Work Text:
For days a bard sat amongst the cedar trees on the outskirts of new Mondstadt strumming his lyre. Those who occasionally strolled by him would stop to listen, only to walk away angered or frustrated. Why? It was because no sound came out of the notes he played.
A prank, many believed. They sometimes ignored him and went about their day. Other times they would insult the bard and mock him.After all, what was a bard without his music ?
What those people failed to notice was that the bard was no ordinary human, he was a god. An archon. An ancient being the ruled over the winds of teyvat for centuries. Their mortal ears could not hear his music. Perhaps they were deemed not worthy enough, or perhaps they didn’t care enough to listen . However the few that heard his music would describe it as a broken melody, a song cursed to never finish nor begin. Why was a God playing such a broken song? Sadness was only a mortal trait, gods had no need for it, so why? Why did this bard play as if he was mourning?
He didn’t seem to have a reason, yet he still played. Perhaps in another's eyes he was as human as anyone else in this world.
The bard closed his eyes.
Laughter, he could hear laughter. The sweet alluring scent of windwheel asters. It was warm. Comforting. He inhaled. When, when was the last time he had felt this?
Ne Barbatos, will you still remember me when I’m gone?
He lifted his head and saw a blue haired boy smiling at him. Sadness shone from his eyes but it didn’t stop the boy from holding his hands in excitement. The god admired the beautiful turquoise irises that seemed to move like the wind. He looked so alive, so happy. The god couldn’t help but smile back. All good things come to an end, Morax had told him.
His smile faltered and his eyes widened.
The boy looked at the bard helplessly. Blood began to drip from his mouth.
I-I don’t feel so good.
The light in the boy’s eyes began to flicker. He began to notice it growing dimmer and dimmer until it was gone. He looked in horror at the once lively boy.
No.
He desperately held him. No. No. No. No. No. He tried to capture the light and hope the boy carried with him only to meet with a corpse. Not again. Not again. The bards hands shook. Blood. There was so much blood.
He was dead
Dead
The bard opened his eyes. He exhaled slowly. Ah so a dream, he told himself. His body shook. The images were so fresh in his mind. A tear rolled down his cheek, one tear turned to two, two to three and soon the bard’s tears wouldn’t stop. A crying god, it was heartbreaking, but beautiful sight.
He cried for nights, but he didn’t stop playing.
Even at the times he could no longer shed tears, he continued to play. His songs reflected his heart. Broken and Lonely. It was as if he was missing the boy.
To have a god mourn for him. Who was he?
Years passed by. The god got older. Time meant nothing to him but yet the bard was tired, so, so very tired. Immortality was a curse, rather the a blessing for him. He’s eyes slightly drooped as drowsiness washed over. Perhaps it was time to rest for a while.
The bard chuckled, placing a Cecilia beneath the tree he sat on. He closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, perhaps it was time for him to rest.
His figure slowly dissipated into the air, becoming one with the wind.
One day. He promised before he entered his slumber, one day we will reunite. Till then, my old friend, wait for me.
.
.
.
And so the blue haired boy waited.