Work Text:
The winds of Mondstadt were uncharacteristically quiet, the ever-present gales replaced by a gentle breeze that seemed to murmur fragile secrets into the ears of the city-goers.
Strangely, the bard who was so often found serenading the city square, reciting ballads of long forgotten gods, beasts and wars, was absent.
He was also missing from the taverns that night, their patrons bored and unamused without his somber songs, made joyous by his drunken merriment.
Indeed, this bard was gone from Mondstadt, taking his sonnets and wild winds with him.
He sets out on a road not taken, humming a tune airily, his feet barely skimming the soil as he goes.
The bard gazes at a statue standing tall and proud, carved to his likeness. Yet, it’s not his likeness, but an old friend’s. An old friend long gone. He sighs wistfully, longing for a bottle of good ol’ Dandelion Wine.
He presses onward, journeying to a city not his own. In time, he ventures into unfamiliar country, the emerald grass blanching into a sullen olive color.
The afternoon- which is partly cloudy, the sun casting thin beams of light onto the rolling hills- eventually drifts into evening. He watches the moon take her place in the sky, shining full and pale. The folds of her gown ripple against the blue velvet sky.
The bard lies down in the grass, crossing his arms behind his head and falls asleep, his dreams flush with cries of rebellion and the clamor of battle.
He wakes the next morning to a serene sky, the wind rustling the blades of grass pleasantly against his skin. He takes back to the road, delicately strumming his lyre and chirping nonsensical lyrics happily.
He passes by an inn, nestled in the limbs of a tree, which is bustling with people even in the early morning.
The bard squints and sees a figure crouched upon the roof, their face obscured by a mask that snarls, teeth curled and painted eyes narrowed.
He leaves the inn behind, and travels into the plains; hours pass as he strolls through them. Eventually, hills crop up into rocky crags that point skyward. He recalls a story of how they came to be, the product of a god’s spear being cast down from Celestia.
He strays not from the path that winds through these peaks, and soon enough catches sight of a city.
Liyue Harbor, the city that frames the sea so neatly. Everything about it is neat and orderly; the people, the animals, the streets and buildings, even the contracts they love so dearly.
He enters the city and marvels at the buildings, so intricate and detailed compared to his last visit. He listens to the citizens’ conversations as he passes by; some joyful, shouted for all the city to hear, others neutral or sad, kept to anxious whispers.
He skips across the stone streets, coming at last to a restaurant, a shoddily painted sign adorning the space beneath the roof. A man sits sternly at a table outside, sipping at a cup of tea. His amber eyes are vexing, his umber hair flows down his back and fades to gold at the ends. He is the only one there.
The bard taps him on the shoulder and plops down across from him, grinning ruefully.
“Morax!” says the bard, eyeing him playfully. “It’s been so long since we’ve last met. You look different! Ditched the robe I see.”
The man nods. “Actually, it’s Zhongli now.”
“That’s right! I heard about your ‘death’,” the bard notes, tapping his finger to his chin. “I knew you didn’t actually die though. You care far too much for this place to leave it so suddenly.”
Zhongli sighs slightly. “I never wished to make such a scene. I only wanted to retire peacefully.” He studies the bard quizzically. “Barbatos- you haven’t changed a bit. Only your attire.”
The bard’s smile strains. “I go by Venti now. And you’d be surprised.”
They both chuckle, then fall silent.
“Do you ever get lonely?” Venti asks tentatively, eyes distant and hollow. An expression foreign to his jovial face plays across his features.
Zhongli hesitates; his brows knit with thought. “Yes.”
“Only three of us remain now,” Venti observes, his fingers twisting in his lap. “A new age is coming.”
“One of human rein,” Zhongli finishes. “Might it end with less bloodshed this time?”
“We can only hope,” the bard says pensively. “I still weep for Khaenri’ah.”
“As do I,” agrees Zhongli; his cup raised to his lips. “Although, I fear that Liyue may meet the same fate.”
“I’d like to think this time will be different.”
“How can you be so confident?”
“I suppose it’s just my divine intellect nagging me,” Venti smirks. “But the people of Liyue are strong. They have the constitution of Geo itself. And you have the brains of it!”
Zhongli chuckles. “Are you familiar with the Qixing?”
“I’ve heard about this Ningguang- the Tianquan?” Venti cocks a brow. “She seems very capable, yes? Very kind and hardworking?”
The Geo archon nods.
“And the Yuheng? A bit radical maybe, but devoted nonetheless.” Venti gestures to the plaza. “I think it’s safe to say Liyue is in good hands.”
“You’re right,” says Zhongli. “But what do we do now?”
Venti smiles and leans back, resting his shoes on the table, to Zhongli’s dismay. “Sit back and enjoy the show.”
——
Zhongli takes Venti around the city, per his request.
He takes him to Wanmin Restaurant, and they chat amiably with the chef, Ms. Xiangling. After their stomachs are full, they visit the docks, and then the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, where he reluctantly introduces Venti to Hu Tao.
They seem to get along swimmingly, joking and fooling about. Before they leave, Hu Tao scrawls a ‘free coffin’ coupon in her messy script onto a scrap of paper, and hands it to Venti with a wink. Venti giggles knowingly.
They amble down the streets of Liyue, occasionally stopped by comrades of Zhongli, with whom he would chat of business or leisure, while Venti waited politely.
In due course, they leave the city, and they sit upon a mountain top, gazing out on the harbor, whose waters glitter and dance in the light of the setting sun.
They talk more, reminiscing fondly of gods and lands lost to time. They find solace in each other’s presence, and they watch as the sun sets, the last traces of pinks and oranges dimming into shades of silky indigo.
“You should visit Mondstadt soon. Our Dawn Winery has cultivated quite an exquisite Dandelion Wine,” remarks Venti, lips quirking into a grin. “Although, I don’t know how it holds up compared to that Osmanthus Wine you love so dearly.”
Zhongli smiles. “That would be wonderful. I’d love to meet your new friends.”
“They’ll adore you.”
Eventually the bard rises from his spot in the grass, where he swung his legs over the cliff, and bids Zhongli adieu.
He smiles and pulls out his lyre, strums a chord, then steps off the rock shelf, letting the wind take him. Zhongli raises his hand and waves, watching as Venti prances and spins upon the breeze.
——
The following day, Venti returns to Mondstadt, and so does the wind. He is surprised by the reception; the children flock to him, questioning him on his absence, and the Knights of Favonius lament the lack of music in the taverns. Even the mysterious Sister Rosaria admits it was lonely at Angel’s Share without him.
The bard’s heart swells, and he feels confident that mortals will find a way to persist and thrive.