more foolish than Albert.

“Sister?” the stranger replies quietly, “How good your relationships?”

Barbara breathes heavily and lifts her head.

Holy Winds, let this be just a treasure hoarder, and let it all be resolved with a ransom, "My sister will miss me... Please, don't do this! Lord Barbatos will not accept innocent blood! Spare me!"

The corners of the man's lips twitch, his brows barely furrowing. He slowly lowers himself to her eye level, running his fingers along her exposed neck. The pastor's body trembles weakly, exhaustion felt in every muscle.

“Indeed, Barbatos does not favor mortal blood,” he says, strangely matter-of-fact, turning her head from side to side. He doesn't even seem to be looking at her anymore, just searching for something else, something unknown to Barbara, “You must have had a serious quarrel the last time you met with your sister. You probably wouldn't want to see each other right now. But despite that, she surely cannot imagine her life without you. Can she?”

The pastor shrugs her shoulders. The stranger’s fingers feel unbearably hot through his thick gloves. She wants to cry. Maybe that would humanize her in the eyes of her captor? The only thing she knows how to do is be kind. Cute star of Mondstadt.

But it’s hard to be kind cutie in a dusty, gloomy room without windows and only a single door, which is not even visible in the dimming light. How can one even try to be one before a cruel, immoral killer like him?

She is prone to romanticism. Prone to idealizing. She is a child of Mondstadt, and her patron is the Anemo Archon, to whom she has pledged her will.

“I’ve got my answer. You don’t need to trouble yourself,” his voice is quiet, precise, and eerily calm. Something about it soothes her, yet worries her just as much. It’s like being caught between two fires, just as the embers from his hands fall to the stone floor, “Are you sure of her? Your sister allowed such an unfortunate situation by letting you be on your own after an emotional shock. If she truly cared for you, she should have kept a close watch and protected you. How can you trust her if she doesn’t care about you?”

“That’s not true!” she snaps, immediately pulling herself back. What is she doing? Yelling? She can't! She can’t provoke a criminal when he’s right in front of her.

A few seconds pass in a suffocating silence. It feels like he could decapitate her at any moment with a hidden blade or break her neck with his bare hands. She is so scared, so unwell, that all she can focus on is the phantom hum of silence in her ears and the painful weakness in her lungs.

The man closes his eyes and stands up. The candle in his hand dissolves, leaving a trail of smoke behind and a faint glow in his amber eyes. A glow... who is he?

“The fact that you’re here is entirely your sister’s fault. Why do you defend her?” he asks again in a measured, soft tone, “I’ll give you time to think about your answer. Next time, you must tell me without any unnecessary sentimentality. All I need from you is honesty. Do you agree?”

Barbara felt the words cutting through her dry throat. The realization that she has no choice here is as clear as it is unbearably oppressive: "I agree…”

The sound of a door slamming shut and the clatter of locks echoed through the room.

Her exhausted body barely trembled with dry sobs. For the bearer of a Hydro Vision, there is nothing worse than helpless dehydration.

“Lord Barbatos, for a child of the City of Freedom there is nothing worse than no longer feeling the grace of your winds. May your music help me endure all the trials of fate… may the guilty find repentance, and may the souls of the innocent find peace.”

***

"Lost consciousness during a prayer?" Zhongli cast a cold glance at the motionless body. The girl’s lips still barely moved, forming the shapes of words filled with care.

No, even now, she was still aware of what was happening. Still in her right mind, a strong mortal.

"Can you hear me? Lift your head. I hope you’ve had enough time to gather your thoughts."

Barbara forced her eyes open. The natural blue of her eyes had faded from exhaustion—they reflected the soft golden light from an unknown source. In the dim, warm glow, the entire basement room looked golden… and unbearably suffocating. She could no longer make out the face of her captor; her weary eyes, dulled by the perpetual darkness, could only react to colors, blurring all unnecessary contours.

"You’re wrong… my sister isn’t like that," the hoarse, barely coherent words escaped her lips. The man chuckled quietly before she recoiled at her unintentional rudeness. He didn’t even scold her with a look from his amber eyes. It felt as if he had expected such an answer, "My older sister… she’s been protecting me since we were children, when others would hurt me, when our parents argued. She supports me when I’m sad, even if I can’t repay her in any way, and she has so much work where I’m just a burden…"

Her vision sharpened slightly. Barbara noticed with some surprise how attentively the stranger was listening to her faltering voice.

"And she always respects my decisions and values the freedom of her friends… and subordinates. Jea-," she cut herself off with a dry cough. She shouldn’t be so careless in revealing her sister’s name; she was already saying too much. Does he already know it? Where… is she now? "My sister only wants what’s best for all of us. I don’t think she can be blamed if things don’t always work out. That’s not right. Lord Barbatos taught us not to fear making mistakes, to live in peace, and to support each other. And I love her very much, and she loves me. She’s probably very worried about me right now and just wants everyone to be safe."

A slight nod in the dim light and the thoughtful closing of his eyes confirmed that he had received the answer he sought. Zhongli rubbed his chin with his fingers, raising his gaze to the ceiling.

Nothing remarkable, as far as humans go. Just the usual familial attachment from a young age.

"You don’t need to hide any names. I’m well informed, Barbara," the man said simply, in that same even tone. Gradually, this was driving her mad. "Have you ever suspected the acting Grand Master of any major or personal betrayal?"

"Never!" she responded sharply, the chains clanging. Morax rested his head on his hand, waiting. The young girl, once again, succumbing to her emotions. "Forgive me, but… I don’t believe it. Whatever you say, I won’t believe it. My sister is not a traitor, and even if she were, she certainly knows what she’s doing, and she’s doing it for a noble cause that the Lord Himself would support!"

He sighed, tapping his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair.

"Well, your stance is clear to me," Zhongli concluded, leaning in a bit closer. The girl squirmed on her knees under his heavy gaze,  "I’ve learned enough about your relationship. I give you my word that I won’t use this information directly to harm your sister."

"Please…" the girl exhaled, feeling her chafed skin grow warm and slightly numb. A bad sign — her weakened body wouldn’t be able to protect itself if exposed wounds opened up in this filthy, dusty room. "She’ll be very upset if she doesn’t find me safe… we can give you whatever you want. If you show mercy and let me go, I promise: I won’t tell anyone—anyone about you!"

Golden sparks fell to the floor from his fingers, only further emphasizing the coldness in his demeanor, "The holy winds will still punish all those impure of soul. And they will protect a thousand bright children who strive for freedom."

She had definitely been mistaken when she naively thought she could be sweet in front of a killer. Young girls are prone to idealizing what they don’t want to see with all their hearts. This… man wasn’t here to atone for his sins. It was certain — he wouldn’t feel any kinship or simple human compassion for her.

But would that change his intentions anyway?

"And is this the purity of your faith, pastor?" his question echoed off the walls, returning as a throbbing pain in her head, "You call upon the Archon to protect your mortal life when you find yourself in a disadvantageous situation? As a pastor of the well-known Mondstadt Cathedral dedicated to Barbatos, you should know that he despises the presence of vile blood. He detests unblessed, cramped spaces and cannot bear the cries of people. Stop binding him to your problems."

Barbara involuntarily holds her breath — the shackles bite into her warm, bloodied skin like a thin, choking noose. The stranger's voice remains as calmly terrifying as before, soft, almost whispering. The golden glow illuminates his indifferent face and seems to seep into her lungs, chasing away the last traces of dry air.

Her eyes dart around frantically, unable to suppress the rising panic. This isn’t real.

This isn’t happening here and now, and that light isn’t coming from those strange, incomprehensible chains, and certainly not from his hands.

No, no… He touches her cheek, forcing her to restore the terrifying and chilling eye contact that makes her heart race with dread. She squints her eyes, exhaling heavily. Her vision is so strangely sharp that it hurts to look, and her head spins.

"Do you want your sister to always be by your side, never letting you, a foolish girl, go alone again?" he suddenly asks a new question. Barbara feels like there isn’t enough oxygen to think clearly. She would give anything for all of this to be just a bad dream, brought on by enemies of the winds, and for poor Albert to be alive and well. "Do you want to hug her right this moment?"

Without thinking, the girl nods, clutching her hands to her anxiously trembling chest. She doesn’t have the strength to speak.

Right now, she would hug Jean so tightly, forgive her for all the grievances, and never again call her stubborn or narrow-minded. She would kiss Albert on the cheek and hug him too, and she would never, ever push him away again.

Is this punishment for her sins?

The stranger notes something in her response and seems satisfied, as if her silent answer has pleased him. The shackles loosen slightly, and her exhausted body sags into them, like a faded doll.

"Excellent," the man sighs with restrained satisfaction. In the dim light, something faintly resembling a smile appears on his lips. Could there still be a chance that this terrifying killer… might actually show mercy?

A heavy hand rests on her head, slowly stroking her disheveled hair.

"So much talk about Barbatos. I haven’t met such devout people in a long time... or perhaps..?" Her cheeks flush with tireness. Barbara feels not embarrassment but a painful heat and the stifling atmosphere of the windless cellar, "Oh, you’re not just a believer in the Archon of the lands that gave you life. How dare you use His mercy for your own purposes?"

"The Lord’s word is His divine law, not because it is His will, but because He brings only light and peace to our minds, free from prejudice towards our brothers and sisters," she whispers with trembling lips. The golden light flows heavily, scorching her hair and neck. He pulls at the faded strands, forcing her to lift her tired gray-blue eyes, "May the Thousand Winds protect the sinful, bringing them repentance. May His law guide us, and if this is a test of His will, our trust will be in accepting it."

Zhongli releases her, tapping his fingers idly on the arm of his chair. Her faith is unwavering but extremely… unclean.

"Don’t blame Barbatos for your pity," he coldly states, effortlessly deciphering her words in the dim light, "And it’s pointless to blame me as well. Channel all your resentment towards your older sister, whose irresponsibility has put you here."

His breath burns her skin like the most cruel and close sun. The gray tears in her eyes barely reflect hope, scattering onto the rocky floor with the sparks of noble metal.

Her captor is surprisingly calm, and she trembles faintly with the thought that he is anyone but human. And does not know mercy for innocent person

"When you pray," his fingers press painfully on her back, somewhere under the shoulder blades, between the ribs, pressing hard, "Choose your words carefully and make sure my angel doesn’t hear your disgusting screams."

The outlines of objects blend into chaotic, sinful clouds of dust and darkness. Barbara blinks her wet eyelashes. Salt burns her skin. She… is truly going to die today. It… doesn’t really matter.

Her faith will not falter from the words of this terrible, wicked criminal; it is the last thing she has left.

And somewhere behind the murderer, her vision clearly distinguishes a thin, smooth thread… of turquoise.

"Lord…" gentle, pleasant music inspires and soothes. It helps her drift into a long, painless sleep, "Barbatos…"

The blade effortlessly pierces through the bones, painting the clear golden walls with innocent blood. The last breath escapes her chest with an unpleasant wheeze.

Morax glances indifferently at the lifeless body and soon rises, brushing off his hands.

Venti has no use for such insignificant, hypocritical followers.

Everything that was underground will remain underground. Now, he needs to change clothes and consider a few new ideas.