Work Text:
The day Mondstadt received the news of Rex Lapis’s death, the winds stood still.
Nobody could say for sure when the news reached everybody in the city, just that it spread over the course of the day. The Knights received reports from their contacts in Liyue, shoppers heard rumors from traveling merchants, and children held mock-fights where the Lord of Geo finally fell. Whispers were passed, speculations raised, a couple prayers offered to the Anemo Archon.
And in the afternoon, in Angel’s Share, a very loud and very drunk man, in an attempt to impress his drinking buddies, shouted, “Yeah, he’s dead! I’ve got a friend who’s cousins with a Milileth soldier, and the guy saw it happen! Morax’s body jus’ came crashing down from the sky, right into the crowd at the Rite of Descension! They’re still tryin’ to figure out who did it, though-”
And in the afternoon, in that instance, the winds ceased completely.
The windmills, normally constantly moving, providing a backdrop of ambient noise to the city, stopped. Each massive sail hung loosely, unmoving. Windwheel Asters stuttered to a halt, tree leaves stood still, and Cider Lake’s surface became deathly still, with nary a ripple to be seen.
Citizens stared and whispered to each other in fear and worry as the near-constant breeze faded away, leaving only the slightly humid autumn air behind. Young children quieted and stilled, and stood closer to their parents. Dogs sniffed and growled at the dead air, and cats flattened their ears against their heads.
Mondstadt, the city of wind and song, fell silent.
And in Angel’s Share, at the same moment the winds paused, a bard sat stock-still at the bar, a mug three-fourths filled with wine clutched in between his hands.
The group of drunkards didn’t notice the sudden absence of the breeze, too far gone into their revelry and newfound information. Charles gave the green figure a passing glance as he suddenly pushed away his glass and stood, walking out of the tavern briskly, with not a word said. Ultimately, Charles was more concerned about the patrons who were already getting rowdy so early in the day than the strange behavior of the bard.
That sentiment continued as the bard walked through the hushed streets on Mondstadt. People were more focused on the absence of the winds to notice his unusual behavior.
As he passed through the marketplace, he heard quick whispers from the people present, merchants and citizens alike, all deep in conversation, all casting quick, anxious glances at the sky while they talked.
“It’s true. I don’t know how it happened, but Rex Lapis was murdered-”
“At the Rite of Descension? How could it have happened-”
“The Milileth have been scouring the city for clues and leads-”
“I heard they tried to arrest a suspect, but they got away-”
“Who-or what - could have possibly killed Rex Lapis, of all the Archons?”
“I’d wager the Fatui have something to do with it-”
“500 years since an Archon has died-”
“What do you think will happen to the people of Liyue?”
The bard said nothing, nor did he pause.
He continued on his way out of the city.
He passed the guards at the gate, barely paying attention as they nervously nodded to him, their focus occupied with the drooping dandelions and the ominously smooth surface of Cider Lake.
The winds had not stopped in Mondstadt for as long as any living could remember.
The bard walked along the path without hesitating or faltering, each step almost mechanical.
His cape did not flutter in the breeze as it normally did. The wind did not brush against his heels, asking him to run, to jump, to take flight.
It was all still.
He did not look around at the scenery, he did not walk leisurely to his destination.
He only had eyes for his next steps.
He passed by brooks that seemed to be too loud, too joyful, too disrespectful for how he was feeling. He half-heartedly thought about shooting them a glare, but found that he lacked the will to follow through.
He followed a seldom-traveled path up to the great mountain within Mondstadt, passing through the makeshift camp set up by the adventurers who dared to traverse the hostile ice.
One such person called out to him as he walked through the camp.
“Hey! If you’re planning to head up to Dragonspine, it would be better if you had some warmer clothes, or a pack of supplies-”
He ignored them, continuing his journey to the base of the mountain. They sputtered in surprise, shouting advice after him, obviously bewildered by his odd behavior.
He didn’t care.
It didn’t matter.
Dragonspine couldn’t kill him.
The bard kept walking, never lifting his eyes from his path.
Even as the temperature dropped, and began to bite at his skin, he never stopped. Even as late afternoon turned to evening turned to night, he never stopped. Even as thieves and Fatui alike shouted at his presence and raised their weapons, he never stopped.
The wind did not move that day, but weapons were dropped from hands as a few unlucky challengers found themselves gasping for breath, falling to their knees as the wandering bard passed by them, not sparing them a single glance as they choked on nothing at all.
Not until he reached the crumbling remains at the very top of the mountain did he pause or raise his head.
The bard stared at the pillar that floated high above the ground, unrestrained by gravity or ice.
He let out a soft sigh.
Without a word, a brilliant light shone from his body, and a pair of soft, white-feathered wings unfurled from his back, gently pushing aside his cape.
He flapped them once, twice- and without a word, he rose into the air, gently floating on nothing at all.
He flew up to the top of the pillar, leather shoes gently tapping onto the broken stone.
With another flash, his wings disappeared, and he fell backwards, sprawling onto his back as he stared at the sky.
The winds remained still.
Green eyes found the floating city in the sky almost by instinct, and he frowned, covering his face with a hand.
He uncovered his eyes again after a moment, gazing up at the cloudless night sky.
Just almost out of sight, in the stars above Liyue, hung a pattern of stars he knew by heart.
Straight, orderly, precise in their placement.
Just like him.
Solid, unwavering.
Just like him.
Unchanging.
Just like… him.
A constant.
Morax had been a constant.
No matter how long he slept, he knew that Morax would be there.
No matter how many foolish decisions he made, he knew that Morax would raise an amused eyebrow at the tales of his antics.
No matter how long it had been since their last meeting, he knew that Morax would talk with him as he always had.
No matter anything, Morax would have been there.
Lapis Dei glimmered silently above Liyue, and for the first time since he had heard the news, he felt something rise in his chest.
A sudden rushing, a sudden cold burn that ripped through his lungs and heart. It overtook him before he could even think, and within seconds, his vision was blurred. Tears overran his eyes, spilling hotly down his frozen face as he sobbed, body shaking. He pulled himself to a sitting position, arms wrapping around his knees in a miserable attempt at comfort. Tears flowed without end.
His chest was burning with cold and it hurt . He had almost forgotten what the grief felt like raw, had almost forgotten the sheer agony of the uncontrollable misery that death brought with it.
It had been so long since he had last lost somebody so close to him.
The citizens of Mondstadt were dear to him, of course, but he always knew they were mortals. He didn’t have enough time with them to truly know them, for them to understand him, nor did he expect them to.
They were dear to him, but they weren’t Morax .
They hadn’t guided him as he had began his journey as an Archon, hadn’t introduced him to some of the finest delicacies he had ever tasted, hadn’t fought alongside him, hadn't charmed their way into his heart, hadn't looked at him with those Cor Lapis eyes that made his heart just melt-
Morax was gone.
Morax was gone, and the bard screamed as the finality of that statement hit him.
His friend. His beloved friend, who had always only been a friend, because he had never had the courage to just tell Morax how he felt , who would always and forever now just be a friend , another friend who had gone before him .
He curled onto his side, his tears splashing onto the stone.
He was the oldest Archon now, and he felt his age.
He felt ancient . He felt as if he could blow away with the breeze at any second, simply dissolve into smoke at fade away.
He felt the weight of his years settle itself heavily onto his shoulders, and he choked a little, struggling for air.
He was the last.
He was the only one left from those original seven, the archons who became friends, their regular meetings, the joy they shared.
He was the only one left now.
He screamed again. A corner of his mind told his to be wary, to preserve his voice. But his distress did not listen to reason, and he let out another heaven-piercing scream.
He was alone.
He was screaming again, although it barely registered that he was the one screaming.
His gaze was fixed on one section of the pillar, tracing the cracks and patterns of the stone.
His body was numb, and he felt that if he tried to move his hand, it wouldn’t respond to him.
He was crying at the top of Dragonspine, and he was half-conscious, disassociating, fading out of reality in an effort to escape his grief.
As his grip on the world faded, he closed his eyes, knuckles turning white from the force with which he gripped his arms around himself. As he sobbed and screamed from the injustice of it all, from the misery that death brought him, the winds stood as still as the stones his neighboring country was so famed for.
The winds stood still as the bard cried.
And so nobody heard as under the gentle starlight, resting atop a fractured piece of Celestia, Barbatos mourned the Geo Archon.