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Windrise is beautiful at night. Well, Windrise is always beautiful, but at night, with the dark and the moonlight warding it off and the distant howling coming from Wolvendom, there’s an ethereal quality to the place that you can’t find anywhere else in Mondstadt.
Must be her spirit Venti thinks, comfortably perched on one of the taller branches of the big oak tree, looking down at the statue of himself glimmering faintly. Vennessa might be gone, but something about her stays in this place. She might be one of the leaves rustling in the breeze, or an anemo crystalfly drifting through the air, or the tree itself, bark warm and solid under his fingertips, a grounding presence. The Gunnhildr girl, the older one, must feel it too, given how often she comes by and kneels between the gnarled roots that snake across the grass, praying, while Venti watches her from above.
Venti exhales slowly. He cannot sleep (too risky, what if he wakes up and hundreds of years have passed, what if everything is dust and ruin again and everyone is de--) even if he’s still exhausted from having his Gnosis ripped off. He’s been trying to think of a new song he can add to his repertoire, something to narrate the recent fight between Dvalin and the Traveler, something that will surely get him rivers of free booze at Angel’s Share.
But.
He’s tired and restless and the tunes scatter away from him with nimble feet, running and plunging into the swaying grass, further and further until he can’t even remember the general shape and feeling he wanted to imbue them with, until he’s alone again with the tree and the statue and himself.
“This is bullshit,” he says to no one in particular, kicking his feet and rolling from side to side like an angry child. He can’t sleep, he can’t sing, he has no wine and no company and he’s starting to feel kind of pathetic, which is, maybe, the worst feeling a god can experience.
Eventually, he decides to do something with himself and bathe in the river close by. Briefly, he ponders wandering to the beach, but then concludes that he would have to wash away the salt from his hair afterwards and that would give him one more thing to worry about. Maybe the cold water will give him some clarity. Besides, the night is the perfect time to bathe, since nobody comes by, not even the bravest adventurer.
He calls forth a gust of wind strong enough to lift him up and lower him gently to the ground and then makes his way around the tree and to the riverbank, muttering all the while because his irritation is still there with him, an unwanted guest.
He takes his time undressing by the water, without bothering to fold his clothes, looking at the wet pebbles turned to faux obsidian by the moonlight and listening to the roar of the waterfall and the occasional splash a frog makes when it jumps into the water.
When he’s finally naked, he wastes no time stepping in, gritting his teeth against the chill, wading through the gentle current until his lower half is fully submerged. When he looks down, he sees the goosebumps that have broken out on his pale skin and, lower, on the water’s surface, his wobbly reflection, staring up at him.
Brings back memories.
Back when he had taken this human form, he used to spend hours naked and crouched on the edge of whatever body of water he encountered, looking at the face that had once been so dear to him and that he had lost forever, peering into eyes that were familiar, but also weren’t, because now they were looking at him warily, instead of glinting with mirth.
He would touch and inspect every part of his new body, ruffling his hair, shaking his hips and shoulders when he had mustered enough control to break out into dance, sighing in unexpected pleasure when his hands would drift lower.
Back then he would diligently practice behaving like a human, making faces, frowning and stretching his lips in what he hoped could be called a convincing smile. He would laugh and scream and sing until his throat hurt and even the pain was welcomed because it meant he was starting to feel the same things human beings felt.
He would imitate the same gestures his friend had done while he was alive; braiding and rebraiding his hair, shielding his eyes to look up at the sun, shifting his weight from foot to foot even when he didn’t feel any discomfort.
Eventually, he had gotten some clothes (at first the white hooded cloak humans liked to picture him with and then some real ones, fit for a bard) and he had finally been able to trick everyone who looked at him into thinking he was human.
He wonders what his long-lost friends would say of him now. Weak, shivering, songless.
A sudden rustle from the riverbank, too heavy to be the sound of an animal, interrupts his grim thoughts and he pivots so fast that he nearly slips on the slimy rocks of the riverbed and faceplants in the water.
There’s a cloaked figure by the water, an arm outstretched like it wants to beckon him closer, the other holding a bulky sword-- it must be a claymore. Before Venti can do anything there’s a snap! and a little flame appears in the stranger’s hand. Its tender, orange glow reveals a familiar face under the hood of the cloak, framed by red hair.
Interesting.
“Well, well, well, Master Diluc," Venti says after a few tense seconds of staring at each other, feeling the beginning of a smile big enough to split his face in two. “What brings you here in the dead of night?”
Diluc (of course it’s him, nobody in the whole of Monstadt has hair so red) startles so hard that the flame in his hand flickers wildly and nearly goes out. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, eyes looking everywhere but at Venti.
“I was—uh, I was passing by and heard some noises, then I saw your clothes scattered everywhere…”. He regains a little bit of composure and, still not looking at him, asks “What are you even doing here, Barb—bard?”
“Don’t you know, Master Diluc? This is my holy abode.”
“People come here all the time, though.”
“Not at night,” Venti whispers, starting to wade through the water, moving closer to the other and delighted by the way Diluc takes a few, hurried steps back. Is he blushing, or is it the fire coloring his cheeks?
“Night is especially sacred in this place since it is the only time I can take a bath in peace. And now that you have intruded and you have seen the naked form of your god, not meant for mortal eyes, I have no choice but to smite you.”
Diluc finally looks at him then, eyes widening, and Venti just can’t hold back his laughter anymore. He slams a fist on the water’s surface, sending droplets everywhere, and snickers until his eyes start watering.
Diluc is definitely red in the face now, lips pressed together in disdain.
“Since you are clearly fine on your own, then, I’ll take my leave,” he says through gritted teeth, turning away.
“NoooOOO,” Venti moans, still laughing. “Wait, please, it’s not really my place to tell you if you can stay or not. Besides, you asked about me, but what are you doing here?”
“I told you, just passing by.”
“Yeah, sure, so far away from the city and your winery? Not buying that.”
Diluc doesn’t answer.
Getting closer and closer, Venti notices that Diluc’s form is slightly slumped. His hold on the claymore is shaky, the blade’s tip lowered and grazing the ground.
“I see how it is. You were off fighting someone, or something, and you needed the statue’s healing powers to regain enough strength to drag yourself back home, right? In that case, you’re more than welcome to stay and bask in my blessing,”
He winks, but Diluc is not looking at him, eyes averted towards the distant halo of the city lights, tense like a deer about to flee. Venti can almost hear the conflict going on in his brain.
In the end he’s still a human being and his curiosity seems to win the fight.
“I’ll stay until I’m less tired,” he sighs, holstering the claymore on his back and looking at Venti, but only at his face. Oh, he’s definitely curious, Venti can see it in his eyes.
“I haven’t seen you… Since the dragon. Charles told me you’re not even coming to Angel’s Share to sing. What have you been doing?”
Venti smiles his best angelic smile and comes out of the water, retrieving his beret from where he had thrown it and pitter-pattering up the riverbank until he’s by Diluc’s side, looking up at him.
“Why don’t we sit by the statue and I tell you aaaaall about it? Oh, and do you happen to have some of your wine on you?”
Diluc makes a pained face that screams “I’m already regretting this” and Venti laughs loud enough to startle all the frogs in the immediate vicinity.
-
Instead of giving him wine, Diluc gives him his cloak to dry off, despite Venti’s insistence that thank you very much, but how is an anemo god that cannot even dry himself of any good? And so they sit on the stone steps below the statue, bathed in its ethereal glow, and Venti scrubs at himself with the coarse material of the cloak, hissing in discomfort when it drags over his nipples, until he’s warm and dry again.
The warmth might just be from Diluc’s pyro Vision, though, so he snuggles closer to him, just in case.
For a while there’s only silence between them and Venti takes the opportunity to sneak some glances at the other. Diluc’s hair isn’t tied up in the low ponytail he usually sports and that thick mane of red hair spilling down his back is especially captivating.
He has the exact same hair Venti thinks, a nostalgic smile surfacing on his lips. Diluc really is the spitting image of his ancestor (and Venti’s old friend), except for the fact that he doesn’t have a goatee, thank the Archons. Venti and his bard friend used to tease him about it all the time.
He misses them.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Venti blinks. Diluc is glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, wary, even if his posture is relaxed.
“I’m looking at your hair. Have you ever thought about braiding it? I can do it for you, if you want. There’s only windwheel asters here, though, and they would clash horribly with red, so you would have to wait until I get some nice, white cecilias.”
“Braids aren’t practical, especially with flowers.”
“Maybe, but you’d look really beautiful."
Diluc sighs and shakes his head.
“Didn’t you have to tell me about what happened to you?”
Venti huffs, wrapping himself tighter in Diluc’s cloak and shuffling his bare feet on the stone. He’s already come to terms with his Gnosis getting stolen and he thinks he’s doing an okay job of navigating the aftermath of it. Well, okay-ish.
But.
It’s still a little painful.
“Let’s just say I… Lost part of my powers,” he grumbles, gnawing at his lower lip, looking at the sea of grass in front of them and suddenly yearning to be up, up, closer to the velvety black of the sky.
Diluc crooks one eyebrow.
“Lost?”
“Well, uhm, the exact term is… Stolen.”
“Sto—What?”
Venti takes a big breath and just spills the beans about the whole thing. He recounts how he and the Traveler were ambushed by one of the Fatui Harbingers (that horrible, horrible hag) and how his Gnosis was ripped out of his body by her greedy talons. He tries to be as nonchalant as he can about it, but some of the hurt he feels must show on his face because, by the time he stops talking, Diluc is looking at him with a curious mixture of pity and disdain, shaking with barely contained rage.
“I knew it was a mistake to let the Fatui delegation into the city, but the Knights didn’t listen, they never listen,” he says, looking down at his clenched fists.
“It’s really okay, Master Diluc.” Venti murmurs, placing a hand on Diluc’s left arm and patting it lightly in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “It’s not that big of a loss and it’s something that’s part of a design already bigger than me and you both”
“That… doesn’t make it right” Diluc grits out, still shaking, still full of the beautiful, untainted, fiery desire to make things right that both his ancestor and the little bard, Venti’s precious overthrowers of tirannies, shared.
Why is he so sentimental, tonight of all nights?
Eventually, Diluc recomposes himself and apologizes for his outburst, but Venti doesn’t mind. He honestly finds it endearing, that kind of passion. He knows it’s a passion geared towards protecting Mondstadt and its inhabitants and he certainly cannot disagree with that kind of desire.
“I told you, Master Diluc. It’s okay.”
“But are you okay?”
That’s an unexpected question.
He looks for the answer longer than he should if he wanted to avoid more prying. His hand is still on Diluc’s arm and he absentmindedly strokes his thumb on the cloth covering it, feeling the way the muscle underneath spasms lightly now and then.
In the end he says: “I suppose I am. I don’t really know anything about the effects of losing a Gnosis, so I’m just waiting and seeing what happens. The only effect I can tell you about, so far, is that lately I’ve been feeling kinda tired and grumpy all the time.”
“So that’s why you haven’t been to Angel’s Share.”
“Yeah. Although, having some of your dandelion wine wouldn’t certainly hurt.”
Venti leans his weight on Diluc’s side and peers up at him, fluttering his eyelashes with the most pleading, puppy-eyed look he can muster. But Diluc has the gall to shrug him off lightly and stand up to retrieve his claymore. Tsk.
“Leaving so soon to beat up some other monsters, Master Diluc? My, you sure like to ride high with disaster” Venti says, trying not to feel cold once again and silently congratulating himself for a brilliant one-liner. Ride high with disaster, I could use it in a song.
Diluc gives him a suspicious glare.
“How do you even know about my… doing the Knights’ work for them?”
Venti stands up as well and flashes him with a grin.
“Well, I’m still the guardian deity of this land. I know everything about everyone, even the exploits of the fabled Darknight Ranger.”
“It’s Darknight Hero” Diluc corrects before he can stop himself. He immediately slaps a hand over his face and Venti laughs out loud, so much that he almost misses what Diluc says next.
“I’m going not because I have to fight, but because you already look like you’re feeling better.”
Venti looks at him then, stunned into silence, and Diluc goes on, expression made unreadable by the hand still on his own face.
“You do look tired, but you shouldn’t isolate yourself. There are a lot of people in Mondstadt that could use your company and at this point me and Charles are honestly tired of listening only to Six-Fingered José’s songs at Angel’s Share. And…”
Diluc lowers his gloved hand and he’s looking right into Venti’s eyes when he says: “if you need a place to stay, you can come to the winery whenever you like.”
Ah, there’s that feeling, the one that grips and twists at the empty space where his Gnosis used to be. This is what he likes about humans, what he gets reminded of every time he wakes up from his long slumber: altruism, empathy, the desire to form connections, even with a god. Diluc’s ancestor and the little bard would be so proud of today’s Mondstadt.
“Sure, why not,” he answers. “Bathing in the river gets old fast, I could use the hot water… And some liquor”
He laughs at the answering unimpressed stare from Diluc and then he starts disrobing to give him back his cloak, but Diluc hurriedly stops him as soon as he glimpses a sliver of naked skin.
“Keep it!”
“But it’s yours!"
“I’d have to give it to the maids to have it washed and I can’t risk them asking me what I do out at night.”
Venti sighs, accepting the cloak and refraining from telling Diluc that, by this point, the maids definitely know that he runs around at night beating up abyss mages and other nasties.
“Thank you, Master Diluc, both for your company and for your generosity.”
Diluc looks like he wants to brush him off with a quick “It’s nothing” or something equally inane, but Venti is faster than him, plucking the lone cecilia flower from his beret, leaning up on his tiptoes and tucking it behind one of Diluc’s ears, brushing his fingers against silky red hair in the process.
“This is only one, but the offer to braid your hair with them still stands.”
Diluc touches the flower carefully and smiles. It looks really good on him, the smile, even if it’s already gone when Venti blinks, fleeting and fragile like a crystalfly.
“I’ll see you around, then,” Diluc tells him, before descending the stone steps and making his way towards Mondstadt. He turns back just once, when he is already quite far and knee-deep in the grass, nothing but a black dot against the moonlight-silver field, and Venti waves enthusiastically at him. He doesn’t wave back, but Venti bets he’s smiling again.
Later, when he’s fully clothed once again and back up in his cozy spot on the tree branch, he wraps himself in Diluc’s cloak, smelling suspiciously of burnt hilichurl fur and flaming flower cologne, and quickly falls asleep.
-
When he wakes up, nothing occupies his mind for a wonderful second except for the sound of birdsong and the wind passing through the hundreds of thousands leaves of the tree. Then, a cold wave of anxiety hits him.
How long have I slept?
He launches himself off the tree, Diluc’s cloak fluttering behind him like a pair of wings, and he neatly lands several feet below, next to the statue.
Nobody’s there. The sun is high in a cloudless, terse sky, bathing the whole field in front of him in violent hues of green and gold. Insects come and go from the nearby patches of windwheel asters and a couple of herons lift their heads to look at him from the riverbank.
Oh, please he thinks, looking around frantically. Please, please, please.
Something glints in his peripheral, nestled between two gnarled roots. He gets closer.
It’s a bottle of dandelion wine, safely put where the sun can’t shine directly on it. On the label, just below the watercolor picture of two dandelions, there’s a message written in clear, elegant handwriting: I asked Jean to bring this to you and she was happy to oblige. Please, thank her properly when you see her. And, if you come to the tavern tonight, you’ll find some more wine waiting for you. I have a new batch that needs a taste tester. – Diluc
Venti sighs, feeling his previous worry evaporate satisfyingly like snow under the sun. He unscrews the cork and takes a greedy, hearty swig from the bottle. It tastes good. Familiar.
Distantly, he thinks he can feel them. The tunes he needs for his songs, running through the forests and crossing streams in one jump. He doesn’t have to wait for them to come to him, though; he’s more than capable to hunt for them.
Venti flies towards Mondstadt, carried by the wind.