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It was a routine they had. Between stops on their journey, the siblings would stop and comb through one another’s hair before leaving camp. It was a nice moment of peace between the excitement of traveling between worlds. Valor knew Veil appreciated the silence, him being the less sociable of the two. It was the only reason why he kept his hair long. Despite his irritation when it came undone, the braid was a comforting reminder that they’d stick together, through thick and thin.
Veil would watch in fascination, how quickly his sister’s fingers wove his hair into an immaculate fishtail braid, how each notch was tied perfectly without a single strand out of place. She’d explain that fishtails were her favorite to braid, how his hair reminded her of the gold fishes they had seen in one of their favorite travels. Veil just thought it were neat, that they took up more hair than a normal braid and kept the strands out of his eyes. It was sturdy and reliable.
It was Valor.
She was the older sibling, the leader, the one who would choose and lead Veil through the worlds they traversed. Veil was the fighter, but Valor was the protector. She was the pillar in their lives.
And it was like everything fell apart when Veil lost her.
Find her. He needed to find her. That was his objective. Everything he did in this world was for this one goal—all they had was each other. He needed to get her back, because she would do the same for him.
And so Veil absently went about his missions in Mondstadt. Amber and Paimon’s lectures were lost on him; Kaeya and Diluc’s little feud was only a little more irritating than it should have been. Even Dvalin’s rage couldn’t break him out of the trance he seemed to have put himself in.
It wasn’t until they were on Dvalin’s back when his already weak facade cracked. The braid finally came undone and the whorls of hair cascading down his shoulders felt suffocating. How ironic that Veil would feel so trapped in his own mind when the archon of freedom was celebrating a victory. The loss of weight on his shoulder was just a cruel reminder that Valor was gone. All Veil could do was resentfully shove his hair in his hood and turn away from the group, thankful that they were distracted by Venti’s speech and the view from above. Anything that happened after that was lost on him, until La Signora’s confrontation.
Pure rage sparked at all too familiar pale hair, and familiar again was the feeling of helplessness as Venti was attacked. Maybe these two factors were what made Veil run out the Mondstadt gates in a panic, because at least this was someone Veil could find now.
And that was who became his second companion on this journey, when he was so ready to tackle this world alone with only a mini-dragon guide on his shoulders.
Venti, who brushed off his sharp words and insulted the unruly mess sticking out of his hood. He offered to braid his hair, and Veil wasn’t prideful enough to turn down the semblance of comfort. It was a different braid, not a fishtail. Just a normal one that made his hair seem longer from the lack of intricacy. It was different. It wasn’t Valor. It wasn’t quite right.
But it was enough. It cleared up the emptiness in his chest. It took away the unbearable reminder prickling at his neck that he was alone. And for that, Veil was indebted to the bard.