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“It’s already been an entire year since Dvalin was healed and Mondstadt began to move on, hasn’t it?”

Diluc looked up from the glass he was cleaning at that, tilting his head a fraction. He studied the face of the ancient god in front of him, searching to see exactly how drunk he was to be willingly reminiscing about the terrifying dragon he once called a friend. He found no signs of extreme inebriation past Venti’s flushed cheeks, only unfathomably old eyes and a gentle grin. He sighed, and began to speak slowly, steadily.

“I suppose it has. Not much has changed, though. You still refuse to pay your bar tab, despite repeated threats to being cast out of my good graces.”

Venti snorted and spread his hands in a grand show of nothing. “Can’t give you what I don’t have, and what Zhongli can no longer make during his visits.”

“You could start by doing your damn job and getting the filth out of Mondstadt that terrorizes your citizens every so often.”

Venti leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin on his face. “Oh, but you do it so well, Mr. Darkni-“

“Stop. Not while there’s people I haven’t paid to keep my secrets around. Besides, I know I do it well. It’s why I still do it. It’s why I’ll keep doing it until I’m worthy of the dream my father left me and the Vision on my waist. And this isn’t even mentioning the fact that besides Jean and our dearest Traveling Soul, I don’t trust anyone else to watch over my people.”

At that, Venti’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his eyes widened. He sat up in his barstool, back straightening. Diluc realized what he said too late, Venti was already speaking. His voice was serious and commanding, yet still quiet enough for prying ears and eyes to not catch wind of the conversation. His teal eyes seemed to glow in the dark light of Angel’s Share.

“Your people? The people of Mondstadt are the children of Barbatos and the wind. Are you trying to take my place as Archon?”

Diluc’s hands trembled slightly with a fear he had not felt in a long time. Despite his frail form and easygoing demeanor and general lack of direct combat ability, Barbatos was still a god. Even without his gnosis, he could still fuck Diluc up if he so desired it. Diluc set the glass down with a thud.

“I- apologies, Barbatos. I just care about the people here more than most know. That being said, your frequent century-long naps cause the people of Mond to either forget they have a god anymore, or to hope and pray that someone, anyone will protect them. The Knights of Favonius can only do so much, but I’ll be damned to the Chasm before I join them to clean up their inefficient ranks. I just…”

He trailed off, distracted by the soft look and lopsided smile that had begun to spread across Venti’s face.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Venti? It’s making my skin crawl.” Venti rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“No, it isn’t Diluc. And I was looking at you like that because I know all of what you said is true. The issue is that I don’t have my gnosis anymore, and my lyre breaks often. My power is waning and I desperately would love to pass on my status as an Archon to someone younger and more caring about the city than me. However, I can’t. The next person would have to be willing, and then swear an oath on the anemo gnosis. That is no longer a possibility, so I do what little I can and hope that Mondstadt grows and moves beyond the need for me.”

“…..Who would you have named as your replacement in the Seven?”

Venti’s nose scrunched up at that. He placed his index finger on his chin in thought. He remained like that for several seconds before nodding to himself and looking back at Diluc.

“Jean. She’s already the face of Mondstadt, an anemo user, and dependable. However, it’s frustrating in a sense, as you would be a wonderful choice. You, however, have a Pyro vision. I think though that you would be an admirable Archon in general. You have the courage to fight gods and monsters, and the love to look over a nation without wanting recognition. I have the feeling that you would come to care and nurture any realm you ruled. The other Archons I know have heard about you as well. The tales of the Darknight Hero are more widely known than you realize, Diluc.”

Diluc blinked. Surely he didn’t hear what he thought he heard, right?

“Forgive me, but I thought I just heard you tell me that I would be a good candidate for godhood. An actual god. An Archon. An official member of The Seven. Can you tell me what you actually said?”

Venti leaned forward on his elbows, swinging his legs and giggling. “Nope! Your ears are juuuust fine! I said what I said, and I meant it too! I don’t brag about you in my songs for no reason, you know.”

“It is true. He speaks of you often, little flame.”

At that, Diluc’s head jerked up and Venti yelped, falling off of his chair. A tall woman stood in the entrance of the tavern. Her eyes were embers of barely concealed fury, of bloodlust, of victory. Her hair was a wild, blazing red tangle that reached just past her hips. Her golden skin and pure muscles that shifted visibly under her skin each time she moved screamed of years of training for battle and war and strength. Merely at this first glance Diluc could tell that she could tear through bones and monsters and gods with ease. She was frightening. She was familiar.

The woman looked at the rest of the tavern. Everyone was staring at her, for she commanded attention.

“All but Diluc Ragnvindr and Barbatos leave if you value your life. I wish not to fight this late in the evening and would like for you all to leave peacefully. Your drinks and meals will be recompensated by tomorrow.”

Silence so suffocating that it felt overbearingly loud to breathe took the tavern before everyone jerked out of their seats and fled. Diluc hadn’t seen his patrons clear out that fast since the time Venti actually got shitfaced and began singing very off key and very loudly. In the middle of the tavern. In his underwear. He’d rather not think about that image for now.

As the last customer left, the woman strode over to the tavern counter and took a seat next to Venti, who had nervously climbed back into his chair. The bard looked nervous.

“Murata?! I thought you were dead. Wait, why are you even here, Murata? Natlan is an awfully long way away from Mondstadt, dead or not.”

Diluc gasped.

“Archon Murata! That’s why I remember you! You gave me my Vision when I was a child. You’re the Pyro Archon!”

The woman’s expression remained neutral, gently humming under her breath.

“Indeed, little flame. You were but an ember then. You have grown admirably since you were but a child. You even visited our land once, for a time. You simply glowed then. And as for your question, Barbatos, I come here to hopefully pass along my dying flame. I hope it grows to be a wildfire once again, because mine is all but extinguished. I might as well have been dead.”

Venti’s brow furrowed and he leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. A look of concern and deep sadness crossed his features.

“You mean to step down from your place in the Seven? You’ve found a replacement? Are you sure?”

“Indeed I am, Barbatos. I am the Archon of War, but I am tired. I wish to pass my role along to someone who will be less inclined to slaughter yet remain strong in the face of injustice and opposition. I do not mean to leave my children defenseless, but I do not want their hands covered in blood any longer.”

                Venti’s brows drew even closer in confusion. “But why are you here? Why haven’t you chosen someone from your own realm? The Pyro Visions you’ve gifted to the people there are strong, and it would seem more natural to choose someone who already worships you and follows your teachings.”

                A small smile broke across her face. The ever-present anger in her eyes dimmed slightly.

                “Did you not hear me, silly wisp? I said I wanted a replacement who would be less inclined to war. So, I listened to the wind for songs of heroes and warriors. One song in particular caught my attention, hailing from Mondstadt. You sing very often of a blond Traveler and a warrior, fearsome alone and practically unparalleled when together. While the Traveler you sing of is a new addition, the warrior has been the subject of bards’ songs for far longer.”

                Diluc paled, realizing where this was headed. He cleared his throat, raising his chin to try and meet Murata’s eyes without showing the trepidation he felt.

                “Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but I assume that you mean…me. I’ve heard Venti’s songs many times, and Aether and I are the only ones he sings loudly and often about.”

                Murata nodded.

                “I didn’t realize that his songs reached farther than Mondstadt. I would have halted him far sooner if I knew my embarrassing escapades were being louted magically on the wind to lands past the city gates,” Diluc groaned.

                “I sing good and you know it! Besides, you can’t stop the wind if I want it to reach to other domains,” Venti sniffed.

                Ignoring the tiny bard, Diluc looked back to the goddess. “Whatever you have heard, I can only deeply apologize for. Barbatos likely exaggerated my actions, so I’m afraid that you’ve traveled all this way for nothing. I am far from fit to be your replacement. I would have to leave behind Mondstadt in the first place, and I can’t do that. I have to carry on my father’s legacy here and at the winery, in addition to protecting the citizens here. To be an Archon...I’d have to move somewhere entirely different, wouldn’t I? I’d have to live in Natlan.”

                Murata’s face soured. She crossed her arms and leaned forward towards Diluc, squinting slightly.

                “Might I ask you who thought you were worthy of wielding a Vision when you were but a child, when most others are near adulthood? Might I ask you who saw something in you before those damned Fatui did?”

                Diluc choked and felt his hands go cold, face warming in embarrassment.

                “That…would be you, Archon Murata. You bestowed me with my Vision.”

                She closed her eyes in thought at that. Murata let out a soft hum before opening her eyes again and leaning back.

                “That is correct, Little Flame. I gave it to you because I saw a bright future ahead of you. Already, you have accomplished much, and quite honestly far more than most of those I grant my Visions to. I knew damn well what I traveled for, and it angers me that you do not see your own worth. As for your life and job here, I would not even think of sending you to reign solitarily in Natlan for quite a while. In fact, I would ask instead that Barbatos teach you the ideals of godhood and allow you some modicum of reign in secrecy here. Not long, mind you. Perhaps only a single lifetime - if that. If you take my offer, you would not age. How would you explain that to those around you?’

                “I…I had never considered it. Immortality has never been up for discussion for me before. I suppose that I would just reside in Dawn Winery and pay my staff to keep my secret. All of this if I even took your offer in the first place.”

                Venti looked between the two for a moment before speaking up softly, a touch of sadness in his eyes.

                “Diluc, what she’s offering you is a big responsibility. The people you love and protect now won’t be here in 50 or 60 years. They’ll all move or die. You, as you are now, would need to be like Zhongli but in reverse. The Diluc that honors and protects and loves Mondstadt needs to move on either way, either mortally or immortally. I know first-hand what it’s like to accept divinity and see those around me live out their lives. Things that feel permanent no longer are permanent. There’s little to no stability and boredom is a constant. That being said, I can only encourage you to take this offer as both an Archon, and as your friend. As an Archon you would have the power and unlimited time to do whatever you wanted. You could enact and implement the ideals you embody. You would have a true purpose again, Diluc. And, it might be more than a bit selfish of me to say this, but it would break my heart in more ways than one if I had to let go of you if you remained mortal and died. If you became an Archon, I…we could be friends forever. That is to say: it would be more than an honor to escort you and teach you in the ways of being a god – terrible one that I am non-withstanding.”

                As he spoke, a soft smile grew across Venti’s face. He spoke quietly, but was the most serious and genuine that Diluc had ever seen him be in his entire life. It shook him a bit, and he clenched his hands on the bar in thought. Why was he even considering this? He wasn’t fit to be a good son, much less a god. He’d lose everyone. Jean, Kaeya, Amber, Noelle, possibly Aether (he tried not to get his hopes up that he was also immortal and was as scarily old as he drunkenly claimed to be one night), and more people from the city.

                But…he’d been to Natlan. He remembered vividly how his soul burned when he was there and how kind the people had been. Could he really grow to love them instead of what Mondstadt held for him in his heart? Maybe… maybe if he could have a single lifetime to say goodbye. Maybe if Venti was there to help. Maybe, just maybe, if he could have the power to truly protect and help and guide others for good.

                “I…accept your offer, Murata. Tell me how this is going to happen and what I need to do, and I will do it as long as I have the rest of my friends’ lives to protect them. Mondstadt isn’t ready to let go of the Darknight Hero just yet, but maybe they’ll take notes from Liyue and grow up.”

                Murata grinned, nearly baring her teeth completely in a frightening flash. She stood up from her seat and grabbed his hand, squeezing slightly.

                “Take me, then, to a place where people can keep secrets if they witness what mortals are not meant to see. A secure place where you can hide away for a short time as the changes take your body over.”

                The trek to Dawn Winery took just slightly longer than it normally would, since Diluc made sure to take Murata and Venti through the darkened back roads he memorized for when he needed to make a discreet escape from the city. None of the three spoke during the trip and the air between them was somber and tense. Diluc feared that even his breaths were too loud in the dark silence. Still, he took a shuddering breath when he saw his home on the hill in front of him. Distantly, he realized that this would be the last time he would be entering as Diluc, the mortal son of Crepus and former Knight of Favonius. When he emerges again, it will be to eternity as the next Archon of Natlan. Honestly, he wasn’t sure whether to feel trepidation or excitement.

                When the door to the winery opened, Diluc shouted for his servants to leave for the night. A look of genuine confusion passed between them all, but the didn’t question it. Within five minutes the two gods and Diluc were alone. Awkwardly, Diluc brought Murata and Venti further into the house and more into the living area next to the staircase.

                “So…what now?”

                Murata took a long look at the room around her, before nodding and looking over at Venti.

                “Barbatos, stand back and do not speak until I directly address you during the process. Your role here is to be a witness. Little Flame of mine, Diluc, take off your coat and gloves. Bring us a glass of your finest and oldest wine.”

                Both men did as she instructed, with Diluc’s coat and gloves cast off to the side. Murata motioned for him to hold the goblet with both hands, then placed her hands gently on top of his. Her hands were like fire against Diluc’s bare skin. It’d been so, so long since he’d held anyone’s hands without the protection of his gloves. The heat and callouses of her hands sent shocks through his system. Tearing his gaze away from where their hands met, he met her eyes. They were intense and pinned him in place.

                “Diluc Ragnvindr, son of Crepus, holder of the Pyro Vision I gifted many years ago, I acknowledge you. Your efforts and accomplishments have been seen by the gods. I, Murata of the first Seven, extend the invitation for you to join the Archons in godhood and immortality. Will you take on the mantle and burden of becoming the god of war, with the intent to instead become a god of protection and not destruction?”

                “I… I do, Archon Murata. I will take on your mantle of war, and strive to become the god of passion, of rage against injustice, of love for the weak, and protection and victory. I accept your offer of godhood.”

                “What name shall you take on, as a god? A divine name, such as Barbatos or Morax.” Surprisingly, Diluc had only a moment of hesitation, as a name came to his mind immediately.

                “Fira. My name is Fira.”

                Without breaking his gaze, Murata took one hand away and drew a blade from her thigh. Quickly and efficiently, she cut the thumb of the hand still holding his – nicking his in the process as well. She slid the knife back into place and pressed their thumbs so both of their blood ran into the cup of wine. The second the blood touched the wine a bright, mesmerizing red glow began swirling and shining out. He could feel the cup become almost unbearably warm and he found himself unable to look away from the light dancing within. Murata’s hands disappeared from his, and heard softly, “Drink, Fira. Become a burning phoenix and be reborn by the fire of dawn.”

                Diluc lifted the goblet to his lips and took a deep drink. The wine didn’t even taste like alcohol, instead just tasting like pure heat. He wanted more and more and more, and within seconds the cup was drained, and he felt his head go foggy. He felt a warmth travel through him and settle bone-deep within, and he felt a strength and power surge within him. Diluc gasped for air – anything to cool the heat that built higher and higher but found no relief. Within mere moments, it felt as though he was suffocating on the heat and thick air around him.

                Panic hit Diluc, and his vision began to black out. The muscles in his body were screaming for oxygen. His legs wobbled and he collapsed to the ground, cup rolling out of his hand. The last visuals that registered in his fading mind were the room lighting up in bright red and yellow, and Venti bending down to kneel next to him – taking Diluc’s upper body and propping it up on himself. He heard a strangled, hoarse scream and he passed out.

                When Fira opened his eyes, he registered that he was covered in soft warmth and dried sweat. His bed? Was he in bed? His head pounded in pain, and his clothes felt scratchy. He groaned and reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. He jerked awake, though, when something scraped against his face instead of the expected skin. His eyes shot open and were greeted by the sight of…claws? Talons? Fira shot up to a sitting position, ignoring his screaming back.

                His hands looked normal until the last joint – where his fingernails would have been. Instead of his normal fingertips, he had what resembled the talons of his falcon. His attention was drawn away from the shocking sight by the sight of a few blood red feathers on the sheets in front of him. Confused and off-put, he whipped his head to the side to look at the mirror on the desk next to his bed. His breath stopped in his throat and his heart began to pound in his chest. That…wasn’t him was it?

                His hair spilled around his shoulders and looked as though it were made of pure flame at the ends. Oddly, it seemed to still be cohesive and acted as though there were weight to it despite flicks of fire coming off the tips of his mane. The next thing that caught his eye were…well, his eyes. There were no pupils or whites. It looked like he just had glowing reddish orbs in his sockets. They were bright and resembled miniature suns. He blinked slowly, feeling no pain at the very least on the inside of his eyelids. Lastly, and quite possibly most disturbing were the feathers that trailed up out of his shirt collar and up his neck, edging around his cheeks. They looked like phoenix feathers – burnt red and gold and brown and soft. He remembered Aether telling him of a movie from a world he had once visited about an isolated man that could partially transform into a crow. He had laughed at the time, thinking the image of a man with bulky wings using fire magic was hysterically ridiculous. Not so funny anymore, though.

                He also realized that he could hear voices. Young and old screams for help and blessings of war victory. He didn’t recognize a single cry he heard, but the voices just kept building in his head until it felt as though his skull would burst.

                Fira realized that his breaths were coming faster and heavier when he was torn out of his thoughts by a gentle knock at the door. He couldn’t find the words to invite whoever was on the other side in, but the strangled gasps he let out seemed to be answer enough. The door opened and the familiar wind god walked through. He looked worried for a moment, before quickly walking over and sitting on the bed next to him.

                “They’re so loud!”

                “Diluc…?”

                Who? Who’s that? He let out a confused noise at the other. The wind god merely furrowed his brows and gently grasped the clawed hand that was clenching and unclenching on the bed.

                “Fira…”

                “Barbatos?”

                The small god smiled and lifted his unoccupied hand to gently stroke the feathers and flames on Fira’s face.

                “You’re confused and overwhelmed. It will be alright. You can go back to how you looked before and blend in with the mortals. This is your true form now, so it would frighten most mortals.”

                “How? What do I do? I’m…Barbatos, I’m scared. I don’t look right. There are voices that just won’t stop. They’re calling for me, but I don’t know any of them.” Fira reached out with his free hand and gripped the other. He pulled Barbatos closer and pressed their foreheads together, trying and failing to push back tears of panic.

                Softly, Barbatos cooed and hushed him. The gentle stroking continued to his neck, after wiping away some stray tears.

                “You have to get used to this form at some point, but can you do something for me?”

                Fira opened his eyes and met Barbatos’ confusedly.

                “Can you remember your mortal name? Can you say it for me? That’s all. You just have to do that.”

                “My…mortal name? I don’t have one. I – I don’t have one Barbatos. Do I? Who am I? I’m Fira, aren’t-“

                He cut himself off, as a surge of memories hit him. His Vision. Kaeya smiling at him as his sworn brother now, front teeth missing but the smile being bright nevertheless. Meeting Barbatos – no, Venti for the first time. His father, bleeding out in his arms. The seven nations. Il Dottore and the other Fatui. Using the Delusion for the first time. Jean handing him a slice of her homemade mushroom pizza. The flushed, drunk smile of Aether as he whispered promises to stay next to his side forever. Murata’s hands. The goblet.

                “It’s Diluc. I’m – I was Diluc. I own the Dawn Winery and work at the Angel’s Share.”

                Barbatos smiled at him warmly and wrapped his arms around Diluc in a warm hug. Softly, he whispered into his ear, “Welcome back, Diluc. Look in the mirror.”

                Diluc did and found that he was back to the human visage he was so used to. The feathers were gone, and his eyes were back to their normal red irises. His hair no longer burned. He breathed a sigh of relief.

                “Thank you. But, what about the voices?”

                “Unfortunately, you can’t do anything about that. That’s just something you have to…get used to. It’s one of the reasons I drink. Being drunk makes the voices dull. Hopefully, the voices will calm down once you start rebuilding Natlan and giving hope to the people again. Until then, I’m genuinely not sure what you can do. I’m sorry.”

                Diluc sighed. “It’s alright, as long as I can still turn to you for help. Thank you.”

                Barbatos pulled away from him, at that and giggled.

                “Come on, fellow Archon. We need to get some food into you and then I can start teaching you how to do your job!”

                Diluc snorted and set his feet down on the floor. Time to get up and start working at eternity.

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