Chapter Text
The first time Xiao sets foot in Mondstadt, it’s snowing white feathers.
It’s cold, too—a subtle chill that weighs the wind down and washes a bit of the color out of the grass. But the feathers are warm to the touch, as if freshly fallen. He curls his fingers around one, but it slips through his grasp and breaks into shards of light on the ground.
This, then, must be the blessing which protected Mondstadt for the past 500 years. Venti—no; Xiao has lost any right to say that name, surely—Barbatos always had a flair for theatrics, hadn’t he?
But he’s not here to reminisce. His orders are clear.
”Warn Barbatos that the Abyss Order is targeting Mondstadt. Guard him until we understand the threat.”
His orders are clear—but he can’t shake his unease. Why would Rex Lapis send him away from Liyue so close to the Rite of Descension? To aid another archon, no less?
And why Xiao, of all the adepti? He and Barbatos are...
What are they?
What were they?
An acquaintance does not return, time and time again, even when half his questions and breezy chatter are met by terse one-two-three word sentences and the other half by silence. A friend does not vanish for years on end without a word. But whatever it was they had (and what does it matter now) died in the moonless dark of Guyun. Barbatos bandages Xiao’s wounds and his hands come away stained red. Ah, Xiao thinks faintly. One more sin I must bear. But Barbatos just looks sad. He says Xiao went from one set of chains to another and Xiao says Barbatos couldn’t tell duty from chains. No one raised their voice of course but they’d stared at each other as if from across a gorge and parted ways without a further word, and the following centuries widened the gorge to a light-eating abyss over which only the clear and lovely sound of a flute could pass—and even then, only once.
So they hadn’t spoken or seen each other for close to a thousand achingly silent years—not even on that fateful night in Dihua Marsh when Barbatos saved Xiao’s life? soul? everything?—until, well, now. Presumably.
Xiao steps up to a Statue of the Seven, bracing for the winds to blow him away. But nothing happens, and tentatively, he places a hand on its base.
Where are you? I w—need to speak with you.
A breeze tugs at his hair. Fallen leaves drift east—to Dragonspine. He takes a deep breath and follows.
But he hears the song, and there’s no need for a guide anymore. Moths fumble for flame; his feet move on their own (and maybe it should concern him, that a foreign god holds him in such a thrall, but he can’t bring himself to care). The swirling snow relents for the space between one breath and the next—
Xiao thinks of a flower, at first. A flutter of green in the frost. But, slight as the figure is, his voice rises clear as a birdcall above the storm—as enduring of the high winds as those white blossoms he so loved.
I’ve wanted to see you for so long.
Light-headed, Xiao stumbles forward and sinks to his knees.
“V— Lord Barbatos.”
The Anemo Archon whirls around, clutching his lyre to his chest. When Xiao meets his eyes (every bit as bright as he remembers; jade stars cutting through the cold mist), it feels like falling.
“Xiao?” Barbatos breathes, with something like...
What?
Divine names on the lips of those in prayer; he hears them, always; they whisper of peace, hope, prosperity—all the brilliant things a yaksha can never have, can never give, can do nothing but stave off the decay. They do not call for him; what would his name sound like, anyway, in such reverent tones?
Would it sound like this?
Startled, ashamed, Xiao drops his gaze. “I apologize for intruding—“
“No, no!” Barbatos exclaims. “You could never intrude.” He extends a hand. “On your feet, now. You needn’t kneel to me.”
With some hesitation, Xiao grasps his hand. “Thank you,” he manages, after Barbatos helps him up.
“What brings you here?” Barbatos inquires. “Oh, but before that—how have you been?”
“I—“ Xiao starts, then stops. “Fine.” He is not fine. What’s the meaning of this? burns the back of his throat. The last thing he’d expected was a warm welcome. Did you want to see me too?
Barbatos pouts. “500 years and all you can say is ‘fine’?”
Xiao glares at him. “Then why—“ He bites his tongue just in time, but the question lingers there, unbearably bitter.
Then why didn’t you come?
After all, Barbatos has always been the free one. Going wherever he wished, whenever he wished... Not even the God of Contracts could hold him to anything he didn’t want. So why...
No, that’s unreasonable. Barbatos had no obligation to Xiao, nor did Xiao pursue him. He pushes those thoughts away.
“The Abyss Order is targeting Mondstadt. Rex Lapis asked me to guard you until the threat is understood.”
Barbatos huffs. “Goodness, that meddling old shí nǎojīn... But, who am I to complain when—“ He shakes his head. “Nevermind, nevermind! The Abyss Order, you say? This wouldn’t be the first they’ve set their sights on Mondstadt, but they’ve never gotten past the seal...”
So it’s a seal. Xiao files that away. “How does it work?” he asks, part a practical concern—and part a deeper, more disquiet one. Not even a Jade Shield could hold the Abyss back for so long.
Power comes at a price; this, Xiao knows better than most—so what could Barbatos have paid?
“You could say it’s a field that suppresses abyssal magic. The Abyss Order would require power rivaling an archon to overcome it, which—as far as I’m aware—they lack.” Before Xiao can press further, Barbatos snaps his fingers. “That said, I have noticed an unusual number of hilichurls about as of late. We should work with the Knights of Favonius to set this straight.”
Oh, mortals. Xiao exhales. “I’ll leave that to you.”
“Ah,” Barbatos laughs, suddenly nervous, “I’d rather not reveal myself. Won’t you go? Please, please, please?”
Xiao frowns. “They are your people.”
Something fracture-like flickers through Barbatos’s eyes, too swift to catch more than a glimpse. “I know,” he says, dropping his cheerful facade. “I love them dearly, Xiao—don’t misunderstand. But...”
“But what?” Xiao demands, and when an old scar splits open the burning swallows up his veins. A millennium and a cataclysm and Barbatos hasn’t changed at all. “Is duty so contemptible to you?”
He regrets the words as soon as they slip from his mouth. Barbatos flinches, paler than bone; Xiao digs his nails into his palms.
Look at yourself. You just got this back, and you’ve gone and destroyed it.
Hopeless.
“I spoke out of turn,” he mumbles. “I apologize.”
“No, I should apologize,” says Barbatos, and—surprised—Xiao looks up. The god’s smile is soft, but it’s the softness of fraying fabric—worn down to a tangle of threads, unraveling at the barest touch. “For what I said back then, that is. I—” He stops. His smile twists. “Well. We all make choices.”
And Xiao’s duty is one of them. He’s relieved the God of Freedom finally acknowledges that—but what does he mean, ”we”?
Perhaps it’s only rhetoric. Xiao doesn’t ask, in the end. He’s already pushed enough.
“So, I speak to the knights. What next?”
Barbatos shrugs. “That’s up to them. Sadly, I can’t come along—I’ve a few affairs to look after elsewhere. Yes, yes, I imagine you’ll be grieved by the loss of my charming company, but try not to overly despair.” Xiao does not roll his eyes, because that would be immature. Barbatos laughs anyway and gives him a teasing shove. “Best be off! Safe travels, wind go with you, et cetera, et cetera. Shoo!”
But, underneath his theatrics, his smile doesn’t seem to touch his eyes.
One look at the Geo Archon’s insignia and Xiao is ushered into the Acting Grand Master’s office. He explains the situation to Jean, leaving out Barbatos’s involvement.
“I see,” she murmurs, after Xiao’s finished. “Thank you for the information—and please convey my gratitude to the Geo Archon as well. I’ll lead a team out tomorrow to investigate.” She swiftly pens a letter and stamps it shut. “You’re welcome to join, but by no means obligated to. Will you be staying in the city?”
“Dragonspine.”
“Understood.” She pushes the letter across her desk. “Could you bring this to the knight stationed at the base camp?” Xiao arches an eyebrow, and she gives a half-smile. “Forgive the bold request, but you’re faster than any of our messengers, and time is of the essence.”
He takes the letter. “Don’t apologize for practicality.”
Jean’s smile turns more genuine. “Take care, Adeptus Xiao.”
Xiao delivers Jean’s letter and departs the camp, but a shout stops him just short of the bridge.
“Wait, mister!”
A boy runs up, panting—and as much as the clock is against them, it’s the plea written on his face that convinces Xiao not to disappear.
“Are”—the boy pauses to catch his breath—“are you going up the mountain?” Xiao nods. “Ah, I... I can’t find my dad. He said he would come pick me up and that we’d go watch the snow together. But he’s late... If it’s not trouble, could you help me look for him?”
Xiao conceals a frown. Few humans can survive long in somewhere as harsh as Dragonspine; odds are...
Well. It’d be cruel to let this child continue waiting for someone who won’t come.
“Stay in the camp.”
The boy brightens. “Thank you! Be safe!”
Barbatos is waiting at the other end of the bridge. His smile is a lodestar of warmth amidst the snow.
“You still have a soft spot for children, I see.”
Xiao averts his eyes. “His father is missing. Do you know anything about that?”
Barbatos’s smile falls. “Oh... I’m afraid I don’t. But I was of a mind to sweep the mountain anyway.” Then, for some reason, he falters. “Say, Xiao”—his words are soft; small, almost—“when you were in the city...could you tell me what you saw?”
Xiao blinks. “Townspeople,” he says slowly, trying not to make it sound like a question. “Buildings.”
The wind blows his bangs into his face. “Goodness!” Barbatos harrumphs, eyes darkening to the blue-green of a stormy sea. “You haven’t a poetic bone in your body, have you?”
“What did you want me to say?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”
Barbatos strides off. Feeling a bit off-balance, Xiao follows, wondering—what was that all about?
“I’m sorry,” says Barbatos, unprompted, a little while after they’ve left the bridge behind. “I was quite short with you. I’ve—been on edge lately, though I know that’s a poor excuse.”
Xiao hadn’t thought Barbatos did anything wrong, much less expected an apology, so it’s not hard to reply, “It’s fine.” As an afterthought, he adds, “I could tell.”
“Really?”
“You only rhymed twice.”
And there—that’s the wind-chime laugh of Xiao’s memories, light as dandelion seeds swirling in the breeze. The first true laugh he’s heard from Barbatos since all this started.
“Is that so? Ahaha, maybe!” Barbatos summons his lyre and strums a warm-up tune. “I’d still like to make it up to you, though. Why don’t I play you a song? Go on—tell me what you wish to hear.”
Anything. As long as it’s you. But—
A night in Dihua Marsh. A flute. A moment’s peace, an eternity; an eternity of suffering, a fleeting moment. Lying in the ravaged reeds, his breath coming in death rattles, Xiao had thought, hazily, is that you? And then, don’t go. But it was too late.
So what is this? A second chance?
Should he ask? Can he?
In the end, nothing needs to be said. Barbatos’s fingers glide over the strings, and that same song sweeps the constant ache from Xiao’s bones. Despite himself, he closes his eyes.
It’s...just as lovely as he dreamed.
“Why did you save me?”
“Hm?”
Xiao wrenches himself from his trance. “Forget it,” he mutters, fixing his eyes forward. But Barbatos steps in front of him.
“Do you need a reason to help someone?”
No, Xiao thinks, but kindness alone doesn’t explain why you played the flute all night without rest for a sinner who hurt you—who didn’t even cry for salvation, didn’t think he deserved it.
But—afraid to hear Barbatos’s answer, or even hope what it might be—Xiao repeats, with an edge he doesn’t put any weight behind, “Forget it.”
Barbatos lingers there for a moment longer. Then, he moves aside. “As you wish,” he murmurs.
A backpack sits half-buried in the snow, with a note to someone named Joel. Barbatos kneels by it. His half-closed eyes are distant, lit with a soft luminance—searching a plane of existence Xiao has only ever brushed against. Then, he sighs.
“I’m sorry. May you find peace.”
Xiao holds his silence. As loath as he is to simply stand around, he will not begrudge a moment of mourning.
A chill runs down his spine.
“We’re being watched,” he says, voice low. He draws his spear, but Barbatos holds up a hand.
“Wait.” Winds gather around the god, mumbling in the pseudo-language of the elements. “They’re human.”
In light of this, Xiao’s oath dictates he should stand down. This blade is not to be stained with mortal blood. But to idle while Barbatos is in danger—it just doesn’t...
A hand on his arm. He jolts.
“Leave this to me,” Barbatos suggests. “You should tell Joel about his father.”
Fighting his nerves each step of the way, Xiao lowers his weapon. “Be careful,” he murmurs. And that should be it—but his feet stay rooted in place. He has more to say. He does? What is it?
Gently, Barbatos pushes Xiao away. His smile is faint.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
“You’re back!” Joel cheers when he catches sight of Xiao. “Did you—“
His gaze falls on the backpack, and he falters.
“That’s...”
Xiao holds the backpack out, and Joel takes it with shaky hands. “I’m sorry,” Xiao says, a little stilted. He’s never been good with distraught children.
“Oh... So he...had an accident...”
“He is with the thousand winds now.”
Joel clutches the backpack to his chest. “Did he... Did it hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Xiao admits. “But Barbatos is a gentle god.” Too gentle, he sometimes fears, for a world this cruel. What good, though, will such thoughts do? “Your father is safe in his care.”
Joel sniffs. “Th-thank you,” he chokes out, and a knight places a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re a brave kid, Joel. Let’s get you something warm to drink, okay?” To Xiao, the knight salutes. “Thanks for that. I’ll make sure he’s looked after.”
The knight leads Joel into the camp. Cold needles prick at Xiao’s skin, and he shuts his eyes, ready for the howls of condemnation—another grudge to shoulder. But the presence is gone as soon as it came, leaving only a murmur.
Thank you.
In the ruins of a city sunk into the mountainside, shrouded from the endless snow and lit by flickering braziers, Barbatos sings an elegy. It invokes soft rain over a marsh, a fine mist in the early morning—a seeping melancholy, but also peace.
He opens his eyes as Xiao approaches.
“You asked why I saved you,” Barbatos says softly. “That’s why.”
“What do you mean?”
He steps closer to Xiao, close enough his eyes seem to become deep skies, stretching into the unfathomable and divine. Xiao swallows as Barbatos taps his heart.
“You have a gentle soul.”
And what can Xiao say when he’s looked at like that? Not with forgiveness, but fondness—like his sins are nothing at all.
“I’m”—he stumbles—“honored.”
“That’s not...” Barbatos sighs, the weight of time caving his shoulders in and gouging shadows under his eyes. “I may be a god, Xiao, but I don’t say that to you as a god. So, please—don’t stand on ceremony with me.”
Xiao’s mouth is dry. “Then...what do I call you?” But he already knows. The name falls from his lips, the light brush of a feather. “Venti.”
Venti smiles, gentle as a breeze, and that’s answer enough. Xiao feels faint, as if standing on the edge of a cliff, or on the cusp of—of—
Ah, he realizes—this again. A lull of contentment, sweet but bitter in its shortness, like the light-trail of a fleeing crystalfly. He wants to cup his hands around it, hold onto it longer than it should last—to say, will you sing?—to close his eyes—
But he refrains. There are more important matters at hand.
“Who was watching us earlier?”
For a second, Venti looks blank. “Ohhh, that. A band of treasure hoarders who, thanks to yours truly, are now enjoying the hospitality of the knights. Although...” He plucks a few disjoint notes. “It may be that someone, or something, used them to mask their own trail. I’m not sure.”
Xiao stiffens. Could the Abyss Order already have sunk their claws into Dragonspine? He reaches for his spear, but Venti catches his hand.
“Stay!” Venti blurts out. “I mean—this can be a problem for tomorrow, don’t you think?” He tugs Xiao to sit next to him. “And remember, I survived the Archon War on my own might. I won’t go down without a fight.”
“You’re weaker now,” Xiao reminds him. That gets a wry laugh out of Venti.
“Forthright as always! I do appreciate that about you.”
Xiao decides to ignore the compliment. More importantly, the archon hadn’t denied his atrophy. So, for the power to seal the Abyss... What price did you pay?
Venti glances at the ashen sky. If the moon hangs there behind the listless clouds, it’s impossible to tell.
“Get some rest, alright? Tomorrow may be a long day.”
Adepti don’t sleep, Xiao is about to protest (an excuse Venti has heard hundreds of times before, and played along with just as often), but all words—and the snow, the cold, the stone walls and gray gloom—fade away when Venti lifts a dizi to his lips. Just the song, and its player...
It is enough.
.
.
.
“Don’t call yourself that.”
“What?”
Venti purses his lips. He’s weaving qingxin flowers together into a chain. The setting sun gleams down in a hazy, golden slant; far away, birds call as they circle the karst peaks. Not for the first time, Xiao wonders why he keeps indulging this strange god—lets him pry him away from his duties for these frivolous things.
Finally, Venti says, “Hopeless.”
Xiao knows he is evading Venti’s true question, but this is the easier response. “Why would you wait for things that won’t happen?”
“How unromantic,” Venti tuts. He brings the two ends together, and it’s then that Xiao realizes it’s not a chain, but a wreath. “Have you heard this saying from Mondstadt?” Venti asks, placing the wreath on Xiao’s head. “Let me give you this nameless flower—“
“It’s qingxin.”
“I know,” Venti pouts. “Just listen!” He clears his throat, and when he speaks next, it’s in the swaying cadence of a half-song.
“Let me give you this nameless flower, and may the springtimes you never saw mean nothing to you. Pray repay me with hope and a smile, and stand with me to welcome the day when the storms blow no longer.”
Xiao closes his eyes. “Flowery words,” he murmurs. Venti gasps.
“Was that wordplay?”
“Not intentionally.”
Venti ignores him. “What a historic day! To think— Oh, alright! Lay off your glare. I shan’t keep you any longer from your affairs.” He stands up and stretches his wings, yawning. “Hmmm... I suppose I’ll go bother Morax. ’Til we meet again!”
And with a whirl of wind, he’s gone.
Xiao reaches up. Carefully, he lifts the wreath from his head. The fragrance of qingxin entwines with that of cecilias.
If... If he had a hope...
Venti would be there.
.
.
.
Watching the even rise and fall of Xiao’s chest, Venti wonders if he isn’t the one dreaming.
You’re alive. You’re here. You’re with me.
It’s almost too good to be true. Almost, because Venti will not delude himself into believing Xiao holds any regard in his heart for him (Venti, the flighty, drunkard bard; not Barbatos). But this fragile moment is more than he could ever ask for.
The firelight flickers in the east wind. Still, Xiao doesn’t stir—not even when Dvalin lands at the mouth of the cave.
You must be sleeping well, Venti muses, a smile blooming across his face. He wishes he could brush Xiao’s hair back—but, of course, Xiao wouldn’t like that.
“Welcome back, Dvalin.”
“Barbatos,” Dvalin greets in a low rumble. “Who is this?”
“He’s a friend,” Venti says, even though that doesn’t quite capture it (maybe no single word can). “I’ll introduce you tomorrow morning. I think you’ll get along.”
Dvalin hums noncommittally. “You seem happier,” he notes.
Venti grins. “Heh, I am! We haven’t seen each other in...” A drop of melancholy seeps into his smile. “...a long time.”
“I am glad.”
Absently, Venti reaches out; the dragon bends his head down and lets Venti card through his feathers. “But I’m afraid it’s not all good news. The Abyss Order is on the move. Can you feel it?”
“All too well,” Dvalin grumbles. “They are gathering at the border. I dispatched those who dared show themselves, but they grow back like weeds. I...regret to say I do not know if I—“
Venti places a finger to his lips, and Dvalin stops. “That’s alright,” he reassures. “You’ve already done more than I could ever ask. Ultimately, protecting Mondstadt is my duty. Only I need pay the price.”
Dvalin tenses. “You cannot—“
“There’s no can or can’t,” Venti says, quiet and grim. In the depths of his memory, a sea of flames burns. “There’s only will or won’t.”
“And what will the price be this time?” Dvalin growls. “Your life? Your songs? Your—“
A tempest lashes snow into the air. Branches snap.
“Enough!”
Dvalin backs away, wings flat against his sides. Xiao shifts, a crease in his brow—but, mercifully, doesn’t wake. It isn’t until the wind stills that Venti, heart pounding loud in his ears, realizes the shout was his. Anger drains away, leaving only a cold guilt.
“I’m sorry, Dvalin,” he whispers. “I’m grateful for your concern, truly. But I’ve made my choice.”
Dvalin releases a slow exhale. His claws loosen from where they’d dug into the ground, and he turns away. “So be it.”
He spreads his wings. Venti’s throat closes up.
“You won’t stay?”
Dvalin pauses. At last, he says: “Tell him.”
Wind whips as he soars into the sky. One of the braziers sputters out. Venti watches Dvalin fade into the fog, and, hoarfrost cracking through his heart, thinks despairingly—
I can’t.
The snow falls, silent and suffocating.