Work Text:
Barbatos could not possibly remember every single soul who longed for freedom. There were many in Teyvat, and hundreds were beyond his power to soothe. During the balmiest days in Mondstadt, the winds would carry pleas to him from many corners of the world. It was true that his power had greatly diminished (a fact he was proud of; he loved his nation and the people who remained steadfast despite their God not always being present) and so, these desperate cries for freedom would be soothed the only way he truly could now; through a gentle song. He usually never caught names or faces; could only feel the essence of a soul. Oftentimes, he wouldn't make a connection until he met face to face with the very voice he had carried his songs to. It was easy for these nameless voices to slip from his mind until a certain time they needed to be recalled.
But that one night.
That one voice.
It haunted him.
He was slightly inebriated, having drunk himself well beyond mortal limits at the Angel's Share when the wind caught his hair. Venti halted in the street, always ready to listen to a heartfelt plea and ease the suffering of a troubled mind.
Kill. Kill. Bring the end. KILL. Help me.
The voice wasn't so much a singular sound, but an absolute cacophony. A nightmarish chorus, ringing over and over again in his mind. His head felt like it was on fire, his ears burning. The bard lost his footing and slumped to the nearest wall, attempting to sort out the sudden assault on his senses.
''Stop...stop, please...you are too loud, I can't help you like this.'' He pleaded softly, fingernails digging into the cobblestones. The only time he had felt something similar to this was when he came to the aid of the Vigilant Yaksha. The waves of hatred and roiling, demonic debt within him had brought bile from his stomach. Somehow, this managed to be worse. Rancor, rage, fury bled from every word. It seemed almost directed at him and Venti found he struggled to piece together more words. It was like a ghostly hand held his throat tight, forcing him into silence. Making him listen.
DEATH. FIGHT. Suffocate. I can't stop it anymore, please.
Venti had a mind to swirl the winds and lose the voice, but even in his drink-addled state he could hear the desperation in this poor soul beyond the hate and venom. Just like the Yaksha all those years ago, they were suffering and the wind spirit could not, would not ignore the plight of one so helpless. The anemo archon felt along the wall, breathing labored as the voices warred in his head. He struggled to shift his bow back into a lyre; his hands were shaking terribly. Venti sank to the stone floor, leaning his head back against the wall and he let his hands guide him.
The tune he strummed was soft and melancholy. Had Venti been well enough at that moment, he would have settled on the terms, 'bittersweet and hauntingly beautiful'. He continued to play until the pads of his fingers were a light pink and his hands were cramping. While he was unsure how long he had been playing when it finally happened, the voices stopped and he could now rest. Venti felt himself immediately slipping into slumber, and he only hoped he was able to help this poor soul find some rest. His dreams were full of nightmarish creatures and the haunting image of his very own Statue of the Seven overturned and shrouded with a sickly purple aura.
Venti pretended to forget; tucked it away into the back of his mind. But he remembered. Some nights, he would still dream of that horrifying voice and the images that accompanied these dreams were always twisted and horrific. Years later, Venti could still recall the exact timbre of the voices. After a while, he assumed it would be lost to time; it was unlikely he would ever actually hear it again. After all, the true voice behind that chorus could have belonged to anyone in Teyvat.
Until that chance meeting, one night outside the Goth Hotel.
The Bard had been playing for some of the children in the area, getting them to laugh and dance. As if the cold hands of fate grabbed onto his cloak and pulled, he felt oddly drawn to something. Venti attempted to shake off this feeling, but it remained steadfast throughout his performance. Once the kids were pulled away by their grateful parents, Venti turned to the hotel and raised an eyebrow. He wondered where this feeling was coming from, and why the winds beckoned him onward.
Then, he heard it.
''She wants it done, so I trust you'll do it? I would hate for this to become an unpleasant encounter.''
I can't stop it anymore, please. The wind swirled around Venti, taking him back to that night. This was the source of the voice that haunted his dreams. He couldn't bring himself to look. He just couldn't.
''Yes, sir. We'll see it done.''
''Excellent! Thank you for being so understanding.'' The voice got closer and Venti froze. He gripped his lyre tightly, eyes focused on a Philanemo mushroom peacefully blooming over the side of the building.
From the gardens came a young man, ginger hair tousled and blood red scarf swinging from broad shoulders. His figure was slender, his eyes a lifeless abyssal blue. Venti had never seen eyes like that before. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought this man to such a frenzied state when he heard his voice years ago. He looked young, so he couldn't have been older than a teen at the time of the incident.
When their eyes met, it was as if two forces of nature were locked in combat. The wind at Venti's beck and call was howling, ready to defend the elemental spirit at all costs. His braids swung in the breeze. For Childe, it was as if the constant flow of high pressured water that sustained him rose rapidly. He found himself drowning; unable to move if he wanted to stay alive.
''A bard? I've never seen you around here before.'' Why did Childe feel like that was a lie? There was something familiar about this strange musician. He could feel it, just bubbling underneath the surface.
''Oh! My name is Venti. Mine isn't always such a common face around here. I've never seen you. One of the Fatui?'' He makes the connection, watching him with intense aqua eyes.
''A Harbinger, to be exact.''
''Harbinger, huh? And what would bring such a high ranking member to Mondstadt? Debt collection?'' Venti knew he was stepping into dangerous waters. Mondstadt's problems were their problems, after all. He didn't like the idea of jumping in to defend his city all the time. But...after the affects this man had on his psyche, he wasn't sure he should let him leave without pressing him.
''You ask some interesting questions for a bard.'' Tartaglia laughs. It sounds good natured, but Venti knows there's much more to it then that. There's something dark lurking in these waters....something savage and predatory. He had best be careful where he step.
''My apologies, I seem to have overstepped. Maybe you'll let me play a tune to make it up to you?''
''Well, I have been working all day. Would be nice to relax for just a moment. I'll make it worth your time if you play something I like.'' His tone shifted from predatory back to that friendly, easygoing persona.
''Tell me your desire, and I shall match it with my lyre.'' Venti rhymed smoothly with a beguiling smile, despite his slight anxiousness.
''Do you know anything from Snezhnaya?'' It was a long shot. The instruments from his home were entirely different and produced some wildly unique tones, so it was unlikely a lyre could even come close to replicating the exact same sound. However, even a familiar tune would lift his spirits and make him feel like he was at home with his family once more.
''Ah, I think I have just the song! Why don't you sit? It won't take long.'' Venti motions for Childe to sit at a nearby bench. The Harbinger nods, finding the rhyming gimmicky and in poor taste. He obediently took a seat, folding his arms. Venti stood before him, closing his eyes and concentrating as if he were searching for the right tune.
He was, in fact, doing just that. Venti tried to recall the melody he had played those years ago, when his hands were guided by an unseen force through his drunken stupor. When he would play for people in desperate need of soothing, he rarely chose the tune. His hands would be guided to whatever the listener found most calming. Sometimes, it was hard for Venti to recall the song years and years later. This one, however, haunted him still. His fingers found the right spots and he began to play that oh so familiar tune. Childe listened in awe, his expression one of pure shock. He sat through the entire performance without interruption; dead eyes full of emotion. Halfway through, Venti felt brave enough to look at the man before him and violent gales met clashing waves. They stared each other down as the bard strummed his lyre perfectly in tune to a song Childe often heard in his youth. When he finally stopped, it took both of them a moment to speak; it was as if they were in a trance.
''How could you possibly know that song?'' Childe cleared his throat, sitting forward.
''A bard never reveals the secrets of his talents, ehe!'' Venti answered coyly. That answer clearly wasn't satisfactory to the Harbinger.
''No. There is no way you could have known that.''
''Doubting my musical prowess?'' The bard folded his arms, the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife.
''There's no way you could have known that song because it was a lullaby my Mother sang to me when I was a kid. It's not even common in Snezhnaya.'' There was no way out of this corner, it would seem. They stared each other down some more and Venti cleared his throat. Normally, exposing himself as Barbatos wasn't something he truly minded. In fact, if his people saw fit to gain from his reveal, he would freely give it. But in this situation, when he was staring into the hollow eyes of the man who had plagued his nightmares for years now...one of the Fatui Harbingers; a dangerous man, not someone to be taken lightly...should he take the risk? What if he decided to take it out on Mondstadt? He had to think before rushing into this.
''It's not as uncommon as you think. We get many travelers here from all over the world. I hear many, many things in the local taverns.''
Childe knew that was false, but he had to admit that this bard was a damn good liar. He had an excellent poker face, one the Harbinger just had to admire.
''Normally, I would accept your lie and brush it aside. But I can't deny the timing of all of this is strange. Too strange.''
''What do you mean by that?''
The ginger haired man sighed in response, leaning back on the bench. Diplomacy be damned was generally his way of thinking. Normally, Childe loved to raise hell anyway he could. But...after hearing something so precious from his childhood and being consumed by his memories of his siblings and home...he was simply too placated to fight.
''When I was younger, let's just say there was a pretty bad incident. It shaped me, made me who I am. While I was going through that experience...sometimes, I would hum the lullaby to get myself through. Then, when I finally clawed my way out and started making my own future... I got sick. Overworked myself, you could say. Honestly thought I might just finally die there. Then, I heard the song again. After years of it being gone from my mind, just suddenly, there it was. And now I hear it again, from someone I've never met who doesn't look like he would last a day in Snezhnaya. You tell me how strange of a coincidence that is.''
Venti wrinkled his nose and he searched for an appropriate answer.
''I feel like half truths won't be enough, so take an honest answer. Sometimes, the winds carry voices to me from all over Teyvat. The people behind them are generally suffering, or feeling trapped. I do what I can to help, but most times I find the only thing that truly helps is a tune. I give them a song to carry with them in their hearts, in the hopes it nurtures their will and soothes their aches.''
''How is that possible? Ah.'' It clicked in Childe's mind and he looked up at Venti. This wasn't really what he expected Barbatos to look like at all. He knew Signora had taken his Gnosis not long ago, but she hadn't spoken much of the incident. In fact, Childe is generally left in the dark on such matters-like his all too recent situation with Rex Lapis/Zhongli.
''I normally wouldn't reveal myself to someone like you without good cause. After all, I can't be certain how you would react. If something were to happen to Mondstadt because of something I did, I know I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. But I can't help feeling like there's more to you then just a Harbinger. I'm the only one who heard your cries that night.''
''You were right to consider before revealing yourself. However, the Fatui aren't interested in you now. So you and your city don't have anything to worry about.'' And as loathe as he was to admit it, true to Venti's words that tune had been on his mind lately. It really had been driving and pushing him, and it was keeping the ever encroaching madness from his days in The Abyss away.
''I'm glad to hear that. Honestly, this...this has been haunting me for years. Accompanying your cries was a voice unlike anything I've ever heard. Dark and monstrous...I couldn't stop hearing it. I alternated between wanting to meet you and hoping I never encountered you.''
There was silence for a few beats, the wind blowing fiercely. Childe rose from his seat and produced a bag of Mora from his hand. He pushed it into Venti's hands, their eyes meeting.
''The music you played was exactly what I needed. The only thing I'm really good for is raising hell, and yet you answered the call instead of ignoring it at your own expense. It might not mean much to you, but it gave me extra time with my siblings. So, thanks. I hope whatever has been haunting you finally rests now.''
Venti held the weighty bag in his hand, eyes glancing between it and back up at Childe in awe. He watched his retreating form for a few moments before calling out.
''Wait,'' he said, halting at the top of the stone steps. Childe turned to look back at him, ''I don't know your past, and I won't pretend to know. Something is holding you prisoner. I hope one day, you find the courage to break free from it.''
Their eyes met once more, but instead of tension there was now understanding. Childe nodded, wanting to say 'thank you,' but the words fell and died away. As Venti watched him disappear into the busy streets of Mondstadt, he sat down on the top step, consumed by thoughts.
He never heard that voice again, and his nightmares finally stopped. But Venti never forgot those lifeless eyes, nor his pleas for help. He could only hope from afar that Ajax would find the strength he needed and finally break free from his shackles.
When Childe left the City of Bards that night, he was irrevocably changed. Something inside him had began to stir at the last words Venti had left him with. Since his fall into the clutches of The Abyss, something savage had taken hold on his heart. Childe was left with scars and a worldview so unbelievably warped; he had never believed the vortex his own mind had become would be quelled, nor his faith in humanity even slightly restored. However...something began to bloom within him. A light in the dark; a golden spark. A glimmer of hope, maybe? Only time would tell.