Chapter Text
Venti places the last of his books into his bag and snaps it shut.
"Venti!" Jean calls from the table next to him. “We were…we were planning to head out to the cemetery after this because…" she trails off awkwardly. "Do you want to come with us?"
Kaaya joins her, already packed and ready to leave. Venti assumes that ‘we’ includes the two of them and Diluc, who appears to be finishing up his notes a few desks away.
Venti had visited the cemetery first thing this morning. He does not say this, however. "No thanks," he says instead, quickly, too quickly even for his own ears. "Maybe another time?"
Jean nods slowly. "Of course. Whenever you feel up for it."
Venti breathes in slowly and throws his bag over his shoulders. "Yeah."
"Take care…" Jean calls after him. Kaeya waves and Diluc nods stiffly at him. Venti tries for a smile before he hurriedly leaves.
The town he had grown up in is now an eternal reminder of everything that will never be. A month ago, Venti had spent the day beside a hospital bed while its occupant had taken his last breath and suddenly, every street, every shop, every park, every tree, reminded him of the painfully faint last breaths, the weakening hand in his grasp, the strikingly sharp sound of the flatline.
He knows he has to move on, but he is not quite sure how he is to do that; it is not as though he has past experience to draw from.
Still, the one-month death anniversary feels like a good time as any to begin and he knows there is a place he can start. He slowly walks the familiar route home; one he had been avoiding since his friend had been confined to the hospital half a year ago. He purchases an apple pie from the stall they had used to frequent and beeps into the station before he sits on a bench and eats it while he waits for the train. He gets off one station away from the one closest to his house and walks down a familiar road just like they had used to every day.
Soon, he spies a break in the street. A wooden torii marks the entranceway to several flights of stairs that lead up to the highest point in town.
At the top, he knows, lies the local shrine that everyone in the neighbourhood had visited at least once in their lives.
Venti can close his eyes and imagine the past, years ago, when they had been nothing but children, believing themselves to be able to take on the world from atop the stairs that had seemed so high up at the time. Now that he thinks back, perhaps they had been the happiest back then. He knows that neither of them had been unhappy, per se. His friend had never stopped smiling even when they both knew he would succumb to illness. They had spent as much time as they could together, and the sick boy had taken his last breath with a smile on his face. Still, nothing had been more satisfying than clambering to the top of the hill that overlooked their town.
Simple, he thinks. That is the word he is looking for. Things had been more simple back then.
Now, the three hundred steps to the top seem nothing like they had years ago. Venti slowly makes his way up. The shrine is just as he remembers it and looks as well-maintained as ever, and there are no other visitors around.
He had been avoiding certain places that reminded him of his now-dead friend. Now that he is here, however, surrounded by thoughts and memories, he finds that he does not hate it as much as he had thought. Absent-mindedly, he begins making his way towards the tree at the edge of the garden where the two of them had engraved messages into the bark.
"Stop," calls out a curt voice and Venti freezes just as he feels something crunch beneath his feet. He glances down first to see that he had stepped onto a plot of flowers. He stumbles back with an alarmed cry and almost trips over in the process. He manages to catch himself and, suddenly nervous, he looks around.
No one.
A beautiful bird, green and blue in all shades of the leaves and the sky, lands next to the flowers and raises its wings. Venti had never cared for the language of the birds, but he can say it looks angry.
Also, there was the voice. He crouches next to the flower he had stepped on mournfully and reaches out to touch it. The bird hops away from his hand with a cry of protest. “Oh! Sorry,” he says to it sheepishly.
The bird tilts its head and then hops towards him. Venti quickly moves back lest he steps on something again. There is a swirl of green and the bird morphs into a young boy before his eyes. “It is rare for a human to apologise,” he says. “Not that it will bring it back, but perhaps it counts for something.”
Venti instantly recognises it as the voice from earlier. “What…”
The bird…the bird had turned into a person.
The boy raises an eyebrow as Venti continues to stare. “What?”
Say something, Venti thinks. “Um, hi?” No, he thinks in the next moment, something about the bird?!
“I have not seen you around before,” the boy says. He turns and crouches beside the flowerbed.
Venti decides to start where his mind is able to comprehend. “I haven’t been in a while,” he replies. He winces as the boy carefully plucks the damaged flower. “I’m really sorry about that.”
The bird, the boy? hums thoughtfully as he gets back to his feet. Venti meets piercing gold eyes and feels as though his entire soul is being peered into.
“You are upset,” says the boy pointedly.
Venti laughs nervously. “Is it that obvious?”
“People do not come here just because.” The boy says the last two words like he is quoting something.
“I…I guess so…”
The boy shrugs. “You–”
“Xiao!”
The boy’s head whips around towards the voice and Venti follows his line of gaze. A man Venti easily recognises, who had been the caretaker of the shrine for as long as Venti himself had been frequenting, makes his way towards them.
The boy bows his head respectfully. “Mo–” he cuts himself off. Venti sees him glance over. “Zhongli,” he says, carefully, as though he is testing the words as they leave his tongue. He darts off to meet the man halfway. Venti watches the man give the boy a gentle pat on the head before he smiles in his direction.
“It has been a while, Venti.”
Venti is surprised the man had recognised him so quickly. He glances down at his feet. “Yeah,” he says. “Life got busy, I guess,” he adds. He does not know why he is making excuses for his lack of visits but standing in front of Zhongli now, it feels like he had committed a crime not coming by.
Zhongli nods. “Understandable.” He smiles and Venti wonders if he is imagining the nostalgic, almost sad look in his eyes. “What brings you here today?” the man asks kindly.
“He is upset,” Xiao says, before Venti can even reply, and Zhongli sighs.
“I do hope that is not because of something you did,” he says drily. Xiao ducks his head but Zhongli turns to Venti instead. “I hope Xiao did not cause you any trouble,” he says, and Xiao’s mouth clamps shut. “He is not attuned to conversations just yet.”
Venti thinks that is a strange thing to say but he brushes it off for now. “No,” he says instead. “Actually, it was me–I mean, we didn’t talk much and honestly, he’s correct.”
“Is he?” Zhongli asks thoughtfully. He smiles reassuringly at Xiao who slowly appears to relax. “Did something happen?”. To make you upset is not said but Venti can hear it hanging in the air between them. He can say no, and Zhongli will let it slide. He is being asked if he wants to share.
News travels fast in a town like theirs; perhaps he already knows. Still, even if he did not, the man had known them since they were children and probably deserved to know.
This is the first time he is putting it to words himself, though, and nothing leaves his suddenly dry throat.
Xiao narrows his eyes at him. “Someone is dead,” he says abruptly.
Venti chokes on his breath and Zhongli is quick to hush the boy. “Xiao!”
The boy flinches and appears to curl in on himself. “I apologise,” he says softly.
“How…” the words die in his throat. Venti swallows thickly and tries again. “How did you know?"
Zhongli frowns at Xiao one last time before he sighs. “Xiao…the wind tells him things.”
Zhongli has never been one for jokes. Venti had always had the impression that the man did not know how to tell a joke. “The wind?” he asks. Xiao curls his fingers into his own shirt and Venti can see his fingers shaking. “What do you mean? And–And you were a bird!”
Zhongli’s displeased expression twitches. “I am sure you were seeing things,” he says promptly. “People do not turn into birds.”
“But he did,” Venti says. "Or the bird turned into him." He sees Xiao looking so very unsure, clutching an arm to himself and not looking up. “You did!” he insists and directs his words to the boy who looks as though he wants to sink into the ground when Zhongli turns to him again.
“I…”
Zhongli sighs. "Xiao?" he prompts gently.
"I–he was stepping on the flowers," the boy says miserably. "I just wanted him to stop."
Zhongli's expression softens. "Oh, Xiao." He looks like he wants to give Xiao a pat on the head, or on the shoulder, or a hug, but he refrains.
Xiao spins on his heel, takes a step, and vanishes in a swirl of green.
Venti blinks as Zhongli shakes his head slowly. "That boy," he murmurs.
"Did he just vanish?" Venti asks. The bird boy had vanished. Was there anything he could not do?
Zhongli sighs and nods. "I guess you've seen too much," he begins, and Venti is reminded of those scenes in movies where the character who hears those words is killed soon after. The man does not pull out a knife, however, and simply begins to walk. Venti understands that he is meant to follow and briefly wonders if he is being led to where he will be murdered.
“Xiao is a wind spirit,” Zhongli says slowly. He is staring intently at him, as though trying to gauge his reaction.
Venti finds himself staring right back. “...What?”
“A wind spirit,” Zhongli repeats. “He serves the God of the shrine.”
Venti has so many questions, too many questions, that he cannot settle on one to ask. Zhongli smiles as though he knows what is going through his mind and says, “I must say you are taking this rather well.”
Venti cannot help but laugh nervously at this. “Am I?” he asks. “I don’t know what to think.”
Zhongli hums. “That is understandable. Not running off after calling me a liar is a good start.”
“I did see Xiao transform from a bird into a person.”
“People like you are an exception,” Zhongli says softly.
Venti catches onto what the man is not saying. “Have people reacted badly before?”
Zhongli stops at the entranceway to the shrine, at the top of the steps. “I suppose you could say that,” he says after a while. “It was a long, long time ago. Xiao long stopped interacting with people. I do not think he even meant to reveal himself to you.” The man sighs. He looks around as though he is looking for something, someone, but Xiao does not appear like Venti half expects him to. “It is just…he is so gentle in nature; I believe it was largely instinct.”
“He was protecting the flowers,” Venti thinks aloud.
Zhongli smiles sadly. “You will begin to see things,” he says. “Knowledge is power, and in this particular case, the power is the ability to see into a world you did not know existed.”
“So, like, more bird people?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Zhongli crosses his arms and turns away from the city. “The God of this shrine is the protector of this town and Xiao, as a familiar, is an extension of the God’s will. He hunts the evil that haunts the streets. I suspect you will be seeing him quite a bit around town now.”
“Right…” Venti glances back towards the flower patch, where Xiao had last stood before he had vanished. “He isn’t upset, is he?” he asks timidly. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”
Zhongli laughs softly. “He is not used to interaction,” he explains. “He tends to bolt when faced with a problem he cannot take down.”
“And he’ll be okay? He’ll come back?”
“Xiao is strong; he will be fine. He will return when he is ready.” Zhongli smiles. “You are his first human interaction in a while and I feel you will be good for him,” he says. “If you do see him around, please take care of him.”