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Aggressive winds howled left and right, like flattened tornadoes, shutting Old Mondstadt out from the rest of the world. The little wisp named Barbatos - having his name being given to him by his very first friend in this world - could see the destruction of the people and felt human like never before. For someone so small, to burden himself with something so big seemed like an impossible task. He has barely been around to witness much of anything; he only knew the spirits of the winds that roamed the lands by name - not personality.
And yet, when looking up at the immense, looming tower of Decarabian, the God of Storms, he felt wiser than him. Locked away in that tower, Decarabian couldn't have known the sorrows of his people, much less whether or not they even could feel sorrow and pain. That notion, that tiny thought of superiority, made the tiny wisp flutter around in exhilaration. Perhaps, such a war could be won, if waged well.
However, he was wrong. Now, as the new protector of the wind and of Mondstadt, he clutched his first friend, as he lay there breathing out the final moments of time within him. Experience isn't something measured in years, it seems. Not for him, or Decarabian either.