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“Well, I did promise I’d give it back to you,” the archon murmured as Xiao stared at the deep green, garuda embossed cover of the preserved leather tome Venti had passed him. Within its pages were firsthand, contemporary accounts of those few survivors who had witnessed his reign of terror when the yaksha had soared the war-torn skies of Liyue as Alatus—little more than a shackled murderer. Some moons past he’d made a fevered trip to a hidden grotto in Qingce to liberate this fell history from its enchanted prison of moss and stone, with the intent of passing it on to Aether in an effort to make him think twice about exactly who it was he was welcoming by his side. But Venti had waylaid him before he could see the deed done, had cajoled the dark recollection out of his hands until such time as he wasn’t deep in the agonizing grasp of the wraiths overwhelming his spirit—and his sense.
“Are you going to put it back?” the bard asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts. When he looked up, the veiled emotion in those emerald eyes was too complicated for him to read.
“Yes,” he answered anyway. “Thank you. For...many things.”
“Mm,” Venti hummed with a nod, then looked to the side with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Well, I’ll leave you to that then.” And then he gathered up his aether to take to the wind.
The yaksha blinked, not expecting to be bereft of companionship so early on such a balmy spring afternoon. But then, a part of him was grateful with the archon’s subtle hint that the horrors of this tome belonged firmly to an era long passed. He opened his mouth to offer belated goodbyes, his beloved already half dispersed, when Venti suddenly turned back to him.
“Your garuda form was beautiful, Xiao,” he murmured, and then he was gone in a flurry of dandelion seeds and feathers, the light scents of apple blossoms and sunlight after the rain lingering on the breeze. The yaksha let go a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, heart rabbiting as he wistfully studied the delicately parted grass where the archon had just stood.
How had such a heartrendingly beautiful soul ever seen past the evil of his younger days and the poison of his burden to love him? It was a question he still couldn’t answer, for all he knew Venti wanted him to love himself, but at least now he could acknowledge that there had to be goodness in him somewhere.
Both Morax and Venti had seen fit to save his life on separate occasions, after all.
It’s more than just being saved , he thought to himself later as he carefully sealed the tome away, consigning it to history--where it would hopefully remain, this time. He sat back on his heels, casting golden eyes over the deep green ivy clinging to the cavern walls, the bright viridian lichen growing on the dampened stone. Much the color as his feathers used to be, shining and iridescent, the proud vanity of his few meager years of adulthood amongst the adepti before he was overthrown and locked away in the dark for nearly half his life.
He was always a bit late to understand subtle emotional hints and cues, but as much as he hung onto the melodic cadence of Venti’s every word, he had come to understand what the bard yearned to have of him. He saw it in the way the archon ran reverent fingers over the embossed wingspan of that cursed tome, in the shy admission that Venti had worn the yaksha’s green and gold for years, in carefully nuanced poems about storms over the ocean.
And today, he’d been told about as directly as the archon could manage without putting his request to words. For all Xiao couldn’t pretend to fully understand the reason, Venti truly, desperately wanted to see the yaksha in his natural form--a manifestation he had not taken willingly in nearly a thousand years.
Were he the same soul he was a year ago, he would not have been able to think on this subject any further. But Aether had cajoled his way into the yaksha’s life, gently exposed him to the forgotten joys of friendship, and nudged him into Venti’s proximity via joint acquaintance. The love that had blossomed since those early days still felt an unfathomable miracle, brilliant fields of qingxin and cecilia in his soul, undeniable proof that his long suffering spirit had not been reduced to fallow ground after all. He could love, and be loved in return...and little by little, he was learning to recognize faint glimmers in his own soul, qualities that he could furtively acknowledge were at least decent, if not outright good.
Lost in his thoughts, he stood and made his way out of the grotto, turned his face to the sunlight, reveled in the refreshing patter of spray from the rushing waterfall at his side.
Perhaps he yet struggled beneath the weight of his karmic burden, still wrangled with the lingering vestiges of his long captivity...but there was no question that life was better of late, his days colorful and memorable where they had once been an endless monotone of lonely suffering.
And in large part, he had Venti’s bright, undeterred, persistent affection to thank for the improvement, for the gradual renaissance of his soul.
The scent of approaching rain drifted on the wind as he gathered up his aether and joined the breeze, and his heart returned to the notion that had been whispering through his being these past several weeks as he laid with his head in Venti’s lap, allowing the poignant notes of the Dihua flute to soothe his spirit.
With his days of service to Liyue officially over, the peoples’ attention turned elsewhere, and his beloved at his side...would it be so onerous to take his old form once more, to make an attempt at his original calling? To bring forth the spring rains, to guard and guide trade vessels on the open seas; the dreams of his youth, taken from him before he’d ever had the chance to perform in his intended role. With his soul pared down to a fraction of its original size--the poison and rot pruned away when he’d been painstakingly healed by Morax--was he even still capable?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
And so he carried himself out to an islet of rampant wildflowers favored by a looming basalt pillar--one of Morax’s stray spears--a safe distance beyond the reach of the Guyun Stone Forest. Thus removed from civilization, he might practice in peace with none to look upon the embarrassment of his gut wrenching anxiety as he labored to seek out the beauty and promise that Venti still believed lay dormant within his most natural manifestation.
For the first few days it was all he could do to take his form, to allow himself to glide on outstretched wings, to perch still atop the spire and study the nature of the salt winds ruffling his feathers. From there he dared a little more, profoundly grateful that none bore witness when the exhausting sum of his efforts brought forth little more than a dampening drizzle.
But it was a start, and with dogged, determined practice sessions between roaming Liyue with Aether and being tugged along on whatever whims Venti could imagine for them, he produced his first true rainfall. And then his first summer storm, lightning crackling across the skies as he dared loose the songs of his long-lost kin upon the whistling gales. And finally, as the first moon of autumn rose over Liyue, he called forth a tempest, towering waves crashing like thunder against the rocks, the fierce warning display favored by the garuda of eld as they protected their chosen shores.
The squall didn’t reach far, but it was effective, and it was his .
Overwhelmed, he dove for the scant shelter of an outcropping of rock at the base of the peak, took his human form, laughed as the rain blew sideways and stung at his cheeks, mingling with his tears.
Now, he had something worth seeing to show his beloved archon.
“Is this where you’ve been hiding all this time?” Venti mused as they approached the Forest, a soft lavender twilight blanketing them as they gently landed atop one of Morax’s old war relics. “Well, it’s certainly a good choice for quality time to yourself. No wonder I couldn’t find you.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” he mumbled, shifting from foot to foot. “I was...I wanted to…” For all his rehearsal of exactly what he would say, how he might present himself, he was always lost for words around Venti—and had never been particularly eloquent in the first place. But the archon’s eyes were kind when he lifted his own to meet them, and he gave a huff of a sigh as he released the outer trappings of his form.
The gesture would suffice without explanation.
As much as he’d worried that this diminished, lesser version of his (questionable) former glory would prove a disappointment, it was a profound relief to watch those soft pink lips part in wonder, to see the awestruck, moved delight in those stunning green eyes.
“Xiao,” Venti whispered, reaching out tentatively before quickly withdrawing his hand. “May I…?”
He gave a throttled trill and brought his head low to acknowledge the archon’s request, holding steady with effort as strong, clever fingers trailed up his golden beak and through the iridescent, deep green crest of his plumage. And then the bard gave a watery laugh and threw his arms about the yaksha’s graceful neck, pressing his round cheek against smooth, aurum-limned feathers.
“I’ve always wanted…” Venti choked, then shook his head, pulled back with a wobbling smile. “Might we fly together?”
Not trusting himself to words, Xiao could only nod, angling his head in a clear gesture of invitation. The archon rose to his tiptoes with a hum of joy, and the yaksha blinked as the aetherial bindings of Venti’s usual garments fell away into pristine white wings trimmed in gold and the scant raiment of his godhood, Anemo tattoos bared and glowing in the early starlight.
Gods, how Xiao loved seeing his beloved like this, and the archon stumbled with a giggle as the garuda bunted at his exposed midriff with a brightly plumed head nearly half his size. Nerves sufficiently bolstered, the yaksha then spread his yet mighty wings and took to the skies, giving a croon of delight as he was quickly joined in flight by the soul who had saved him at Dihua.
How they whirled together, how their essences coalesced until they were nearly as one, dancing beneath the clouds as he’d always dreamed. It came to him suddenly that he’d sunk into the instinctive choreography of courtship, and that Venti knew the responding forms, knew how to mirror him.
Was this what the bard had been after, then?
How good it was, how sweet and fulfilling to finally fly together like this, to begin gently building positive and beautiful memories over their painful, unspoken recollections of ages past, when they had clashed in pitched battles over the skies of Liyue as Morax sought to subdue his master.
Venti gave a peal of laughter at the first sweep of rainfall, emerald eyes glowing with the force of his rapture, lips quirked in a sharp grin of challenge. It was the most engaged he’d seen the archon in centuries, his ferocity and authentic smile alike faded since the fall of Khaenri’ah. Not that they’d been personally well-acquainted back then, but they’d certainly circled one another for long enough that Xiao knew the change when he saw it.
That he’d been the one to bring out the remnants of that original, ardent love for life made the yaksha’s heart sing, and with an ancient call passed down through his blood, he brought forth the lightning that he knew his dear one so loved.
You’re incredible! Venti’s aether thrilled over his as blinding bolts fissured the sky. And then the archon blew him headfirst into his own gales, and for a while he forgot how to think as they gave themselves over to the whims of the storm, to joint navigation of the squall, flying so close and tight that he might have struggled to place a spare feather in the space between them.
Gods, hard as it was to believe, this love between them was going to work out, the way they soared together sealing their union as an ineffable certainty in his soul, come what may.
“I want to see the lights!” the archon cried at his side, fey and lost to exhilaration, his pure, melodic voice a clarion on the wind.
The garuda knew immediately what was being requested of him--the luminous, aetherial clouds of concentrated Electro his people had used in ages past to guide allied ships safely through the tempest. He’d yet to practice this, but no matter.
Right now, he could do anything.
A few enchanted notes later, he released a reverberating explosion of light that thundered through the both of them, so thoroughly rattling their senses that they lost a few hundred meters of height.
But soaring above them were hundreds of crackling violet wisps, buoyant and peacefully drifting despite the roar of the storm, a lantern rite just for the two of them.
It was then that Venti finally made aerial contact with him, nuzzling at his feathers in a clear request for reprieve that saw them descending together in the ambient glow to touch down on the shores of the yaksha’s modest retreat. When he looked down, the archon had him fixed with an expression of such impassioned, wild ardor that he immediately took his human form, swung his beloved around as they crashed together, as spray from the waves crashed over them both.
For a while their kisses were fierce, and for once he didn’t mind his fangs, raked his teeth over those plump lips as he’d always longed to, took the returning bites in stride as he ran his fingers through the archon’s soaked hair, braids long lost to the storm. Little by little, they calmed together, and their kisses grew longer, gentler, a haven of shared warmth in the rain. When he pulled back he saw his own lights reflected in those adoring eyes, couldn’t help but move back in to kiss more, to show his reverence for this capricious, beautiful spirit who had brought him back to himself.
He would never grow weary of this, never, not for as long as they both lived.
At last Venti pulled back, pressed their foreheads together for a moment before regarding him with unmitigated tenderness.
“I believe this calls for reciprocation,” the archon whispered. “Can you take your garuda form again?”
“Mm,” he answered, hazy and slow to follow from all the kissing--but he did as he was bade, shuffling with confusion as Venti tugged him down to settle in the storm-tossed flowers, then ducked under a sizable green and gold wing. “What are you-” he started, then wrinkled his brow as there was a softening of the weight against his side. When he lifted his wing to peer curiously at his beloved, a tiny pair of crinkled, luminescent green eyes regarded him shyly through the dark.
His breath caught in his throat as he looked upon Venti’s precious, natural form for the first time, that brilliant, voluminous soul somehow stored in the diminutive housing of the most adorable wind sprite he’d ever seen.
“Ehe...I’m not what I once was,” the sprite murmured, self-consciously twirling from side to side. “But I wanted you to see.”
The yaksha’s heart clenched, and as carefully as he could, he bent his head beneath his wing and nuzzled the squeaking sprite into the feathers of his side.
“I’m not what I once was either,” he said quietly, when he’d finally let up. “Thank you for helping me realize.”
“Ah...mm,” Venti breathed, for once at a loss for words. “Can...can we stay like this for a while? It’s been a long time since I’ve...since I’ve had the courage to do this,” he faltered.
“You don’t see me complaining,” Xiao replied, then gave the sprite another nuzzle when those endearing eyes widened questioningly. “Yes, we can stay like this. I...I like this,” he admitted, feathers fluffing in abashment--but he couldn’t help the croon of fond, touched amusement that escaped him as Venti promptly turned and snuggled through his outer feathers and into his down.
“Love you,” the sprite whispered, voice muffled by fluff.
“I love you too,” the garuda answered softly, the words coming easier to him than they ever had thus far in his turbulent life. And then he rested his head against the underside of his wing, sheltering them both from the gentling rain of his own making, twinkling starlight breaking through the retreating clouds as a hundred wisps bobbed overhead, guiding them ever forward.