Archive of Our Own

He hungered for more of those sounds and he never stopped for the rest of his long life.

Then the spirit met the human beings and liked them and their noises. They were larger than him, much bigger than even birds yet smaller than the dead trees that were still rooted to the earth. They were resilient despite their weakness and helplessness, so he listened to their pleas for help. The sprite did what he could to blow a breeze of hope that protected their little campsite from the inclement weather, from the wars between the anemo gods. It wasn't much, the barrier was doomed to break eventually. Nonetheless, they were grateful and smiled at him and prayed. In the short time they shared, the sprite learned how to speak and use his own voice to communicate with them. He learned how to call things by their names. He found out they could sing like birds when he heard a mother hum a lullaby to her baby, and that endeared them more to him.

They told him about the city they escaped from. The spirit decided to take a look despite their disgust and their warnings. It didn't seem to be a good place for a soft-hearted wind to thrive, or perhaps anyone at all. But hope is much more needed in places of despair, and there was much more to learn about the world. Promising to bring news, he flapped his tiny wing and steered towards the northern blizzards.

He only regretted he wasn't strong enough to do more for them. Before he left, he imbued a feisty girl with a bit of anemo energy he had managed to accumulate with their faith in him. He hoped that would suffice to keep them safe. That devout girl's name was Gunnhildr, and many songs and legends have been written about her and her descendants. Even today, the two daughters of that clan work hard to help everyone and keep the breeze of hope alive. Even today, they smile at that wind sprite in another shape.

The boy's music blew the wind sprite's mind. Birds and humans used their vocal chords to sing; this was a fact. The young bard who lived between the city walls also had a strange object made of carved wood and tense strings. The boy's fingers plucked and strummed, and most charming sounds would be produced. It was miraculous!

"You're quite fascinated by my lyre, little buddy," he smiled at the sprite.

"The sounds are beautiful," he chirped, swaying to the rhythm. Humans called it dancing, but since he had no legs he just floated around.

"Thank you! I still have much to learn to become the best bard in Mondstadt."

"Learn? Didn't you invent your lyre?"

"Hahaha!" the boy laughed. "Not even close! Lyres have existed for thousands of years. Is this the first musical instrument you've seen?"

"Instrument? What's that? There are more?"

"Yes! Each looks and sounds different from the others. My grandpa only taught me the lyre though."

"Oooooh!" The sprite tilted his head. "Do they... do they all need hands to be played?"

"Um, I'm not sure..." The boy scratched his chin for a long time. "No, I can't think of one. Maybe they exist but all the ones I know require hands. Why would...?" He stopped once he saw the disappointment in his little friend's demeanor. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"I really wanted to play music with you..." The sprite sighed. "But I cannot even hold a lyre."

"Well! That's no impediment!" The boy crossed his arms. "You have a voice and you can use it! That's the greatest weapon we have against the Tyrant's chains. So my friend! As we're still free to sing, you can also use your voice. Sing along with my lyre and we can do a duet."

"Oh," the sprite gasped. It had never occurred to him before that he was able to sing like the birds and the humans. How silly! "I've never done that before. What if I sing badly?"

"It's just the two of us. The worst that could happen is that I laugh at you. But I won't ask you to stop until the song ends even if you're off-key."

"So you do plan to laugh, huh?"

"I'll try not to, haha." The boy took his lyre again. "We're just having fun and that's what matters, right?"

"Right! Okay, here it goes."

The sprite closed his tiny eyes, not wanting to look at the bard, and remembered the little bird song from long ago for inspiration. He remembered the lyrics of the song his friend was playing, the one he had composed and practiced for the entire day. He mimicked the ways the human boy's voice went up and down as much as he could. He was making music! His own wispy voice wasn't as high as the birds or as low as the boys, but something in between. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he felt something intense blooming within him.

When he opened his eyes and finished, the bard was staring at him with his mouth agape.

"Wow," he whispered, stars in his eyes. A huge smile spread in his face, but there was no signs of mocking laughter.

"I didn't mess it up?"

"No! Wispy, your voice is so lovely! I wasn't expecting it at all!"

"M-My voice is lovely?" the spirit blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, really! I'm being honest here. There was a note where you did sing in a higher pitch than it's supposed to be, but that was amazing. You can reach higher notes than me, in fact. If I tried to reach that, my voice would break!"

The wind sprite thought about it for a second.

"Does that mean I'm better than you at singing??"

"Whoa there," the bard snorted, "let's not get ahead of ourselves there. I think we're both pretty great but you just started the minstrel trade and are bound to make mistakes. Like I said, that high pitch note was a nice surprise but it was off."

"Oh." The spirit had just learned the song the same day, though. His friend was being strict, or maybe overprotective of his ego. Still, the bard's grin turned softer and his hands cupped around the little being.

"But it's still one of the prettiest voices I've heard. You have great potential! Maybe if you practice a lot you may surpass me one day."

"If I can sing along with you that's good enough for me," the wisp said as he sat on those callous slender fingers.

"My friend, I want you to perform with me as a backup voice. There's force in numbers, and we must make my songs reach as many people as possible. Spread the message of peace and freedom and revolution."

"Like seeds in the wind," the sprite nodded.

"To take root and blossom in people's hearts," the bard frowned while still grinning. "And I think you, who have given me hope with your breeze, could also use that angelic voice to move others."

"Oh, but it's your music that's given me courage to try singing," the sprite disagreed. "I don't have the same power you humans have. But if I can be of help, and we can have fun singing, then I'm glad."

"It can be both fun for us and meaningful for others." He pet the spirit's head with his thumb while still holding him with his palms. "That's what music is about, my little buddy."

The sprite was glad. He loved music. He loved his friend's music. He loved the idea of anyone being able to make music, even himself. That short performance had awakened something in him, an itch he needed to scratch. He too wished to sing like birds and humans, to be part of the beautiful and comforting sounds.

"Then... will you please teach me everything about music? How to sing well! What other instruments you've seen! All your songs! Even how your lyre works! I want to learn it all!"

"Of course I will! You want to become a bard as well?"

"Do you think I can, even if I'm not human?"

"Buddy, you are freer than us and can go anywhere you please. As long as you make music, you're a musician. As long as you tell stories with music, you're a bard. Talent and shape and instrument matter not."

"Then you can call me the windborne bard!" the sprite chirped.

"I'll be the windblume bard then. How exciting! I never thought I'd have an apprentice so soon."

And so, the first songs the wind sprite learned were the ones his bard taught him, about the flight of birds and a call for revolution. That was the only way in which they could fight against the mighty Decarabian, to recruit others.

And when the time came for battle, he crossed the storm around the tower to reach for help. On his way out he found two things: a bird's feather for his dear friend, and the small human community he had met years before. He sang the pleas for freedom to Gunnhildr and her people, and the courageous folks decided to return armed to the city with him to join the ranks of the rebels under the windblume.

His friend was right: there was grand power in his voice.

Under the moonlight, the crumbled marble of the fallen dome

Dried blood spilled over remains of walls and steps of stone

A chipped wooden lyre lies where its owner we have lost

Decarabian the despot has fallen at last, but at what cost?

A silhouette approaches the abandoned battlefield. Slender legs stumble as they walk, like a newborn deer learning how to walk. The large wings made of white feathers and golden spikes reflect the light of the stars and the moon. To think the humans in the city were not able to see them until that moment...

The figure would look like a short young man except for those wings, and the sad green eyes that glowed just like the tips of his braided hair and the elemental markings on his skin. He was almost naked, barely covered with white clothes. After wandering around, he sat on a slab of a pillar and glanced at the hole in the tower's dome. When the god died, his divine energy exploded.

The person was holding an object tight against his chest. A broken string instrument made of wood.

"Look," he said, his voice cracked like the silence that reigned before. "I can finally hold the lyre and pluck the strings but... you're not here with me to do a duet anymore."

Teardrops slid down his cheeks. He seemed alarmed by this event. His old wind sprite eyes couldn't cry, but these human-like eyes reflected the skies in his heart. And in his heart forged by songs of birds and mothers and boys, it rained in mourn.

"It's fine," he sobbed, cracking a shy smile in those new lips. "That's not strictly true, right? You're gone, but your spirit and your ballads still live on. Besides... we can still duet."

He glanced at his new hands and flexed his fingers. The sense of touch on skin and flesh felt alien and strange. He strummed the lyre and produced a few tentative notes that echoed around the ruins. He grimaced at the first try and then giggled.

"Maybe not with this broken lyre, though. I'll make a new one. With fingers like yours playing the strings, and my own voice you loved so much singing the songs, don't you think it's like we're together harmonizing forever? Yes, that's good."

He tried again and followed the old classes, the old melodies his friend had taught him. The chords were distorted by the state of the instrument and the strings were tighter than he expected, but the tune was recognizable.

As long as you make music, you're a musician. As long as you tell stories with music, you're a bard.

He could be an archon and a bard. He was free to be both.

"I'll be a god of music as much as a god of freedom. And once humans can live free, I'll learn all the songs in the world and compose great epics with the knowledge and willpower you've shown me. I'll practice and surpass you as a bard, friend, and make people happy with my songs and my wind and my guidance."

His green eyes watched over the full moon and the floating island well above his head.

"After all, I have all the time in the world to practice my scales."

Even after over two millennia, Venti loved playing for humans. They were after all the most discerning audience from Teyvat. Animals and plants would settle for anything, hilichurls always danced regardless of the melody, and some archons didn't seem to understand the beauty of music. It took him a couple of centuries to get old Morax to admit that he was fond of Barbatos' art.

But humans! Humans are made of music in the same way Venti was made of wind. And he made sure he would keep the ancient music alive for future generations. Even if the context and history were erased by time, he would never forget. He would always share, be it a love song or a protest song or a religious hymn or a heroic epic. They were the blood pumping Mondstadt's freedom and, as such, Venti made this heart beat. And that in turn kept his heart beating as well.

Children and drunkards were his favorite audience. They enjoyed the songs the most, they were brutally sincere in their emotions, and he also related the most to both of them. So when a group of kids gathered around the plaza and called him out, he made a beeline towards them.

"Mister Venti! Mister Venti!"

"Ehehe, good afternoon! Are you playing Knights of Favonius again today?"

"Nope," a boy said, "we were bandits versus pirates."

"Ah yes, a classic. Who won?"

"No one. We joined forces against an abyss mage and we're gonna have a party to celebrate!" A girl explained.

"Congratulations!" Venti grinned.

"Mister bard, can you play us a song?"

"I'd normally charge you with an apple as a fee, but considering you young heroes saved the day I'll do it for free today," he winked at the children. "Any requests?"

"The fox and the dandelion!" they chorused.

"You guys sure love that one, huh? Excellent taste!"

The children sat on the benches of the plaza, expectant. Nimble fingers flew across the anemo-infused chords of Der Frühling. Venti closed his eyes and opened his mouth, deep into the sound of the sonata. A breeze caressed their smiling faces and tussled their hair.

The people of Mondstadt were not only Barbatos' audience. They were his beloved children, too brave to be coddled and as carefree as their patron god. He had done all he could to give them a place to live safe and the means to survive. He had made mistakes and not protected them from themselves, true, but he made up for it and had no regrets in that regard. All that was left was to ensure that happiness they've fought for, and let the music they loved so much flow forever, in an unforgotten duet between wind and mankind.