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Venti is perched on top of a roof, lazily watching the comings and goings of the people below when he catches sight of someone that makes him sit up in interest.
A slender man with ashen-blond hair is making his way up the steps. People call friendly greetings to him as he passes, to which he responds with a wave and a reserved smile. He crosses the square and strides briskly over to the alchemy stall. Timaeus’s face lights all the way up in excitement at the sight of the newcomer, and the two immediately strike up a vigorous discussion with much gesturing on Timaeus’s part.
Albedo, the Kreideprinz, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius.
Venti recalls that, much like he himself, the alchemist had appeared suddenly one day in Mondstadt and rapidly secured a place as one of the most eminent in his field. His gentle demeanour, graceful features and vast knowledge had easily endeared him to Mondstadt’s citizens, enabling his meteoric rise to become the Knights’ Chief Alchemist.
He’s not in the city very often, so Venti’s never met him personally. But the precious few times he’s spied him from a distance are enough to make the Archon very intrigued… and wary .
Albedo is decidedly not human.
Venti feels it like a sharp, insistent prickling under his skin, like the scorching of an old poison sliding through his veins. It’s a sensation that yanks him abruptly back through the centuries to an era when dark, skeletal wings blotted out the sun, blackened rain corroded the land, and the people of Mondstadt cowered in terror.
Grim determination had burned in Dvalin’s eyes as he’d struggled against a foe who dwarfed him so utterly; for the sake of the bard who had gifted him his songs; for the sake of the city he’d sworn himself to. And he had triumphed against all odds. Jewel-bright wings had beat strong in victory as Durin’s great body finally crashed onto the frozen peak that was once named Sal Vindagnyr . Then, in a split second, the poisonous essence flowing through the shadow dragon had poured outwards and stained the world. Sickly fuschia had muddied the iridescent azure, and both dragon and god had known nothing more until generations later.
It’s unmistakable, how Albedo bears the same ancient, alien, artificial aura as the draconic demon who had stolen so many of his children’s lives once upon a time. It makes alarm bells sing an orchestra in Venti’s head, all his senses painfully alert. And the knowledge that Albedo spends most of his time up in Dragonspine , the graveyard still oozing with that old corruption like congealed blood to this day, does nothing to quiet Venti’s panic.
When he sees Albedo bid goodbye to Timaeus and head for the city’s gates, Venti makes a decision.
His archonhood may be defined by an unwavering belief in humanity’s ability to build their own destiny, but even he must intervene if there is a danger too large and too terrible for them to face.
For what good is a God of Freedom if his people aren’t alive to enjoy the liberty he grants?
ooo
Just an hour after Albedo’s returned from his brief sojourn to Mondstadt, the winds outside his campsite begin to whistle plaintively, stirring up the snow with them. Before long, the whistling has turned into howling, and a full-blown blizzard begins outside his shelter.
With a soft sigh, Albedo returns to poring over his research. The weather doesn’t particularly perturb him - he has enough supplies to last for two weeks at least, in the event that the snowstorm persists for that long. It’s a bit frustrating that he won’t be able to venture out to do his daily observations for a while, but he can devote that time to working with his existing data.
Archons know he hasn’t been making enough progress recently.
Albedo resolutely ignores the shame simmering in his homunculus’s heart.
It’s been a number of years since his master had declared that she’d taught him all she knew, left him with one final, impossible task, then vanished without a single trace. Albedo had been left completely unmoored, adrift in a world he knew he didn’t belong in. The only thing he could think to do was make his way to the nearest human civilisation: the city of Mondstadt. There had to be alchemists there who knew something about this… “ truth of Teyvat ”, or who could at least start him on the right path.
He’d expected - and prepared himself - to be greeted with suspicion and wariness at the least, as an unknown stranger seeking such esoteric knowledge.
He would have never imagined his reception to be so invariably warm and kind.
When Albedo first entered the city gates, he was given the epithet of “strange yet respectable traveller”. Smiles and open, selfless demeanours were all that surrounded him. He was quickly and helpfully pointed to the alchemists of the city, and although they were just as puzzled as he regarding the answers he sought, they were singularly impressed with his skills and knowledge. In a matter of mere weeks, Albedo had been promoted to the Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius.
Albedo still felt incredibly out of his depth, but it was no longer from the prospect of navigating a hostile world entirely on his own. Instead, it was a feeling tinged with confusion, warmth, gratefulness at these people who marvelled at his simplest alchemical feats - feats which would have only gotten a cold stare from his master.
The people of the City of Freedom had given him their trust and acceptance without any effort at all, and it was dangerous . Albedo wanted to forget his mission, leave behind his memories of his life before, and stay in the embrace of Mondstadt’s warm winds forever.
But, he couldn’t.
Deep down, Albedo knew that his place was not in those throngs of happy people living out their simple lives. He was foreign, not only to their city but to their species ; an alien infestation that would one day swallow Mondstadt up from the inside out.
He would not repay the people who had shown him kindness with such a betrayal. And so, he chose to seclude himself in Dragonspine.
Not only did the hostile environment there ensure that he wouldn’t be disturbed, the area also exhibited exceedingly strange qualities. From the wildlife that seemed to have taken an entirely different evolutionary path, to the bright, bloody minerals dotted amongst the snow, to the atmosphere that resonated with something inside Albedo like nothing else, Dragonspine was the most promising place by far for his research.
Albedo would stay there, on that freezing mountain, making minimal contact with the Mondstadtians excepting his alchemists and the occasional adventurer, until he found what he was looking for. Then, his master would surely reappear in front of him to look over his work with a sharp, critical eye, and finally, finally , give him her congratulations. Then, he would resume his travels with her and leave this city that is too sun-kissed and too luminous for the likes of him.
At least, that’s what Albedo had imagined would happen.
That possibility seems to diminish with each passing day, each night of going to sleep without having made any forward strides at all. It seems like, no matter what he tries, there’s always something missing , something drifting just beyond his grasp. And he cannot help but feel a sickening surge of guilt cut through him - a supposed “genius” who’s learned from the best, who now flounders helplessly upon being left on his own.
The pen in Albedo’s hand slips from his slack fingers, clattering onto the desk. The papers scattered before his sight make no more sense than they did yesterday; in fact, the diagrams and equations are starting to swim in his tired vision.
Perhaps he’ll turn in early tonight.
Albedo stands and is just beginning to gather the messy papers into a pile when slight footsteps capture his attention. He looks up to see that the thick, howling wall of white outside his campsite has parted to reveal a small, green-clad figure.
“Excuse me,” the boy (young man?) calls out, stepping further into the campsite. His voice is high, sweet and a little hesitant, and he’s shivering in his entirely-too-thin bard’s garb. “My name is Venti, a bard hailing from Mondstadt below. I was separated from my adventuring team and lost my way in the snow. Kind sir, would you permit me to stay in your shelter until tomorrow?”
Is he… rhyming ? Albedo’s brows knit into a bemused frown as he registers the words. He supposes it isn’t an incredibly strange quirk for a bard, but to maintain it when he looks on the verge of freezing to death?
The boy - Venti - is gazing at him with the biggest, roundest pair of jade eyes he’s ever seen, and they have a telltale shimmer to them that reveals his current misery. His arms wrap around his petite figure as he begins to shiver harder, and Albedo cracks.
“Of course. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to throw you out now that you’re here.” Albedo crosses the room and retrieves a spare mat and sleeping bag, handing them to the bard. “Here, you can use these for the night.”
Venti’s expression seems to unfurl like a flower as he accepts the items, beaming at him like the sun after days of rain. Something stutters strangely inside Albedo’s chest as those wide, sparkling eyes - which he can now see are a truly extraordinary shade of sapphire morphing into vivid jade - gaze happily into his own. He snaps his head away on instinct, awkwardly gesturing for the boy to make himself comfortable on the ground.
“I’ll be retiring for the night now,” Albedo informs his guest, an emotion he can’t decipher straining his voice. “Please endeavour not to make any noise, if you can.”
Venti gives a little giggle that rings like sweet windchimes in Albedo’s ears, and another stutter interrupts the rhythm of his false heart. “Not to worry, I’ll be as silent as a mouse’s scurry.”
Albedo gives a stiff, awkward nod and readies himself for bed as fast as he can without seeming strange. When he’s finally swaddled in his sleeping bag, however, sleep evades him for a long time.
His homunculus’s heart, whose beats have never strayed from perfect regularity, flutters in his chest like a trapped bird.
ooo
When Albedo awakens the next morning, it’s to soft lyre music in the midst of still-howling wind. The notes drift peacefully like dandelions on the breeze, or petals on still water, lifting Albedo from his slumber oh-so gently.
Venti is sitting on the ground by the cooking fire, eyes closed in contentment as his delicate fingers pluck the strings of a wooden lyre Albedo’s sure he didn’t have the night before. The firelight dances over the planes of his heart-shaped face, giving his entire figure a soft glow that Albedo can’t seem to look away from.
Venti seems to sense Albedo’s gaze on him, for the calm music quiets and large, gorgeous eyes turn towards the alchemist.
“Oh, good morning!” Venti greets. His hands lower and the lyre dissipates into shining green motes, reforming into a glass ornament that Albedo immediately recognises as an Anemo Vision. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t an unpleasant awakening by any means,” Albedo responds, voice still scratchy with sleep. He clears his throat and gestures towards Venti’s hip. “I wasn’t aware that Visions could metamorphose like so. Would you be able to tell me how it functions?”
Venti’s eyes suddenly slide away, smile turning sheepish. “Ehehe, I’m honestly not really sure how it works either. Anyway,” he exclaims, voice becoming louder and tinged with cheer, “I took the liberty of making some scrambled eggs for us. Hope it won’t raise a fuss!”
Noting the swift topic change, Albedo decides not to press further despite his mounting interest. “Thank you, you didn’t have to,” he says, freeing himself from his sleeping bag and stretching. “I’ll gladly have a share.”
After a quiet breakfast together (which is surprisingly delicious - it seems the bard has talents beyond his music), Albedo and Venti both stand up. The latter glances with trepidation at the blizzard still raging outside and seems to shrink in on himself, shivering.
Albedo’s heart experiences another alarming hitch at the sight, and the words tumble out before he can stop them. “Venti, it’s impossible for you to find your way back to your team through that snowstorm, especially with such inadequate clothing and no supplies. You’re welcome to stay here until the weather lets up.”
A soft gasp leaves Venti’s mouth as he looks back at Albedo with wide eyes. “Really?”
Albedo nods, not trusting his throat, and Venti’s gemstone eyes gain that wavering shine again. “You’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear that. Thank you so much, Sir Albedo.”
“You know who I am?” Albedo blinks at the bard.
“How could I not? A bard hears many tales, and the people of Mondstadt love to gossip about the handsome young Chief Alchemist who’s currently braving Dragonspine for his work. I have it on good authority that many youngsters are quite smitten with you, and by your long absences are quite irked.” Venti throws a brief wink towards Albedo, who feels the blood literally race towards his face.
It’s a very foreign sensation for him. Not a minute in, and the alchemist already feels inundated with regrets over his offer.
ooo
Venti, Albedo learns, is a very curious and flighty person.
On the first day of his stay, he flits to and fro about the campsite, pinning every object that catches his interest with a strangely assessing stare. It makes Albedo feel just a bit on edge, but Venti is at least polite enough to keep his hands to himself.
When he’s done cataloguing all of Albedo’s trinkets and contraptions, he bounces over to the desk where Albedo is bent over his data as usual.
“So, if you don’t mind telling this bard,” Venti begins, leaning so close to Albedo’s shoulder that the alchemist feels his face grow hot, “What breakthroughs do you hope to achieve from working so hard? And why linger in a place so far from the world’s regard?”
Albedo stills at the last question, the hairs on his neck standing on end as Venti’s cool breaths fan over them.
How does he know? That one of the main reasons I’m here is to be away from the world?
He searches Venti’s eyes briefly, but those vibrant blue-jade depths prove inscrutable.
“... I’m searching for the truth of Teyvat,” Albedo answers after a moment. “It has been a personal project of mine for a long time. Dragonspine has perhaps the most unique environment and ecosystem in Mondstadt, so it is the most promising location for my research.”
“The truth of Teyvat, you say,” Venti hums musically, mulling it over. “That sounds like a very interesting path on which to stray. Do you mind if I observe you for a bit? I’d love to see for myself a Chief Alchemist’s wit!”
Albedo’s torn between the urge to immediately decline and the urge to say yes. He feels like he’s being laid too bare under the other’s discerning gaze, but there’s also a strange aura around the musician that makes Albedo reluctant to pull away.
Some ancient remnant in his chest stirs to life at Venti’s proximity, yearning quietly. Foreign yet familiar memories, blurred by time, drift at the edges of his awareness, just shy of breaking through.
“Alright,” Albedo ends up saying. “I don’t mind if you watch, though you’ll probably find that my work isn’t terribly interesting.”
“Ehehe, thanks!” Venti exclaims, finally moving out of Albedo’s personal space and seating himself on a spare chair next to him.
Relief and disappointment wash over Albedo in equal measure as the faint scent of cecilias leaves his senses. He bends over his papers again, trying to reabsorb himself in his deductions. It’s a good bit harder with a pair of large, inquisitive eyes trained on him, but he manages after a while.
Venti’s quiet for about the first half hour, simply watching Albedo scribble and sigh occasionally in frustration. Then, after Albedo crosses out a line of complicated numerals for the fifth time, Venti suddenly leans forward.
“So, explain to me what you’re trying to do here,” he chirps, looking at Albedo with an expectant gaze.
Albedo startles a bit at the silence being broken so abruptly. “I- I’m attempting to discern why the transformative properties of Vayuda Turquoise become so much more potent when it is refined into a gemstone shape,” he answers. “Simply carving it shouldn’t affect its inherent traits, so I thought it might be that the core is purer than the outer parts of the stone. But the data I’ve collected tells me that, whether the finished gem is the size of a fist or a fingernail, its potency remains the same as long as it is cut into this very specific shape. Any deviations from it immediately diminish the Turquoise’s effectiveness. I simply can’t figure out what is so significant about this cut.” Embarrassment tinges his voice slightly at having to admit his failure.
Venti tilts his head and studies Albedo for a second. “You’re really fixated on getting to the bottom of things, aren’t you? Normal alchemists would simply be glad to find a cut that maximises the stone’s effectiveness and conduct no further review.” Without giving Albedo a chance to respond, he plows on. “Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way. Instead of focusing on the stone itself, you could look at how it interacts with the environment. That might lead to some enlightenment!”
Surprised at Venti’s answer, Albedo frowns in thought. “That… might work,” he mutters, looking back down at his calculations, several new lines of equations already running through his head.
Picking up his pen, he sets it back to paper immediately, only barely remembering to throw a “Thank you, Venti,” over his shoulder. Venti only gives another windchime giggle in response.
Another hour of scribbling with renewed vigour later, Albedo stands up in an uncharacteristically abrasive motion, almost knocking over his chair. He strides quickly over to Venti, who’d gone back to strumming his lyre softly by the fire about twenty minutes ago.
“I’ve done it,” he announces in a rush. “You were right; it wasn’t about the stone’s composition at all. When cut into that specific shape, the surrounding light is refracted in a way that draws out its ambient pyro energy. The transformative power of pyro then reacts with the mutability of the Turqoise’s anemo to catalyse the change during crafting.”
Immediately after spewing his findings to Venti, Albedo feels a little silly, as if he’s young again, proudly reporting any simple alchemical feat he achieves to his master. But, far from the chilly apathy he had always received from her, Venti’s pretty jade eyes shine with warmth as he looks back at Albedo.
“I’m glad this humble bard could be of help to you,” he says, and his sweet voice makes that faded, ancient sliver in Albedo’s heart sing.
From that day on, Venti and Albedo settle into a comfortable routine. Albedo is roused every morning by gentle music accompanied by the incessant wailing of the blizzard outside, and a plate of breakfast waits for him by the fire. (“It’s the least I can do for intruding on you for so long,” Venti says cheerfully, waving off all of Albedo’s protests.) Afterwards, Albedo gets to work at his desk and his guest settles in beside him to observe.
Venti’s curiosity somehow stays undiminished even as the days pass, and he doesn’t hold back on questioning Albedo about his projects. Normally, Albedo would have been annoyed to no end by this, but the musician’s queries and comments are always so strangely stimulating . Just like on the first day, they poke and prod at weak points in Albedo’s approach that he hadn’t even realised were there, forcing him to reassess his papers with new eyes.
It’s almost as if Venti knows much more than he lets on. But, skilled though he is at reading people, Albedo only ever gleans innocent interest from those wide, jewel-like eyes.
Either way, by the end of the week, Albedo’s made more progress towards his goal than in the past few months combined. And he is surer than ever that his guest is no ordinary bard.
For how can he be, when just being around him makes Albedo’s mind feel the sharpest it’s ever been?
How can he be, when his presence seems to bring some dormant, deeply buried part of Albedo to life and make it yearn irresistibly for him?
How can he be, when the songs he plays in the mornings and evenings, firelight casting his petite form with an ethereal radiance, are like the embrace of a nurturing wind calling Albedo home? The gales of snow outside their haven are unforgiving and bitterly cold. But those notes coaxed from lyre strings by slender fingers wrap around Albedo, warm and safe, like the touch of the mother he’s never known.
Singularly focused as he is on his master’s final task, Albedo has never before felt the need to delve into human arts such as music. Even his drawings, though a genuine source of enjoyment for him, have a purpose in his mission to capture the world’s truth.
But Venti’s music is different.
When he hears that high, pure voice and honeyed lyre, a deep void closes up seamlessly inside him, though he had never noticed its existence. He’s carried away from lonely Dragonspine to endless blue skies, verdant fields, bustling places filled with life and love, and warm hearthsides.
And when those notes lull him to sleep at night, Albedo dreams ancient, fragmented memories of flying above Mondstadt’s rolling hills, an iridescent, jewel-bright dragon by his side and a beautiful sky-blue bard riding upon his back. It feels like he’s regained something he lost a long time ago.
Venti’s songs flow like a summer wind into his homunculus’s soul, stirring up his carefully-arranged facsimile of personhood and rearranging it into a wholly different shape. When the last note leaves the musician’s lips, Albedo no longer feels as if he’s straddling the precipice of this world and another.
And perhaps, this is what Albedo’s been missing all along. To discover the world’s truth, all he’d had to do was find a way to belong in it.
ooo
All too quickly, a week flies by, and the snowstorm finally begins to abate.
Somewhere along the way, Venti’s blue-jade gaze has shifted from assessing and wary to gentle, wise and understanding, as if he’s seen through every facet of Albedo’s being and pities what he’s found. Albedo, who’s only been regarded by others with either steely apathy or admiration and awe, has no idea how to respond.
But he knows by the heaviness in the air that their time together is coming to a close.
He wants to grab the bard’s slender wrist and tell him not to go, not to take the warmth away with him before Albedo’s had a chance to truly savour it. Not to leave that ancient shard living in his soul once more bereft, once more hollow.
But, Venti belongs to a different world. One of vast, open plains and comforting azure skies; fragrant fields of flowers and the crisp air on high clifftops. A creature of freedom such as he would wither away before long in this monochrome place.
The false prince born of chalk cannot hope to keep the bard with the aura of the sky.
So, on the last day of their week together, when the furious blizzard has settled into calmer flurries at last, Albedo escorts Venti down the mountain. He halts at a point from which the base camp is clearly visible and informs Venti that this is where they must part.
Venti doesn’t set off immediately, as Albedo would have expected. Instead, he tilts his head, gazing at Albedo with big, round eyes.
Cute , Albedo’s treacherous brain supplies before he wills the thought away.
“What are you going to do now?” Venti asks.
Albedo blinks. “Right now, at this moment?”
Venti nods.
“Well… there is a special type of goulash that, when eaten, can help maintain one’s body heat in subzero temperatures,” Albedo hesitantly explains. “It’s made with the meat of frozen boars native to Dragonspine. As I haven’t been able to venture outside the camp in the past week, my supply of meat has dwindled considerably.”
“So, you’re going to hunt some of those boars to restock?” Venti guesses.
“That’s correct,” Albedo confirms. “Before the blizzard struck, I discovered a particular location that seems to have an abnormally high concentration of boars. I plan to make my way there.”
To Albedo’s surprise, he sees Venti’s eyes narrow in panic at his words.
The bard looks down for a moment, as if debating with himself, then says, “Mind if I accompany you? It’s the least I could do to repay your kindness while the snowstorm blew. I’m quite handy with a bow - any danger I can surely subdue.”
A huff leaves Albedo’s lips at the unexpectedness of his request. Why would the musician not want to reunite with his team, or even leave for the warmth of Mondstadt as soon as he can? But, then again, Venti is by no means a regular bard.
“It is quite a journey,” Albedo warns. “The spot lies to the far east of Dragonspine, halfway up the mountain.”
“Worry not!” Venti replies, one of his signature windchime laughs leaving his lips. “As I said, I’m a great shot.”
Inclined as he is to refuse, Albedo decides to give into selfishness just this once. Why would he willingly leave this enchanting bard’s presence, when the bard himself is handing him an excuse on a silver platter? He has to admit he’s also curious about Venti’s fighting prowess, with that mysterious lyre-turned-Anemo-Vision at his hip - is it as extraordinary as the rest of him?
So, Albedo nods, and together they depart for the destination - a flat snowfield carved into the mountainside. As Albedo expected, there’s a large number of boars trapped in ice dotting its surface. He looks at Venti, who smiles back, and the two set to work hunting them.
Albedo melts the ice with a potion he had brewed for that purpose, while Venti manifests his weapon and stands with an arrow nocked in wait. As soon as the boar is free, Venti lets loose an anemo-infused arrow with lightning speed and accuracy, felling it in one shot. To Albedo’s wonder and burning curiosity, the arrow leaves fragile little feathers in its wake, unique and lovely in a way he’s never seen from any other Anemo user.He refrains from any interrogation, though, simply moving onto the next boar.
In what seems like no time at all, the two of them have cleared out the field, all the meat safely stored away in Albedo’s inventory. Albedo is just about to thank Venti when he catches sight of how strangely tense Venti seems, his viridescent eyes trained on a shadowy corner of the snowfield as if anticipating something’s appearance. Albedo opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, when he’s interrupted by an ominous rumble beneath his feet.
Charging out from the dark corner comes a boar.
Impossibly massive, its sides heave with a thundering roar and it pins Albedo and Venti with aggressive scarlet eyes. Albedo moves in front of the bard on instinct. His brain churns frantically, trying to find a way out of the situation, but the boar is already upon them.
Albedo flings a Solar Isotoma onto the ground, but it only stuns the boar for a moment before it rears back with a terrible cry, even more angered than before. Behind him, Venti seems to be trying to aim for its eyes, but the boar’s thrashing makes such a task impossible. All the two can do is dance around the boar, nicking it occasionally and attempting to avoid its ferocious attacks.
Venti proves much more agile than Albedo, flitting away from each swipe without a scratch. Albedo, though trained in combat and blessed with a Vision as well, is an alchemist at heart and thus not used to such vigorous battle. He finds himself quickly tiring, legs burning and breaths coming in harsh pants.
When Albedo tries to fling himself away from the charging boar once again, his legs give out from under him and he falls in a heap on the ground, right in the boar’s path. Knowing he can’t recover in time, he closes his eyes and braces himself.
But the impact never comes.
Instead, the backs of his eyelids explode with blinding light. His eyes snap open, and when the spots finally leave his vision, the sight in front of him makes him think he must be dreaming.
But the pain in his legs is too vivid to be a hallucination. So, the slender figure clothed in white and gold, with beautiful, majestic swan wings arching from their back and familiar twin braids lit with ethereal teal, must be real.
The lovely bard who had swept into his campsite with the snow and brought summer into his wintry world -
The boy with poems and songs spilling from his lips and kindness leaking from his eyes -
The one who calls to Albedo’s fabricated soul like a siren song -
He is the Anemo Archon.
This fact simply repeats over and over in Albedo’s mind as he stares, absolutely frozen in the spot where he’d fallen.
Venti’s - Barbatos’s body is outlined in divine light as he floats lightly in the air. He strums the shining strings of his lyre, singing in some ancient, forgotten language, and the sound echoes across the mountain in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
Swirling azure winds gather at his command, wrapping the huge boar in a fiercely howling sphere and lifting it into the air. The boar roars in frenzied confusion, kicking its legs uselessly. Barbatos simply raises his hands, and his lyre transforms into a gorgeous teal and gold bow almost as tall as he. When he takes aim, the Anemo energy Albedo can sense coalescing at the arrowhead is so incredibly condensed it almost makes him afraid.
With a twang like a harp’s cascading chord, the multiple bowstrings snap back. The arrow whips straight into the boar’s neck with a slice of wind so sharp, Albedo can’t help but recall the old legends of how Barbatos reshaped Mondstadt with just his winds. The beast is cleanly decapitated with nary a cry and falls to the ground, staining the snow crimson.
Barbatos’s ethereal wings droop before vanishing in a flurry of feathers. He drifts gently down, his divine clothing once more replaced by a bard’s garb. The god stands there, back to Albedo, for a silent moment.
Then, he slumps forward into the snow.
Albedo’s limbs all seem to unfreeze at once as he scrambles off the ground and stumbles over to the small, still form. The boy’s eyes are closed as Albedo cradles him carefully in his lap, thick lashes brushing against too-pale cheeks. The alchemist sucks in a breath.
“Venti?” He shakes the bard gently. “Venti, please wake up.” Despite his best efforts, Albedo’s voice begins to crack and tremble.
Then, slowly, the long lashes flutter and raise, revealing the stunning dual-hued eyes Albedo has come to adore.
“Albedo,” Venti murmurs weakly. “I’m glad you’re unhurt. Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done something so overt.”
“You’re the Anemo Archon,” Albedo blurts out in an uncharacteristic rush, then immediately feels like a fool for uttering something so obvious.
Venti only smiles up at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably.
“You… you saved my life,” Albedo continues past the lump forming in his throat. “Why would you protect me, when you must know what kind of creature I am? ... When you know the danger I pose to the Mondstadt you founded and love so dearly?”
Venti’s smile softens into something infinitely kind and tender. Small hands raise to cup Albedo’s face, and they are every bit as warm as the music he plays. Albedo’s breaths hitch when Venti’s thumbs gently stroke his cheeks, and the god begins to speak, solemn and without a hint of rhyme.
“Albedo, I am the God of Freedom. The freedom I protect is the right of every being in my land to determine their future. And that includes you. ”
Albedo’s eyes widen, words caught in his throat.
Venti plows on, compassion and conviction equal in his tone. “Although the circumstances of your birth differ from those of any other creature, you are still a Mondstadtian, one of my beloved people. You are here, and you have a will, do you not? You may feel yourself shackled by some legacy from the past, but that is no preordained fate. With each step you take, each new day you greet, those chains will rust until you have the power to fly free.”
“I’ve seen the strength and beauty in your soul, Albedo, and I believe in it with all my being.”
His gaze affectionate and so painfully understanding, Venti thumbs away the tears that have begun to leak from the corners of Albedo’s eyes. The bard raises himself off Albedo’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck, brushing his lips against Albedo’s in a feather-light kiss. His mouth is warm, petal-soft, and the sweetest scent of cecilias in summer surrounds Albedo in that moment.
Then, the Anemo Archon pulls back, giving Albedo one last gentle smile before dissipating in a swirl of teal feathers.
Ephemeral as the breeze itself.
Albedo remains there in the snow for a long moment. His fingers brush his lips, feeling the imprint still tingling upon them.
When he stands up, the heart beating steadily in his chest feels like it belongs there at last.
ooo
Far away in Windrise, under the shade of Vennessa’s great tree, Venti flops onto the grass with a tired sigh. Going into that form had been unduly straining without his gnosis, and he’s glad for the refreshing Anemo energy his body is now siphoning from the tree.
Tilting his head back, Venti gazes at the sky through the foliage.
Did he make the right choice, accompanying Albedo to the Boar King’s grounds when he knew it was very likely he would have to reveal himself in the ensuing fight? He could have simply been on his way back to Mondstadt, as Albedo had no doubt expected.
But he just had to go above and beyond, didn’t he? Venti laughs ruefully to himself. What a responsible Archon he is. Nevertheless, in the privacy of his own heart, he admits that he’s glad things turned out this way.
Albedo is nothing like what he had feared. A remnant of the shadow dragon no doubt resides inside him - they were both brought into existence by the same hand, after all. But it does not come from the part of Durin that compelled him to lay Mondstadt to waste with maddened claws and fangs. It comes from the part that Venti saw emerge as Durin’s eyes cleared of delusion, mere moments before his death.
The part of him that wept at what he had done, and yearned to take it all back and fly free above the land of wind and song.
In the end, the Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius is simply someone trying to find his place in the world, just like any other human being. And Venti hopes that he, as his Archon, has made that journey somewhat easier for him.
(Besides, Albedo really did turn out to be very pretty up close. Venti touches his lips and gives a delighted giggle, falling backwards on the grass.
Maybe he’ll pay him another visit sometime soon.)