Chapter Text
He woke to the pungent stench of fear on the wind.
Waking to the feeling of a head full of wool and heavier than stone was unpleasant, to say the least. The winds, sensing his return, stirred in urgency, rushing to answer the call of their god. They swirled and coalesced, solidifying into the form of a long-forgotten bard clad in viridian and white. Pure, unbridled Anemo brimmed at the tips of his hair and depths of his eyes, the divine essence of a deity leaking through the illusion. Within moments, a boyish youth floated in the space where mortals dreamed to reach, high in the reaches of the skies above Mondstadt.
Well, what had once been Mondstadt in an age long gone.
The remnants of the old city sprawled beneath him like a skeleton picked clean by time. Once, these spires had sung with wind and life; now they stood crumbled and hollow, their stones gnawed away by centuries and silence. Strange, glowing seals clung to fractured buildings like scabs, and at the city’s edge; a violent magical barrier twisted and shimmered, barring entry as though the ruins themselves had turned hostile. The atmosphere was choked with wrongness. Even without concentrating, he could feel it in the way the air currents broke — jagged, disturbed, barely holding together.
How long had he been asleep this time? What had disturbed the bones of his old home?
Most importantly… what had woken him up?
He got his answer when a torrent of pleas and cries slammed into him like a hammer to the skull.
Lord Barbatos have mercy!
Save us!
What in the wretched abyss–?
The winds whirled in chaos, thick with frantic prayers too raw to be mistaken for anything else. He nearly choked on the despair and terror bleeding into his mind — bitter, desperate — as he heard people, his people, cry for salvation.
Then came the stench. A turbulent gust brought with it the unmistakable tang of blood – fouled, metallic, fresh.
Somewhere, something — or far too many someones — was bleeding.
And in that moment, it became impossible to fight the chill sliding down his spine.
Screw this.
Drawing on the Gnosis, he reached deep and cast his awareness outward, as far as his powers would allow. There was simply not enough time to gather information the normal way.
If something was causing this much turbulence — spilling so much blood he could taste it while miles above in the goddamned sky — then he would take any shortcut to find out what in the blazes was happening. Somewhere, even higher than where he was now, he swore he could feel a smug chuckle at his expense.
Well damn them.
And their high horses.
Or whatever the hell they rode in on.
With dizzying speed, his awareness stretched to the cardinal points of the land and sky, an invisible blanket of energy unfurling across the breadth of his domain. Anchored by the ancient pillars of the Four Winds, his senses merged with the currents that flowed over every hill, valley and ruin.
A twinge settled in his chest. Everything felt… different. Off-kilter. The winds had shifted in ways that only centuries could explain.
He had slept too long.
But there would be time to mourn that later.
Images, scents, and sounds flashed past, too many, too fast, until—
Shit!
He barely had time to recoil when a brilliant, furious lance of Anemo exploded in his face.
All too quickly, his confusion was replaced with pain — burning, searing pain spreading across the skin on his mortal guise.
This was wrong.
Anemo shouldn’t even be able to touch him, much less burn with the fury of hellfire. As he reeled from the improbability of Anemo damaging him, the Anemo Archon, a shadow fell over him.
A maw — vast, jagged, and far too close — opened wide enough to swallow him whole.
Dvalin.
A tainted, bone-chillingly familiar sensation crawled over his skin at the sight. Viridian scales were stained with fouled blood. Wingbeats too heavy to be his. Eyes glazed over in unfocused fury and pain.
Suddenly, it made perfect sense why a wind-borne blast had nearly blown him out of the sky.
Oh no.
Dvalin threw his head back and roared, madness and fury shrouding his form in a bitter, toxic miasma. Instincts screamed at his body to move and the wind god quickly dispersed his form, narrowly avoiding getting split in two by dragon claws the length of pillars. Massive wings eclipsed the moon above, and with one powerful, debilitating gust Dvalin disappeared, with the lingering darkness of his abyssal taint being the only evidence that he was ever there.
This… was not going to be an easy situation to untangle.
Surprisingly, Barbatos’ first call to action wasn't to charge after his draconic friend.
His last remaining friend, the one roaring in pain, shrieking in agony, confused and hurt and leaking tainted blood all over the plains—
He shelved the panic away for the moment, even as anxiety-ridden prayers continued to pour in and mingle with his frayed thoughts. He may not be renowned in history for his skills as a tactician, but he has survived wars twice over and so he knows a little something called ‘gathering your wits’.
Zipping to the various ancient domains, he steeled himself to touch base with what remained of the Four Winds, if only to get a more detailed lay of the land. Contrary to whatever mortals may think, his Gnosis was not a source of omniscience.
And too much has changed. The lands looked extremely different from what he last remembered.
The ancient wards around the Gunnhildr estate remained strong, their groundskeepers tending to the constructs as fervently as the day they were established. The great oak stood proudly in place, something which relieved him to no end. Dvalin’s perch in the mountains was, unsurprisingly, abandoned. Andrius’ arena was last, and the old wolf spirit materialised as he touched down, eyeing the wind god with a deeply melancholic glint in his otherwise icy gaze.
“If even you have been roused, Lord Barbatos, then...” the wolf spirit sighed sadly, his breath streaming out as a fine, chilly mist. “It is certain. Dvalin has truly abandoned his post and lost his mind.”
“He is not yet a lost cause,” the Anemo Archon insisted. “I will free him.”
More anxious prayers flitted into his mind, and Barbatos struggled not to incline his ear. He needed to stay focused.
“How?” Andrius wondered, and it was hard to not feel despair at the justified disbelief in his tone. “You possess knowledge to undo a corruption that has felled the gods before you?” His eyes flicked to the skies briefly in worry. “A corruption that even they avoid?”
“I have to try something,” Venti muttered. The methods that came to mind were pitifully few, shamefully crude and wildly dangerous — both for Dvalin and himself. He could not even be sure that they would work. But he’s an Archon, and pulling off miracles is technically part of his purview. He had to trust that for all the difficulties it has brought, his two millennia of godhood would not be completely useless at navigating this latest challenge.
Even if the last instance of dealing with the Abyss ended with widespread death and destruction for both man and divine.
Yeah, it was probably best not to think about that.
Andrius gave him a knowing glance. “Barbatos...”
“I promise I will be careful, old friend.” It was probably the only promise he could keep.
The heavy sigh that the old wolf released nearly froze the edges of his cloak solid. “My apologies,” he intoned gravely. “Had I more strength, I could help shoulder the risk.”
The smile he returned was genuine and filled with warmth. “I know. But as I do not hold it against you, so too should you not do so for yourself.” He reached out towards the windswept tufts of fur, his fingers grazing icy aether as they phased through the spirit’s form. “You have done your part for Mondstadt enough.”
He tried his best not to imagine what it must have been like for the wolf, to watch a comrade lose their senses and descend into madness. To stew and simmer, unable to leave his post while the lands he pledged to protect burned. To question his ultimate sacrifice, wondering if he had chosen wrong to relinquish his power when it could have helped to prevent such a downfall. To wait in place; alone, unheard, while the only other possible being that could stop this remained in unknowing, slumbering stasis.
The shame burned Venti like fire.
Slate-blue eyes glowed with warning. “You would be wise to take your own advice, it seems.”
He stuck his tongue out at the wolf. “Did you suddenly develop clairvoyance while I was asleep?”
“No. Merely a keener eye for detail,” he answered matter-of-factly. “In light of that, is there anything I can do for you, Lord Barbatos?”
“Tell me everything that’s happened.”
So the old wolf did. Of how the city of humans found their footing in the wake of his last intervention. Of the ebb and flow of peace, and Dvalin’s eventual rejection by the very people he swore to protect, the first act that would drive him into the clutches of darkness. Finally, he told of the turmoil on the winds and the encroaching miasma on the lands, of Dvalin’s festering corruption feeding its strength and it feeding his erosion in turn.
“I have tried to reason with him,” Andrius growled. “But that child would not listen. Now, his fury bars him from heeding my call while his power poisons the old temples and terrorises the people. Were my influence not bound here, I would track him down even to the edge of the Haar islands to bring my teeth to his neck.”
He did not doubt the spirit’s words. Andrius in his prime would likely have smote the skies to bring Dvalin down. His heart ached at the thought. “Has he hurt the people?”
Andrius pawed the ground uncomfortably. It chilled the god’s blood like ice. “At least their young can find shelter under my wards,” the spirit rumbled after a moment’s silence.
The bard lowered his head into his hands. “This cannot continue.”
The wolf spirit’s expression turned pensive. “No, it cannot. Whatever preparations you must make, I suggest you make so with haste. And please.” He affixed him with a solemn look. “Be careful, Barbatos. A storm brews on the horizon, and I do not wish for its poison to claim the mind of another friend.”
He dearly hoped so too. There were so scant few left of beings he could call friends, after all.
She woke to the caustic tang of salt on the wind.
Gold eyes blinked blearily as hazy vision swam sluggishly into focus; the soupy, kaleidoscopic mess of colours slowly resolving into the sight of an unfamiliar sky. Her limbs, lead-like and trembling with fatigue, burned with a bone-deep ache as they heeded lazily to her call. Movement became a strenuous endeavour, and the rough ground beneath her rewarded her struggle with pinpricks of pain across her skin. A dull, noisy roar echoed overhead; cutting through the cottony, overstuffed sensation in her brain that pressed into the back of her skull and throbbed painfully behind her eyes.
No, not a roar, she surmised. It was too regular, too rhythmic to simply be noise.
Cold seeped into her skin as she took in her surroundings. Nothing she laid eyes on sparked familiarity; not the foamy waves rolling ashore, not the jagged cliffs that loomed overhead, and most certainly not the empty, nondescript stretch of stone and sand she was on. She shivered as a gust of wind, wet and icy, blew by. Exposed, uncertain and disoriented — years of finely-honed instincts warned that she was basically a sitting duck if she did not get her ass moving.
She lurched forward, the movement causing the world to spin. Nausea and pain washed over her in equal measure. Stars, what could have made her like this? She hasn’t been this thoroughly debilitated since that accident in her youth, when inexperience had sent her into a dizzying freefall that ended in an unceremonious crash into a mountain face-first.
Oh, that idiot sibling of hers had laughed his blonde ass off then—
Cold turned to ice.
Mind exploding into a panic, she instinctively reached out toward the celestial spark within; the part of her that was as old as the stars that spun in the cool, teal skies of her birthplace. It was one of the few constants that she could carry with her from land to land — a tether to the only other being she could call home amidst her nomadic journey across the celestial atlas.
It was with muted, gut-plunging horror that she came up empty.
She dove deep within her, scrambling and clawing after whatever threads of starsparks she could. Gold, aetherial light that should have bloomed at her call and filled her with the familiar hum of celestial resonance was nowhere to be found. Instead, what she got was a fizzled, weakened flash of stellar sparks; no brighter than the pathetic flecks of cosmic dust that blew helplessly through the solar winds of her birthplace.
A sharp crack of pain shot through her, sending her crumpling into the sand with a pitiful groan. Her throat burned as she rasped in agony.
And the memories came flooding in.
Skies darkened by towers of smoke. The smell of ash on the wind. Panicked cries and desperate screams permeating the air. A heavy, ominous miasma covering the earth. Alien darkness reeking of death and madness, poisoning the mind and warping the body. Adrenaline pumping through her as she weaved through valleys, storm clouds and lightning. Traps everywhere while hunting dogs nipped at her heels. Just a bit further, she told herself then. Just a bit more and we’re free.
Soft eyes of gold, the only across the myriads of worlds to mirror to her own, boring desperately into hers as they ran. Searching for hers at every turn, burning with defiance at each obstacle.
The same soft eyes of gold, wide with shock and fear, smothered by a torrent of black and red fueled by the cold indifference of a furious god.
She lifted her voice and wailed.
If the millennia spent as a nomad has taught her anything, it was that you can’t tackle a problem if you’re incapacitated or dead. Ergo, the best way to begin the process of seeking solutions was to prolong your survival enough to get on your feet.
So she did.
Agonisingly slowly, but she did.
Days turned into weeks as she ran through her mental checklist like the last several thousand times she’s done so: Shelter. Water. Warmth. Food. Security. Each sounding stupidly simple in theory, but far more difficult in practice while convalescing, stripped of one’s abilities and working with fragmented memories. It was, she noted bitterly, a lot tougher going about alone when you’ve spent your entire lifetime sharing the physical and mental demands of surviving.
But it wasn't her first rodeo either. There were worlds they’ve visited where remaining incognito and appearing mundane was as crucial to their lives as breathing. Encounters that got them so embroiled in trouble that survival actually became a challenging endeavour.
Granted, she was rarely ever this incapacitated — few things truly had the power to damage them to such an extent. Such was the boon of those born of the stars, of those who embodied the boundless vitality and enduring might of the cosmos. They were Travelers — beings built to wander the vast atlas of the universe and endure the harshest conditions existence could conjure.
Yet, her predicament was a sobering reminder that they were not the largest fish in the proverbial pond. They were by no means weak; there were plenty of places where their abilities could have let them walk as gods among men. But the universe was vast, more vast than any mind could hope to imagine. And for every giant star that could pull entire systems of planets into its orbit, there would be a titan dwarfing it with its radiance and subsuming the giant under a cosmic path of its own.
For what were Travelers — survivalist extraordinaires — compared to gods that could breathe and shape entire spheres of existence into being?
And what a bitter reminder that was as she hauled herself across pitifully small distances with trembling legs and tired steps. But true to her nature, she was a survivor. She was made of stars, built to endure.
Even at its nadir, a star can still burn bright.
And so she fought on. Steadily, strength returned where it once fled. The haze of exhaustion receded, with clarity and sharpness taking its place. Every day, she ventured further from her shelter, transitioning from gathering to hunting. She even picked up a dull, discarded blade amidst a cluster of rocks. It was nothing compared to her missing personal weapon, but it was a useful addition to her otherwise pitifully lacking arsenal of flightlessness and fists.
Eventually, she was able to gather enough strength to go beyond surviving and into the first step of exploration. With a deep breath, she breached the line of trees that has served as her imagined boundary for weeks on end.
What greeted her stole her breath away.
The sky — now unbroken — hung far above her head like an infinite canvas of blue dotted with white. Before her was now a vast, seemingly endless expanse of verdant green and rolling hills. A warm breeze brushed past, rustling her scarf and carrying the scent of dew and wildflowers. Soft, loamy soil shifted underneath her footsteps as she strode through the tall grass, her movements sending little creatures scampering away. A massive mountain loomed in the distance, its summit ringed with dense clouds and illuminated by strange lights.
The land was nature unbound and unrestricted. It was vibrant, alive and most interestingly, absolutely teeming with magic. With her senses now restored, she could feel the foreign energy thrumming in the air and permeating the earth; even flowing through the various creatures that wandered about within her field of view. Her own cosmic essence hummed along with the dense matrix of energy about her, ready to resonate with the steady flow of magic. The wonders and possibilities such a world must have, with magic this responsive and pervasive.
An absolute pity then, that she must experience such awed musings by herself. The pang of sadness hit her like a gut punch, and her chest clenched painfully in answer.
She took a steadying breath. Her brother still lived, of this she was certain. Their tether was suppressed but not smothered, weakened but not broken. She cannot pinpoint where he is — that ugly, annoying seal keeping the rest of her powers at bay — but the small, nearly insignificant pulse of gold that was uniquely his was proof that he was alive.
He is here. She just needed to find him.
The enormity of it all sent a bolt of trepidation jolting down her spine. There was no telling how long the process of searching would take. Not to mention what she would encounter in a land overflowing with so much magical energy.
She will have to seek help, somehow. There was only so much she could do with her limited knowledge, so much ground she could cover by her lonesome. Add to that the fact that she could not tell how much time had already passed since… She could only hope in her brother’s bull-headed determination, cunning wits and sturdy constitution.
Wait for me, brother. I will find you.
She does not consider herself a particularly vengeful being. Generally, she preferred to use her gifts to help others and pave the way for the next adventure rather than grasp for whatever passed for justice. And experience has repeatedly proven that it was ultimately wiser to live and let live, so as to not stir the pot too much.
On the other hand, her brother did point out that wisdom wasn’t always her greatest strength.
For despite what wisdom says about how terrible of an idea it would be, she knows that when she finds the god that took him away, there is little that can stop her from throwing the first punch.
And it would be absolutely worth it.
The first time the wind carried news of her, she was a disembodied voice adrift in a sea of noise.
Venti the bard stood in the clearing, letting the breeze wash over him. The air was silent save for the rustling of leaves and grass, and heavy with the scent of dew. The open space within the cluster of forest gave free reign for wind to blow, and he could feel his strength bolstering with each comforting breeze that flowed by.
Anxious prayers continued to be carried to him, filling his ear with a worried buzz. His people were not yet soothed, and how could they be? Dvalin still haunted their waking hours, his madness bearing a promise of violence and destruction among them.
Fear not, little ones.
Pulling up Der Frühling, he ran practised fingers across the strings, playing an airy melody of breezy lightness and summer’s warmth. The winds stirred and danced to his tune, ever obedient to the call of their god, and the air about him blossomed with a dense influx of pure Anemo. Careful to modulate the appropriate tones, he weaved the incoming energies into a series of sigils and runes, transforming the empty clearing into a temporary domain under his control.
The art of domain construction was an ancient one that mainly saw use in times long past. Times where carving out even the smallest of areas of control amidst the tumult of war could mean the difference between life and death. With luck, this domain would be able to serve as a strong enough anchor for his plan, and not share in the bloody history that the construct was known for.
It would spell disaster if the city were to lose their god on his first direct attempt at cleansing the rampaging dragon.
Technically, he could have asked for help. Even after his long absence, there were still the faithful few — quiet voices drifting amidst terrified ones, asking for purpose instead of safety, offering to build a solution rather than begging for one. If only he would just reach out to answer them; one word, and they would move in his name.
But that was precisely why he couldn’t.
This was his mess. And thus, his alone to solve.
If losing a god would spell disaster, then losing them — the mortals who still wanted to help, even after everything — would be unforgivable.
Satisfied with the settling of the sigils, he turned to altering his tune once more. Strumming faster, he funneled more Anemo energy into the little domain, the lively tune bidding the energy to build until the very air around him began to glow with concentrated power.
With his usual connection to Dvalin blocked by abyssal influence, and without the focused power of Der Himmel, it became much harder to sound the call that would summon his longtime friend. Thus, all that was left was to use the most brute-force way possible to get his attention.
He hoped that the Vision wielders within the city wouldn’t get too much of a heart attack from what he was about to do. The swell of Anemo surged about him as it continued to build, resonating and amplifying until the energies rose into a crescendo. With one final flick he lets them go, generating an invisible and silent but massive burst of energy.
Please come, friend.
With an additional glide across the strings, he directed a lingering breeze that resulted from his burst to blow over a nearby dandelion field and sent it towards the city. A sea of white swirled and danced in the currents, the fluffy seeds floating higher and higher, eventually floating over the skies of Mondstadt.
It would hardly count for much in the grand scheme of things, but it was the least he could do in answer to soothe the fears of the mortals that called his lands home.
I’m here. I’m still listening.
The buzzing worry on the winds melted into mild surprise and relief as his people noticed the sea of dandelion seeds drifting over their heads. That was comforting at least.
Don’t worry, I’ll put an end to this soon.
Now, with his tune finished and position carried to the skies, all he had to do was wait.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a single, gentle voice on the wind. Another prayer to him, though this one originated from one of his statues, not from the city nor abodes that littered the land. That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary — there were various reasons for people to pray to him while out in the wilds. This disembodied voice was merely another one in a sea of voices that called upon his name.
I am a sojourner of these unknown lands.
Well then.
A strong undercurrent of sorrow flowed within that statement, tinging the words with a heavy, weighty sadness. It was a despair that only came with a great loss or significant upheaval, the kind that would completely upend a person’s world. And yet, there was an underlying steel beneath the declaration, one that caught his attention and heeded him to take pause.
I have neither offering nor tribute, only my person. If the god of wind would not consider it a sin to incline their ear, I humbly plead that they extend this mercy.
He wondered how long ago it has been since he had last received such a formally worded and impersonal prayer, if ever. Not even the most pious of sisters in the Cathedral spoke their supplications with such caution. The only time he has ever heard such detached formality was on the lips of Decarabian’s most devout, and they poured out words that were meant to soothe and avoid offence as far as possible.
That made him sputter. The last he checked he was certainly not a tyrant, and he had taken great pains to ensure that his — mostly — good repute was properly recorded in the annals of Mondstadt and its church. So either this person was being deliberately obtuse, or they spoke truly.
His curiosity piqued, he decided to allow his awareness to flow into his statue. He had to see for himself this curious individual that spoke with such formality, whose words held in equal parts sorrow and steel.
What greeted him was the sight of a girl clad in ivory and blue. Gold tresses crowned her head, which was bowed in reverence while a single, slender hand rested on the cool stone of his statue. Her features were refined and soft, brimming with youthful radiance not unlike that of the ladies of old, before the aristocracy began their descent into decadent madness. Gold eyes burned bright with determination, even as she bore words tinged with intense sorrow and uncertainty.
Nonetheless, he could not ignore the distinct thread of starlight that hummed within her. It was unlike anything he had ever seen; not like the blazing brightness of the sun that hung over them both, and certainly not like the cool rays of moonlight that bathed the lands at dusk. It was a soft, warm glow of celestial gold, deeper than the lustre of her hair and ethereal like the constellations that peppered the skies.
The visage that beheld those words of prayer was young indeed, but only the blind would mistake that essence for anything but ancient and otherworldly.
An outlander.
He should be cautious of such entities. Their appearance usually heralded the onset of titanic shifts in the natural order and he already has his hands very full, thank you very much. But there was something about this particular one that gave him pause. Her beauty and presence was breathtaking to behold, but it also tugged at him, filling him with a deep nostalgia. It was like gazing through clouded glass, staring at an image more vision than flesh — less like reality and more the lilting notes of a half-forgotten ode, the still-frames of a half-remembered dream. It drew his notice and held his attention; millennia of honed instincts nagging him to regard her with interest rather than suspicion.
Perhaps it was the vulnerability in her expression, the echo of a trauma so deep it left a tangible imprint on her spirit. Perhaps it was the undertone of steel that belied her soft appearance — noble fire burning beneath her celestial light, like the tragic notes of a battle hymn that refused to die. Or perhaps it was the sheer fortuity of her emergence in a time where a growing disturbance was bleeding into the ley lines of the earth itself. Her appearance right now of all times could not be a coincidence. She was mysterious; a unique entity even in a land full of secrets and exceptions.
I seek nothing save for my brother, who was taken from me. The lands remain yours and the fruits of it under your power. Only pray that the god of wind would be willing to grant this one mercy, that I may be guided to my sibling so that we can reunite once more.
His eyes widened when the winds rose in answer, swirling about and flowing from his statue and into her being. Winds that were under his influence, now answering her unvoiced call for strength and aid.
Now that got his full attention.
He observed her fascination, the marvel that coloured her features as she stared at her hands in wonder. Anemo swirled at her fingertips, and the crystals that adorned her raiment glowed with the signature teal of his element. Instead of the typical rush that came with the culmination of a person’s struggle for their ideals, where the energies of the world would crystallise in answer to an individual’s exceptional spirit; there was only the silent, muted sensation of resonance. Like she was the magical locus itself, reacting and humming with the elemental energy that resided within his statue and turning herself into an extension of his element’s flow and reach.
Very strange indeed. But then again, where was the surprise in that? She was obviously not of this world, and so it was only logical that she would not be beholden to its rules.
What other rules would she break with her presence here? Why was she here anyway? And why was the sight of her so achingly familiar? There were too many questions. Invisible eyes flicked to the sky above.
A smile blossomed on her face then, and it was a heady rush to behold the gleam of relief in her golden eyes. Like a spark reigniting a dying flame, so was the flash of hope that brightened her expression and made her essence radiate with starlight. It was both mesmerising and distracting to watch, and he could not tear his eyes away. She reached out to touch the stone once more, and he felt more than heard the hopeful gratitude in her words. A warmth bloomed within him in response as the simplest of words were conveyed to him, backed by a depth of sincerity that told of a mirrored depth of pain.
Thank you.
Had he the time, he would have followed her. There was too much mystery in her to ignore. The winds of change now danced at her fingertips, and instinct tugged at him to watch where she would go. But an ominous wind kicked up, snapping him to attention where his physical body was.
Dvalin was approaching.
He steeled himself, finding a strange kinship with the feeling of steel he had observed mere moments ago. With luck, there would be time to seek her out later.
He should have known better than to hope for luck to be on his side.
Just as he established the connection between himself and Dvalin, he felt it. A flare of Anemo, tinged with an otherworldly energy. A gasp, followed by a distinct sound of confusion.
Dvalin freaked.
The dragon launched into a frenzy, roaring and gnashing wildly. Abyssal poison began to pour out of him in droves, tearing at the seams of his minor domain and leaking into their connection. Ancient voices whispering in a long-forgotten tongue filled his mind as the poison seeped into him like an oily shadow, burning his awareness like a raging fire.
Panicking, Venti severed the makeshift link.
To say that it hurt like a sumbitch would be putting it lightly.
The domain was torn to ribbons in seconds. The recoil hit like a brick wall, rattling him to the bone. He barely dodged a swipe that would have split his mortal shell in two, gasping in pain as the corruption licked his nerves raw.
Teal eyes flicked upwards, locking with a pair in gold a distance away, across the clearing.
Domain gone, concentration broken and himself badly tainted, the Anemo Archon had little choice but to make a tactical retreat before the abyss energies overwhelmed him. Dvalin himself seemed to make a similar judgement, taking off in a buffeting flurry of dirt and leaves.
Venti would have words later, once he’d found a way to counteract the poison, the price of his failure. Even if the interruption of his ill-fated ritual had occurred in ignorance.
But barely a scant few hours would pass before Dvalin homed in on the city itself with the rage of a spurned god. Funnelling the disturbed ley flows, the dragon drew the energies into his body as he circled overhead. Moments later, dark, corrupted twisters whirled to life right in the heart of the populace.
The panicked cries of the populace reached him in an instant. Venti charged into the skies, pain searing at the edges of his mind. But he could not stumble now, not with tainted cyclones threatening to rend buildings and launch helpless people into the air.
Drawing on the Gnosis once more, he willed his winds to hold the vortices in place. But Dvalin’s rage burned ever hotter and the tornadoes responded in kind, their abyssal corruption pouring out of the gales. The vortices twisted violently against his hold, threatening to shred his control to pieces.
Another sharp roar and Dvalin’s attention was suddenly drawn away. Even amidst the noisy tumult, it was easy for Venti to hear the panicked yelp from the Traveler as she was dragged into the far reaches of the sky.
Stranger or not, the god of wind was not about to let anyone else come to harm because of this.
Dispersing himself, he mingled seamlessly with his element as he coaxed the north winds into a cyclical updraft. The Traveler, still caught in a helpless tumble, was carried up and away from the worst of the abyssal winds. But Dvalin was relentless, tracking her movements as he weaved in and out of the storm clouds; a winged serpent dancing among violent gales as he stalked his prey. Venti shuddered at the rage and bloodlust in his eyes.
It’s been long since he last saw such an expression on his friend, and the last target of his ire was now lying broken beneath the rocks of Dragonspine.
Yet, the Traveler’s eyes were not dimmed. Unfurling her glider with a defiant snap, she took back control over her sudden ascent, riding the currents with a finesse that spoke volumes.
Dvalin screeched, retaliating with a barrage of attacks. Venti threw his diffused self between her and Dvalin then, desperately deflecting what he could away from them and the city. Pain exploded as the corrosion within him was amplified with the presence of the abyssal miasma within Dvalin’s winds. He hissed as a particularly sharp lance of pain coursed through him, causing his concentration to waver. His hold over the various cyclones below flickered dangerously.
Time — he needed more time. Time to heal his poisoning, time to deal with the tornadoes, time for Dvalin to just calm down for one moment–
But he’s no fool. Time would hardly be on his side, not with so many things happening at once. And the encounter in the clearing has thrown him off far more than he anticipated. Doing battle with Dvalin as he was would spell disaster for himself and the city. His mind raced. The closer he remained to his friend, the worse the pain would become. And yet, if he were to falter or leave now, the cyclones would tear the city apart.
A bolt of shame passed through him. How could a god sworn to protect his people be so weak?
That was when he noticed.
Despite the onslaught of corruption being thrown at her, the Traveler bore little to no signs of being affected. Her expression remained one of determined defiance rather than abject horror, her movements focused and controlled as opposed to maddened and erratic. And amidst the sea of miasmic poison dense enough to visibly cloud the skies; there remained a distinct zone of clarity around her, where the air — while still dangerously violent — appeared almost pure and untouched.
If he didn’t know better, it seemed like her presence was purifying the curses.
Roaring once more, Dvalin opted for a direct attack, jetting forward with his claws outstretched. The Traveler yelped as she plunged into a dive, letting out a string of curses as she lost precious altitude. Sensing her need, Venti closed the distance, letting himself buoy the wings of her glider. Girding himself with the swiftest of his winds, he carried her up and away, propelling her to safety from Dvalin’s lethal swipes.
“What the hell?” She swore in bewilderment. “How?”
Her surprise flickered through her eyes when he, on a whim, chose to answer. “I’m preventing your fall with the power of a thousand winds,” he replied, his voice reverberating through the air currents. “So feel the currents and ride true — don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, more confused than suspicious. She deftly twisted away from another barrage of tainted blasts, and Venti was now certain her presence was actively counteracting the abyssal blight around them. Even the pain that had been burning him abated in her presence, replaced with a dull throb that was far more welcome. Hope blossomed as his mind raced to put together a plan.
“That’s not important for now,” he answered, shifting the winds to steer her out of harm’s way. He couldn’t afford to let her fall here, not with this potential staring him in the face. “But while I keep you aloft, I would ask for a favour, if you would allow.”
“I’m not in the habit of making deals with disembodied voices,” she answered him bluntly with none of the formality that she had prior. A bright lance of energy flew at her, and she instinctively drew up a burst of Anemo to parry the oncoming blast, wincing at the recoil. The ease with which she was wielding his element did not go unnoticed.
Good. That might just make what he was about to ask seem slightly less mad.
“Not a deal, merely a request.” He did his best to keep his tone light. “Protect the city from the dragon’s unrest. Hold him at bay, and keep him suppressed.”
She twisted out of the way of a few more blasts. “You want me to do what?” she asked, disbelief evident in her voice.
“Only enough to repel him, so he will return to his nest. Worry not about the winds – focus on fighting your best.”
“And this is in exchange for my safety?” Wariness laced her reply — and rightly so, for she had no reason to trust him yet.
“Nothing so crass. Your safety is a priority for which you need not ask,” he protested, sweeping her out of the way of another attack in what was hopefully a show of good faith. “But the city is at risk the longer he remains, while his body will unleash his bottled curses should he be slain.” He did not want to even imagine what would happen should Dvalin’s body be critically wounded. For an elemental being like him… the explosion of abyssal power alone would likely level all of Mondstadt and Cider Lake.
For one heart stopping moment, it looked like she would refuse.
“... Very well.”
Relief flooded him at her answer. Steel flashed beneath her eyes as Anemo swirled at her fingertips anew. The frayed threads of his haphazard plan were finally drawing together, and Venti channelled a stream of Anemo energy towards her. The crystals on her garments glowed in response, burning a bright teal.
“Then concentrate," he intoned seriously. “See yourself grasp the wind and harness its energy.”
Reinvigorated, she summoned a surge of Anemo — celestial gold searing through it, burning bright. Plummeting into a dive, she sped at the dragon with a war cry, unleashing her attacks. The resulting thundering booms were rivalled only by the ear-splitting roars from Dvalin.
He forced himself to focus, to pay close attention for the slightest shift in her body to adjust his winds, even as his heart quaked with every pained cry from his friend.
Please Dvalin. He pleaded silently. Please stop.
Mercifully, Dvalin finally fled.
He followed her and the Knights around after, an invisible wisp amidst the winds that blew through the lands. Partly to observe and gather information as he planned his next move, and partly to take advantage of her cleansing presence to purge the poison within him.
As the Traveler began investigating the ancient temples, Venti made note of three crucial things about her.
First, she was tough. As in physically tough. He supposed it was a result of her otherworldly nature, but it was still remarkable to see her match the Cavalry Captain and Outrider stride for stride — as if mortal limits never applied to her. It was also breathtaking, and frankly a little alarming, to watch her weather blows that would easily shatter seasoned soldiers. Not that she was invulnerable; she still bled red, still broke like flesh and bone. But it took far more to keep her down.
Second, she was a very quick study. Despite only having gained the blessings of wind mere days ago, Anemo danced around her fingers like an old friend. And whatever knowledge the Knights shared about the elements, she was able to swiftly put to use. Her bursts of wind quickly found rhythm — turning Amber’s flaming arrows into a veritable firestorm, Kaeya’s icy blasts into a furious blizzard, and Lisa’s crackling static into a sweeping storm of lightning. And yet, nothing ever spun out of control. With the lightness of her feet and a sword that moved like an extension of herself, every encounter turned her into a lethal mix of violent winds and flashing steel. Clubs went flying, and bows turned to splinters as the party tore their way through the disorganised pockets of hilichurls scattered along their route.
He really raised a brow when she conjured a miniature vortex in her palm, her winds dragging her enemies toward her before launching them towards the waiting weapons of the Knights. It was a very close imitation of his own style, only lacking in the raw power that he wielded because of his divinity.
He had to admit it was immensely flattering, even if it was achieved in ignorance. He had to wonder just how she got the inspiration.
Last and most telling was her sense of honour. The girl owed nothing to Mondstadt, and it would have been well within reason for her to comply with Jean’s request to remain behind. She’d just faced down a full-fledged elemental vishap – something few could survive unscathed. Hell, she could easily have walked out on Mondstadt too, citing her quest to locate her lost sibling as too important to waste time being tangled up in a foreign city’s affairs. And the Knights would have let her go. Plenty had walked away from greater disasters for far lesser reasons.
“You are certain you wish to assist in our investigation?” Jean had asked, her stern features drawn up carefully. Free will and consent was paramount in such circumstances.
“I won’t ignore those who are in need,” was her steady reply.
And now here she was nearly two weeks later, hunkering down with the Knights under a small, rocky outcrop. The last of daylight had faded into oblivion, revealing a calmed, starlit sky — the fruits of their hard labour. Her neat locks were a dishevelled mess at this point, while the edges of her dress were stained and singed. She winced as she lay herself on the grass, the action agitating her taxed muscles and wounds. The rest hardly looked any better; their exhausted and battered forms appearing almost haggard against the flickering light of their campfire. The final temple had been treacherous, the group having neared their limits as the investigation pushed them into a third consecutive day of travel and combat with minimal rest.
Wordlessly, he sent a mild breeze toward them, cradling the little group in a soft cocoon of sweet-scented winds. He couldn't help the smile that crept on him as he heard a collective sigh of relief. It’s the least he could do for these children who have fought so tirelessly for his city.
Rest, little ones.
Sleep claimed them all soon after. Venti extended an invisible domain to surround the outcrop, keeping vigil where they could not. Nothing short of Celestia falling from the sky would be allowed to disturb their rest for tonight. He settled at the foot of a distant tree, dozing to the sound of rustling leaves as he regained his strength. Poison lingered in his system still, and so rest was crucial to get him back in form.
When he was roused once more by the stirring of his protective winds, the moon still hung high in the sky. He spotted the Traveler drawing away from the camp, a lone figure stepping just outside the protective boundaries he drew.
He followed, unseen, just in case.
He watched her as she knelt on the grass, muttering in a language he has never heard of. Her slender fingers traced the pale blue feather in her hair as gold flared brightly within her. It was immediately followed by a flash of something ancient, more ancient than she. It smothered her light, drowning the celestial hues in a sea of old, violent magic. Her words grew urgent, almost desperate, as she clawed at the invisible threads of retreating celestial light. But the ancient force was unrelenting, snuffing her light and smothering it with an unyielding malice, until all that was left was the subdued hum of starlight that he had come to associate with her. Hot tears poured down her face then, and she crumpled into the grass, her mutterings turning into sobs.
He didn’t need any language to understand this.
He averted his eyes despite the aching hollowness in him, feeling like every bit of a voyeur for intruding. This wasn’t something he should be seeing.
Yet the anguish in her cries; raw, gut-wrenching and awful, rooted him to the spot like shackles. Each sob torn from her throat twisted an invisible knife in his chest, and every shudder in her shoulders drove the metaphorical blade ever deeper. The moon hung silently overhead, the only audience to her pain as far as she knew.
Unbidden, his mind drifted to Dvalin. Her cries were a mirror of his roars, her tears a reflection of his own bloodied drops. Both were drowning in their sadness, alone in their pain. Both souls tortured with anguish, crying with a desperation for catharsis and comfort.
He’s already failed to soothe Dvalin. The failure mocked him.
Foolish is what Morax would have called him, were he here to witness what he was about to do. Because only a fool would be so tenderhearted, so willing to believe that his actions here would count for anything in the grand scheme of things.
He reached out to the winds, sending a gentle wisp towards her. The winds drifted past her cheek and rustled her still-dishevelled locks, a pale imitation of a gesture that was not his place or right to give.
Don’t cry. He wants to say reflexively. But he has already risked his anonymity with her once. So he settled for letting the wind cup her cheek and dry her tears, to carry his wishes for consolation to her as it drifted past her hair.
It was a hollow comfort, for what use were well-wishes in the face of such pain? And while he did not recognise the ancient magic that has branded itself on her, the whispers of songs from times long past gave him just enough to hazard a guess as to its origins. If that's what she had tangled with…
Then there may be little he can offer in terms of comfort even as an Archon.
He remained with her, an invisible wisp amidst the winds, a fool among gods. Eventually, the sobs quieted and she regained her composure, steel returning to her gaze as she slipped back into the camp with no one the wiser.
When the Knights roused to the aroma of cooked skewers offered with a shy smile, their collective delight was enough to stave off questions about her throaty voice and puffy eyes. The Traveler mingled as they broke camp, her voice a far cry from the raw sobs that had wracked her hours earlier. She laughed once even, and the lilting timbre of her mirth was so pleasant and wildly contrasting Venti momentarily questioned if the despairing sight he had witnessed the night before had been a dream.
She’s definitely tough, he mused. He only hoped it wouldn't turn her brittle.
It was only when Amber, ever reliable and good-hearted, clapped the blonde on the shoulder and reaffirmed their promise to assist her search once Dvalin was dealt with, that she finally allowed herself to break into a genuine smile; even as her eyes shone with hopeful, unshed tears.
He quietly shelved the floaty, untimely warmth that bloomed in him at the sight. It’s a far, far better look on her, even if it wasn’t his place to say so.
When she first felt him on the wind, he was a formless presence amidst a cacophony of chaos.
She should have known trouble would follow after that encounter in the clearing. After all, it was never a good sign whenever beasts reacted violently to one’s presence. And just her luck, it had to be a dragon. She hadn’t even properly set foot in the damn place and already she’s managed to piss off a universal icon of might and power. But for the life of her, she could not think of any possible reason for that to have occurred.
One moment, the proud dragon was the picture of serene grace; its serpentine body stretched artfully across the rocks as a breeze filled the air with the soft, soothing scent of nature. Its viridian scales shimmered in the sunlight, casting an aura of gentle iridescence and captivating beauty over its otherwise imposing stature.
Then, with a sudden shift of the wind, the titanic beast became destruction incarnate; wild and feral, a deadly vortex of teeth and claws. A jarring, stuttering noise began to fill her ears as a dark haze washed over the great beast, smothering its scales in an oily shadow. The darkness pulsed ominously against the air about her; a jagged staccato of static crashing against the otherwise steady hum of natural energy.
The beast rounded on her, turning the blood in her veins to ice as she froze under the intense weight of its frenzied gaze.
Then it roared. Stars above, it was like a dragging million nails against a gigantic chalkboard.
Her heart seized as she scrambled for wings that would not manifest.
But miracle of miracles, the beast fled. She could continue her journey unscathed.
Her eyes suddenly met those of deep, luminous teal. For a single, dizzying moment, it felt like she was staring straight into the vast, comforting skies of her homeland. An avalanche of memories flooded her mind. An exchange of knowing glances, a mischievous curl of a lip. A hearty fireside meal, a gentle ruffling of blonde hair, a blanket of warmth as night fell over the skyward canvas of teal.
Then, it was gone.
It was hard to ignore the gnawing hollowness in her chest as she made her way towards the city, her nerves still frayed from the encounter. Yearning, nostalgia, grief; more than ever Lumine longed desperately to have her brother by her side, for something to anchor her, to stem the crashing tide of emotion threatening to pull her under. The sight of the city — warm, breezy and inviting — did little to ease her tension, as her picturesque surroundings cemented within her a sensation that she had not felt in centuries.
She dearly, sorely, wished to go home.
Paimon, sensing her frazzled mood and tensed silence, offered a reassuring squeeze of her hand. Lumine returned with a weak but grateful smile. She just needed to make it to the end of the day, and let sleep put a close on the day’s happenings. She could pick herself up again once the morning came.
But of course, it seemed like the fates of this world had other plans.
Instinct took over as harsh air currents ripped her from the ground, even as her mind screamed in exasperation at the turn of events. She’s been at home in the skies for far longer than some civilisations have existed, so this blasted dragon was in for a rude awakening if it thought launching her skyward would throw her off.
Control , she told herself, even as her blood roared in her ears. Stay calm, and you stay in control .
It was not as seamless of a transition into aerial movement as she would have liked. The glider — bless Amber and her timely generosity — would save her from becoming a stain on the ground, but it was still nowhere as manoeuvrable as her natural wings. Her mind jumped to the slightly foreign, but easy flow of elemental energy within her. This newfound power over the wind could potentially compensate for the difference.
At least, that’s what she hoped. She has not had a chance to test that idea out because, well, big angry dragon.
On cue, a pair of large, glowing eyes emerged from the depths of the darkened storm clouds. She inhaled once, her gaze sharpening as she stared the furious predator down. Without access to most of her abilities, she had no idea how she was going to fend off something this large.
But it was do or die now, and she was certain that this wouldn’t end until one of them fell.
It was always a bad idea to upset the balance of a world by attacking or worse, killing its native icons of power. But she was not going to allow herself to fall here, not while she still has a mission to accomplish. Her blade blinked into existence, its metallic heft a welcome weight in her hand.
If it must come to that — however insanely impossible it seemed — then so be it.
Yet, just as her skin began to buzz in anticipation of battle, something else caught her attention.
Amidst the ear-bleedingly loud screeches and jagged staccato that she’s come to associate with that shadowy miasma, she heard it. A pitched, keening whine; a tortured lamentation underneath the violent maelstrom of noise. There were no words uttered, no language spoken, but she heard the message all the same.
It hurts.
Again, almost impossibly so, the sound reached her ears. A single voice amidst a vast ocean of noise; a lonely, chilling aria echoing into the void. The sound of it haunted her to her core.
Help me.
Her grip on her blade faltered.
I don’t want to be this way.
What was going on?
Any further thought was thrown into disarray as the air ahead exploded into a blinding flash of teal.
Idiot, idiot!
Had her bout of unconsciousness made her lose her sense of self-preservation? She swiped at her eyes furiously, desperate to blink away the haze of disorientation. It was only the lack of physical pain that assured her that the attack had somehow not found its mark. How that could have missed her would be a mystery for later.
Her heart dropped into her stomach as she righted herself in time to see a set of razor claws the length of pillars aimed straight at her.
Shit.
She let go, plummeting into a freefall as the massive dragon streaked past her in a blink. The manoeuvre may have saved her for now, but the loss of altitude could easily turn into a death sentence. Instinct had her drawing from within once more, to give her something to work with, but the result was the same — a smattering of starsparks as celestial gold died away.
Shit, shit, shit–!
Suddenly, she was hoisted upwards, ascending rapidly on currents far stronger than her own control would have allowed. There was another presence in the air now, cutting through the malevolent aura about her like a knife and filling the resulting space with a melodic hum. The air suddenly felt fresher compared to the biting, deadly winds that the dragon had stirred with its influence.
Nerves shot to hell with a mix of adrenaline, terror and relief, she could not help but mutter a string of curses. “How?”
She nearly jumped out of her own skin when the formless air answered her.
The voice was youthful, almost playful in tone. It was light and gentle, like the soft ringing of bells and rustle of dandelion seeds on the wind. There was a melodic lilt to its words, its cadence sounding almost protective as comforting winds wrapped about her like a warm embrace and buoyed her to safety. Yet there was also something undeniably authoritative beneath, in stark contrast to its otherwise invitingly youthful tenor.
But most striking — and somewhat distracting — was that it spoke almost entirely in verse and rhyme. Who talked like that in such a situation?
There was nothing else that she could grasp about her unknown saviour even as it continued to speak. No face to read, no features to take note of, no body language to study. In her present circumstance she would welcome any help, and it was all too tempting to give in to the disarming reassurance within that lilting voice. Yet, the fact that she had nothing else on this unknown figure ruffled her instincts and made her decidedly anxious.
“I’m not in the habit of making deals with disembodied voices,” she replied stubbornly. A voice that sounded like her brother cautioned her against spurning the help she quite needed in the moment.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She twisted back, throwing up a hasty blast of Anemo to her right. The resulting explosion sent a painful shockwave through her body. The dragon was pressing its offensive, and she found herself making increasingly desperate manoeuvres to keep away. Short blasts of air helped to alter her trajectories quickly, but the beast was proving to be observant. Its shots were getting more accurate by the minute, and it was evident that it had begun curving its blasts to predict where she might dart to.
She grit her teeth. It wouldn’t be long before it landed a direct hit.
She grimaced as she twisted herself away from another volley, the shots flying wide as strong winds surged to carry her out of the way. Her unseen saviour was still looking out for her, it seemed.
Then it voiced its request, and the last threads of her control snapped.
“You want me to do what?!”
It may as well have asked her to serve the damned dragon some fresh tea.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she had gone insane, arguing with a formless voice in the middle of a fight for her life. And what of the lonely, baleful lament that was still audible in her ears? Something within the poor, wretched thing was clearly broken; twisted beyond recognition and cursing the beast to feel every moment of it. To raise a hand against it now seemed wrong.
But of course, as the voice rightly reasoned, the situation could not continue. The dragon's presence was actively harming the city below, putting innocents at risk. She was already fighting to keep herself alive, being caught unprepared by the dragon’s sudden appearance; she can’t imagine what it must be like for the city of humans below who do not share her star-born constitution. And with the beast’s clear fixation on her, she was already in the unexpected and unfortunate position of having to rid herself of its presence. That doing so would also help save the city below was a bonus.
And to leave others to fend for themselves… That was not her style to begin with.
“Very well,” she capitulated. She was not about to let a city fall, or let herself get hunted by a dragon. Just as she wondered how she would tackle her newfound task, she felt a surge of power welling within her. Her essence sang as strength flooded her being, foreign but fresh, strange but stalwart. She returned her blade to her hand, palming the hilt with renewed vigour. The crystals on her scarf burned brightly, and suddenly it felt as if the world’s winds were at her fingertips.
The dragon screeched anew, and found herself roaring back in defiance.
There was much that she still had to do. And this dragon was not going to stand in her way.