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Some days, Venti’s own name sounds like knives scraping in his ears.
He walks down the familiar, cobbled streets of Mondstadt, lyre in hand and the unblemished blue sky stretching overhead. The people of his city look up from their livelihoods as he passes, throwing cheerful greetings his way.
“Venti, great to see you!”
“Hey Venti, we just got a fresh shipment of apples in! Come try one; they’re ripe and juicy!”
“Venti, looking good! Are you gonna join us at Angel’s Share tonight?”
“Big brother Venti! Can you sing that song for us again?”
Their voices are suffused with warmth, and their mouths form the syllables of his name with such clear fondness. It’s a sentiment he would normally reciprocate tenfold towards his precious children of freedom.
But, today is different. Today, the empty spaces in his heart, usually sealed over with carefully crafted words and smiles practiced over millennia, gape like open wounds. Today, the sound of his name, spoken so affectionately, feels akin to rubbing salt over that raw flesh.
“Ahaha, sorry!” His laugh is weightless and hollow like the wind whistling over the ruins of Old Mondstadt. “I’ve got places to be today. But don’t worry; I’ll surely be back tomorrow to play.” His customary carefree grin curves his lips, a reliable mask as always, even when he feels seconds away from shattering under it.
Several groans meet his announcement, forming a chorus of good-natured disappointment. “Alright, we understand!” Someone shouts back at him. “But you’d better keep that promise; things aren’t half as fun without you.”
Of course his people don’t notice anything off. Why would they? He is Mondstadt’s most-loved bard who has songs spilling from his lungs and sunlight overflowing from his gaze, an unfaltering optimism that brightens even the darkest of moods. To think that someone like him hides layers upon layers of hurt beneath a thin exterior - it’s simply inconceivable.
Venti throws a wink and a playful salute, then speeds up his pace. Once he’s out of Mondstadt’s front gates, he keeps walking and walking, surroundings fading from his perception until he blinks and somehow finds himself on Starsnatch Cliff.
The wind here is relatively kind today, caressing the cecilias’ white petals and making them sway gently. It curls cool fingers against Venti’s cheeks, and they feel the tight band around their chest finally relax a little.
The young couple and their beleaguered guardian aren’t here today, Venti notes with relief. They situate themself at the very tip of the cliff and let their legs dangle over the edge, not minding the fearsome drop.
Their eyes fall shut, taking the world with them, but their thoughts refuse to quiet.
“Venti,” their mouth forms the name of its own volition, and it tastes like bitter ash on their tongue. The same ash that had choked the air millennia ago after Decarabian’s tower crumbled, heralding the death of an era. The same ash that had coated Venti’s throat as he’d lain there with his life fading away, softly singing his last wish for the wind spirit to fly free.
The thoughts that are usually locked deep in the recesses of the Anemo Archon’s heart now slither their way through the cracks to greet the light of day.
Barbatos, God of Wind, does not deserve to bear the name Venti.
Venti was a boy with raven-black hair and eyes as blue as the sky he never lived to see, a single cecilia tucked in his breast pocket to symbolise his strength and hope. Venti was someone who never bowed in submission even when buffeted by a thousand storms, even when standing against a god; a hero whose steady fingers on the lyre strings drew revolution from a downtrodden nation.
Compared to Venti, Barbatos is…
The cecilias bend under a sudden strong gust, and two feet land lightly behind the Archon. Barbatos whips around in alarm, only to deflate when they see the familiar choppy green hair and poofy purple pants.
Xiao stands with his arms crossed, inscrutable honey eyes trained on Barbatos. He studies the other’s face for a moment before giving a barely-perceptible sigh. Then, he strides over and sits down right behind Barbatos, legs bracketing their small frame and arms wrapping around their middle.
Barbatos feels their eyes well up. They lean back against Xiao’s warm, sturdy chest, desperately trying to hold in a sob. Xiao rests his cheek against the top of their head and takes one of Barbatos’s hands in his own, calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Xiao murmurs, “Venti.”
At the sound of that name, Barbatos stiffens for a split second before forcing themself to relax again.
“It’s nothing,” they say in a forcedly light tone, scrubbing quickly at their eyes. “I’m just happy to see my love, that’s all!”
The chest behind Barbatos moves as its owner exhales. “It’s not nothing,” Xiao says in a tone that brooks no argument. “I can hear it in your voice. And you called to me with the wind.”
“Did I?” Barbatos laughs, and the sound is as brittle as cracked glass.
They half-turn around and bury their face into Xiao’s chest, silent as they breathe in the adeptus’s scent of qingxin and rain. Xiao, mercifully, doesn’t rush Barbatos, simply placing a grounding hand on their back. It’s his quiet patience that eventually makes Barbatos’s throat unclench enough for them to mumble:
“It was never my name to take, you know.”
Xiao doesn’t react, and the Archon can feel that he doesn’t quite follow.
“... Venti,” Barbatos clarifies in a barely audible voice. Their throat closes up again, tears flowing down their cheeks despite them squeezing their eyes shut as tightly as possible.
“Oh,” Xiao murmurs, finally understanding. He draws his lover further into his arms, stroking their back as they tremble and let out soft, hitching sobs.
‘I wanted his memory to live on,’ Barbatos’s mouth won’t cooperate, so they send their words into the gentle wind embracing the two of them. ‘I thought I could be the Archon he would’ve been, build the Mondstadt he would have wanted, keep the freedom he embodied alive if I simply lived as him. But now they worship my statues without knowing it’s his image. And they call my mortal form by his name, with a love that should have been meant for him.’
I stole everything he should have had, and I regret it. I regret it so much, Xiao.’
It’s sunset by the the time Barbatos’s tears finally dry. Slowly, they raise themself out of Xiao’s hold, a pang of guilt sounding in their chest when they catch sight of his soaked shirt. Xiao himself pays it no mind, gently setting his hands on Barbatos’s slim shoulders.
“There are… many things I want to say in response to what you just told me,” the Yaksha begins, sounding unsure. “But I don’t have a way with words as you do, so I will need to take the time to gather my thoughts.”
Barbatos gives a weak, yet genuinely grateful smile. “It’s alright, Xiao,” they reassure softly. “I appreciate that you-”
“Wait,” Xiao interrupts, hands tightening slightly on the Archon’s shoulders. “I- There may be something I can do for you right now. Although my situation is quite different from yours, I still know intimately how it feels when one’s name is burdened with unwanted associations.”
Alatus, The Golden-Winged King, Barbatos remembers, chest constricting in empathy as they think of the now-smooth expanse of Xiao’s back. He does, no doubt, know that feeling.
“I have a solution for your discomfort with your mortal name,” Xiao says. “It’s only a bandage at most, but I hope it will help.”
The Anemo Archon nods softly, gesturing for Xiao to continue.
“Barbatos, do you know how your Archon name is transliterated in Liyue’s language?” Asks the adeptus, pretty amber eyes peering seriously into his lover’s.
Blinking in surprise, Barbatos wonders where this line of questioning is going. They rack their mind for a second, then answer. “I believe it’s ‘巴巴托斯’ ( Bābātuōsī )?” The Liyuen syllables feel slightly strange on their tongue after not having spoken the language for so long, but their natural linguistic affinity as the God of Music doesn’t fail them.
“Yes,” Xiao confirms. “Then, do you know of such a transliteration for the name ‘Venti’?”
Barbatos shakes their head. “No, definitely not. You, Ganyu and Zhongli are the only Liyuens who use that name for me, and you all speak Common Teyvatian with me.”
“It’s as I thought.” Xiao’s tone is tinged with a slight satisfaction. “I’ve come up with one just now.”
Gathering delicate tendrils of anemo from around him, Xiao uses them to draw glowing teal characters in the air.
“温迪 ( Wēndí ),” Barbatos sounds out slowly, looking questioningly at his lover.
“Yes,” Xiao nods. “温 ( wēn ), meaning ‘warm’, and 迪 ( dí ) from the word 启迪 ( qǐdí ), meaning ‘enlightenment’. I think… it fits you.” The adeptus glances away, the faintest tinge of red visible on his cheeks. “It represents who you are to me - someone who showed me warmth and kindness in my darkest hours, someone who taught me the joy to be found in dancing with the wind.”
“温迪,” Barbatos mouths again as their eyes begin to grow hot once more. “Xiao, I-I don’t deserve-”
“Yes, you do,” Xiao says firmly. “You saved my life. You gave the people of this nation a home and taught them to stand on their own feet. This name is everything you are, and I will call you by it whenever you feel like you are not enough, my beloved 温迪 .”
And the sound of that name shaped so lovingly by Xiao's mouth is like water from the purest spring. It flows into Barbatos’s heart, soothing the raw wounds on its surface and washing every dark, jagged thing they had let settle there.
Xiao readily folds the Anemo Archon back into his arms as the latter begins to cry once more, the wind around them swirling with Barbatos’s gratitude and love.
ooo
He walks down the familiar, cobbled streets of Mondstadt, lyre in hand and the unblemished blue sky stretching overhead. The people of his city look up from their livelihoods as he passes, throwing cheerful greetings his way.
“Venti, we missed you!”
“Hey Venti, those apples from yesterday are still fresh! Wanna try them?”
“Venti, you have to come to Angel’s Share with us! I think Six-Fingered Jose popped one of my eardrums last night, ugh...”
“Big brother Venti, we really wanna hear that song again, pleeeease?”
Their voices are suffused with warmth, and their mouths form the syllables of his name with such clear fondness. It makes Venti’s smile stretch from ear to ear, as warm and bright as the sun itself.
“Alright, alright!” He laughs, the sound like windchimes in the summer breeze. “I’m coming over; sit tight!”