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For most of his life, Venti has remained passive, letting time gather and flow around him as it slowly lapped at the world’s feet.
In the past, he used to enjoy watching people go places. Adventurers setting off a new journey; lone travellers coming back, their faces wrinkled and scarred by life. Every time Venti woke, there was a new face. A new building. A new story to tell. He always liked that fact.
Today, he hides in the tall grass, getting drunk on the dandelion wine.
The day’s nearing its end, just like the summer — the leaves slowly turn golden and the air becomes a little cooler on his face. He sighs, enjoying the drink, watching the clouds. Ah, yes, time flows fast. It has never bothered him before; now, he catches himself counting the days. Almost two years have passed as he’s been walking on earth again, gazing at the moon that rises every night. Immortal beings like him could say, two years is short; less than a blink of an eye.
But two years seem longer than Shneznayan nights when it’s Lumine who goes away.
Lumine. He closes his eyes and pictures her delicate face and golden hair, her tender strength.
I’m leaving, she told him; it was a clear spring back then, he remembers, flower petals floating in the air. To Sumeru. I don’t know how long it will take.
Then, I shall wait, he answered, taking her hand and pressing a chaste kiss to it. I’ll wait to greet you when you’re back.
He doesn’t remember what she said next — he only remembers her smile, small and bashful, and that she waved him goodbye with the hand he kissed. It was the best thing that happened to him, that wave and that smile.
A few months have passed since then.
In the past, he liked all places — recently, however, he’s been spending most of the time at the tavern.
His day starts on the bench near Angel’s Share; he’s the first customer, fresh cider instead of water and cheerful songs instead of bread. He’s the last one staying, late after midnight; his thoughts spinning, wine spilling on the counter, melodies having long since turned wistful and tongue spitting out gibberish.
“If you love her, just tell her,” Diluc told him once, wiping the glass. “And stop being a drunk, miserable mess.”
No, Venti thinks, it’s better when it stays like this. She’s meant for more — she’s the hero, the princess, the muse. The star he can admire from afar, or wish upon on those lonely nights.
He spins the bottle, watching wine billow and ebb inside the dark glass. He sips more of the alcohol, feeling how it leaves a bitter aftertaste. She’s a bit like him, he thinks. Going wherever she likes, always roaming, never staying for too long. Maybe that’s why he likes her so much.
Now, she's in Sumeru, so far away, still looking for her brother. It's not alright to wish her back.
Still, he wishes. Just for a moment. Just to see her again, before he may forget.
He sighs, summoning his lyre.
“Come back home, Lumine” he starts to sing, quietly, softly, only to kill the time. His mind drifts on the wind. “Come close to me, just follow the breeze…”
Before he realises, his voice raises loud and clear above the fields, dragging on his loneliness. He hiccups sometimes between the verses, but he thinks the song is almost as beautiful as if he was sober. Almost perfect. The only bad thing about it is that she can’t hear it.
Or maybe she can?
Oh, he is a fool, he laughs amongst the tall grass. He is a fool to hope.
He stays there for a long time, dawdling on and playing random tunes, alcohol running pleasantly through his veins. Only at dusk, when contours begin to blur and the sun swoons before his eyes, he goes to some lonesome field, drunk, and falls asleep among golden ears of grain, imagining he has buried his face in Lumine’s hair.
In Sumeru, the air is hot and heavy, making it hard to breathe.
Especially after everything that happened — after she woke up from nightmares in a dreamless land, after she met Lord Kusanali, after the Subzeruz Festival ended, after breaking out of the loop. She doesn’t admit it, yet the quiet beep of Akasha Terminal still haunts her at night.
And now, the worst thing — the silence, the break, the anticipation. Everything ended and it ended not, as there is still Academiya looming over the land like a hawk, working, scheming, waiting for something.
One night, Lumine wakes to the moon and sky in a haze.
For a moment, she just stares into nothingness, trying to calm down her mind. She inhales, exhales. It’s still night. The room is nothing but the tear-shaped window and the shadows packed all around the place; the moon peeks inside, incredibly bright. Everything is silent and perfectly motionless — only Paimon’s little chest slowly rises and falls as she snores softly. Tomorrow is not yet here.
And still, it’s so hard to breathe.
She pulls off the sheets and turns to sit on the side of the bed, her feet welcoming the cold. She must go somewhere. Anywhere.
Home.
"Lumine? Something's wrong?" She hears Paimon's anxious whisper by her side and sees her small hand reaching for her.
"Just going to take the air,” she whispers back and pats her head affectionately. “Go back to sleep. It’s alright."
The pixie hums, turning back on the bed, and Lumine waits for her breath to steady. Then, she stands, pads softly across the room and opens the door, slipping outside.
The air, she thinks.
She wants to turn back and bring something warm to wear — but then again, here she can’t feel the pinching cool of the breeze. Ah, yes; it’s just the air in Sumeru being always the same. Hot and silk. Dense. Tolerable, if you’re used to it.
But she's not and so, she sneaks back for a second to grab a raincoat. At least something, she hums, shaking her head slightly, as if making fun of herself. An old habit from Mondstadt dies hard.
She strides under the lights, careful not to wake anyone. The night is warm and velvet, dotted with fireflies and glowing flowers blooming down the road, and the village is silent besides the wooden stairs creaking under her feet. From time to time, she spots a moth flying to a dimly lit window, as if it’s searching for warmth. Lumine huffs a laugh. It doesn’t know the biting cold of Dragonspine.
She walks down unhurriedly. She had more of those midnight walks than anyone would ever tell, given her strength and ever-present wakefulness. Until recently, no one used to know about them, even Paimon; Lumine herself lost count of how many she had of these lonely nights when she went nowhere and everywhere, or sat on a roof or a lonely tree and let her mind wander.
No one knew until one night, when she strayed far from the camp, to the base of Windrise tree, and sat by the shallow water.
“Lumine? What are you doing here?” She hears a familiar voice coming from behind, and the grass rustling under someone’s feet.
“Thinking,” she says bluntly, fiddling with the lone leaf, her eyes focused on small waves and ripples on the water’s surface.
“I figured.” The voice chuckles, and she doesn’t answer, still watching the lazy flow of the stream. Hypnotised, she forgets about the world and the voice until she feels a warm, soothing presence by her side. “You’re thinking too much sometimes,” she hears it closer.
“Well, someone has to think in this place.” She retorts, bitter of a feeling she can’t even name. Instantly, guilt sips into her gut. She turns to apologise, but Venti bursts out laughing, startling her.
“In what place, Lumine?” he asks, having calmed himself. The question seems easy to answer, but when she opens her mouth, she wavers. In what place?
“Here. Everywhere. I don’t know.” She mutters and hugs her knees, looking into the water again. She feels cool fingers gently tugging at her hand.
“Don’t know what?” He asks softly.
“Everything.”
He hums, thoughtful.
“And you don’t have to, my warrior,” he says after a while. “In time, the story will unfold itself. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He chuckles. “Even I don’t know everything.”
She nods, the tension slowly leaving her body. They settle in comfortable silence. Venti calls upon his lyre, strumming strings lightly.
“And what are you doing here?” She dares to ask.
“Trying to get to know you better.” He smiles fondly, and her heart stops at the way moonlight tints his skin in a subtle glow. Or maybe it’s his Archon side breaking through the mortal shell. Either way, it enchants her.
Bashfully, she sends him a smile. He smiles back, but then it falls into something softer, more intimate.
“Show me all your places,” he whispers low, as if afraid to break the spell that let him stay. “Maybe we can sort it out.”
“Sort out what?”
“Everything.”
You can’t sort out everything in one night, but they tried anyway.
That night, they left Windrise for the vast meadows and valleys of Windwail Highland, walking long, talking, listening to the gale’s howls. As they strolled, her heart slowly cracked open, letting air, him inside, bit by bit.
All this time, he was focused solely on her — his shoulder draped over her back, bringing comfort, his lips humming a little song each time she fell silent. It’s strange, she thought back then, how he can listen as much as he can talk, not interrupting, not cackling, not mentioning wine.
But Venti was a god, after all. He lived long enough to know what loneliness tastes like.
So when dawn approached and he walked her back to the camp, she felt like she hadn't felt in ages. Calm. Light.
And after that meeting, she would sometimes, more often than not, show up at Windrise, where he’d pretend to be asleep, yet the moon would still reflect in his eyes, unsheathing his trick. She’d simply laugh and call his name, stretching an arm, and he would gracefully descend, taking her awaiting hand into his, singing her the new song he learnt. And each time, they would wander a little further than previously, and she would open to him a little more, never knowing when exactly he started being able to name all her nightmares and recall every shiver.
Now, as she strolls alone, she starts to miss those walks. Those nights.
Having left the village, she stops by the river, and skips a stone. The milky way is shattered, spreading like stardust tossed onto the surface. In Sumeru, all nights are quiet. Too quiet for her comfort.
Oh, how she misses the wind.
Yes. She misses it — the gale running free, tangling in her hair, soothing her weary hands, poking on the chimes, coming to her camp every morning to tickle her neck. She misses the peaks and the never-ending spring, and the rolling hills with trees and flowers scattered through the land. She misses the meadows. She misses the dandelions and the scent of wine, and the upbeat music played by lady Helen on the little balcony, and the green of Venti’s cape.
She gazes skyward. Despite the summer mist, the stars shine bright tonight. All constellations are there — she can map them with her eyes closed, just as she could count all the freckles on Aether’s nose.
Aether, she thinks. For a moment, she searches for his stars, praying they're not gone from the sky. But no, his constellation is also there, a little pale, a little dull, yet it still shines under the moon’s halo. Almost touching hers. Just next to Venti’s one.
Carmen Dei. Viatrix. A boy with a lyre and a girl with a sword. Hung high in the sky, brushing fingertips.
A rosy blush paints her cheeks. She wonders if Venti ever thinks about her, just a little. If he looks at the moon every night like she does, if he chases the falling stars. What is he doing right now? Probably drinking himself blind, she thinks, and snorts, amused at the thought.
Then, her expression turns wistful.
What if they once set off on a journey together? What if they arrive in Sumeru, and went dancing in the aranara forest? She tries to imagine. Them inside a dream, pressed between the petals of a sumeru rose, like fairies, like ghosts, like spirits.
That was a part she has never shared with him — that she once dared to dream of them dancing together.
She waits until the river rides calm again, then resumes walking. Soon, she submerges in the forest. The path is winding, and deep shadows seem to swallow her, but she’s not afraid; darkness has never scared her, nor wild animals.
Still, she catches herself looking back. Back to the lights. To the northeast. To Mondstadt.
She sighs. Where should she go next?
As if it heard her question, the cool breeze appears, wafting over her. She stops, eyes wide, and breaths in; her heart skips a beat. It’s not Sumeru's wind; it’s blowing all the way from Mondstadt, bringing a subtle melody, telling her it's time to go home.
She runs back to the hut to wake up Paimon. The fairy scolds her for coming up with crazy ideas and dragging her on her feet in the middle of the night, but this time Lumine is deaf to her complaints.
Mondstadt calls her back.
To Venti, the sweetest part of labour is its fruit.
But now, he has Lumine here. With her help, Weinlesefest soon stands in its whole glory — Springvale outskirts being cleaned, stalls being set, the business running, winemakers discussing the prices in hushed voices. Here and there stands a flowerpot carried here from Flora’s shop, and colourful bouquets made by sisters. In the distance, Mondstadters are working together to set a stage. He strides along the road and in each corner, he sees a touch of Lumine, working hard for a festival that isn’t even hers.
Maybe she wants to forget something. If so, he hopes he can help.
He enjoys helping her and Razor to make a Thousand-Wind Wine — weaving her slowly into the process like he weaves poem verses, sweating with satisfaction as he helps them dig up the barrel. He likes visiting her stall every once in a while, buying an apple or a drink until he rides himself low on money again. He doesn’t mind. He deals with Paimon’s irritating taunts, he jokes with the customers, and the wind brings him the whispers of people talking by the bar.
“Honorary Knight and that bard seem close. You think there’s something between them?”
“Well, if the breeze doesn’t tell, then the wine will.”
They laugh, and Venti’s cheeks pinken. He watches Lumine as she bustles around. He can tell she’s been through a lot on her journey — it shows in her weary face and occasional drifting away. From time to time, he sends a waft of wind to brush her sides and he indulges in that little smile she makes. Yes, he definitely enjoys the process.
And when Windcoming Day arrives, him singing his song and Lumine joining the toast, a hand on her chest and eyes locked on his own, his title on her lips, he feels like he could challenge gods again.
Later, the knights decide to hold dances.
When autumn comes the days are going shorter, but today it’s a clear, beautiful sunset, embracing everything with gold. Today, people gather on the field, some with their partners, some with their friends, some on their own. They’re waiting for the music to play; some glance wistfully at the bottles of wine from time to time, as if scared that the wind will drink them all at once. Venti chuckles at the thought.
Jean gives him the sign, and he plucks the strings; the song spreads its wings as other bards join him, as the crowd moves. It’s a well-known song, simple yet lively, fleeting like the chirping of birds, earthbound like the clutter of horses’ shoes. People dance, singing along with the chorus, twisting and turning around, hand in hand and glass next to the glass. People fall, then get up again, accompanied by a jolly laugh that must be heard in every corner of Mondstadt City. The atmosphere bubbles with joy like champagne, and Venti feels he could easily get drunk with it. His eyes skim through the festival grounds, his heart swelling with pride as he looks at his children dancing with the wind.
Then, he spots Lumine, and his fingers almost slip off a string.
She looks perfect tonight. She dances in the setting sun, along with the crowd, her dress flowing freely around her legs like a summer mist. She wears a flower crown he and Klee made for her — ears of grain, clover and windwheel asters here and there, woven together. “Mister Bard, let’s make a wreath for Miss Honorary Knight!” Alice's daughter said to him earlier, extending her little hand, and who was he to say no? Besides, if he could, he wouldn’t stop on the wreath, no — he’d fly high, to the very stars, and take them off the sky to pin them on Lumine’s dress. She deserves as much.
As if she knew he’s been watching her, she turns her eyes to him. She sends him a smile mid-dance, and he smiles back, his heart skipping a beat. Then, she waves at him, an invitation everybody can see — but he shakes his head, still smiling, his chin pointing at the lyre in his hands. Lumine shrugs, then leaps away.
It feels a bit like playing hide-and-seek, to watch her jump out and into the crowd. Her feet run fast — expected from a warrior she is — but so incredibly light, as if made for this day, this dance. He can’t help but stare, hypnotised by her moves, by the way the sun illuminates her hair and sleek silhouette. Time passes and he gazes, he watches all the time, would never he stop! And every now and then, she glances back, a mere second, like a brush of fingertips, or a sun-planted kiss. Each time, he sighs, feeling giddy, feeling love-struck, feeling drunk.
It’s hard for him to give up his place on stage to Six-fingered José, and his heart sinks when he loses sight of those golden eyes and summer-spun hair in the crowd again.
Later, however, they once again find each other.
He sits by the counter, slightly melancholic, sipping on the wine when she finds him. A tap on his shoulder, and he turns, just to see her, dishevelled and rosy-cheeked, the sun falling into her eyes, making them all the more golden. He gasps, unable to say a word.
“Hey, Venti,” she says, such simple words, and yet his heart is squeezed and lungs out of air. A star gracing a drunkard with her radiant gaze. What a nuisance.
“Lumine,” he says, wide-eyed; his wine almost pours out of the glass. “Hi.”
An awkward silence falls between them, stretching endlessly. He coughs. “Enjoying the festival?”
“Yes, it’s great,” she answers, smiling at him; her voice sounds a little breathless. Then, her grin falls, and he feels as if he sunk with it. “But…”
“...but?” He asks, frowning, tilting his head.
“..but it could’ve been better.” She finishes, swallowing saliva.
“Oh? And what is it that you’re missing?” He props his head on his hand, genuinely surprised.
“I just came for it, to ask… if… if you’d mind a dance,” she says, turning her gaze away. Venti almost chokes on wine. “You were busy earlier, but now, I thought…”
“Wh—what?” He coughs, trying to regain his composure. Lumine’s eyes flick back and away from his, but he still can see that something shatters in them.
“Nevermind, it was stupid.” She retorts quickly, embarrassment flushing her cheek apple-red. “Sorry I’ve wasted your time.”
She starts to back out, but he hops off the stool and takes her hands in his. They’re soft and warm, and a little bit shaking.
“I’d love to,” he whispers. “I’m simply afraid I’m a terrible dancer.”
Her hands shake even more in his hold, and he wonders why, because her face has just lit up like windows on a winter evening.
“I don’t care,” she says earnestly. “I don’t mind.” Oh, and there’s that smile, illuminating her face once again, so charming. “So, shall we dance?”
“You and me?” He asks.
“Yes,” she whispers, meeting his eyes. “Just us.”
He nods slightly, his neck stiff and heart thundering in his chest; once again he’s unable to come up with anything to say. Lumine doesn’t seem to mind. She releases one of her hands and leads him through the crowd, and this whole time, he can only focus on the way her skin brushes his, all this warmth and tenderness.
Soon, they arrive at an empty field. The wind roars in his ears and his heart races with anticipation.
"Forgive me if I mess up something," he whispers to her, grabbing her hand. "But I really can't dance."
"Lies," Lumine laughs; her eyes shine like the autumn grain, like a sunset. “I will never believe that.”
In the distance, a new song reverberates. It’s swift, light, muffled by the wind. It takes him a moment to find his composure; he watches Lumine release his hand and twirl before him once, then twice, as if to encourage him to join. He laughs. Oh, if she could see herself and realise how beautiful a billowing dress could be.
“Come on, Venti!” She calls, extending her hand, swaying, pretending to lose balance. “Or I’ll fall on that dirty, dirty earth!”
He comes close, still laughing, and once again takes her hands. They did this quite many times, holding hands, he thinks, and yet each time it feels like the first. “I guess we can’t have that,” he hums low.
Her only answer is a giggle. Not thinking much, he takes a step forward, meeting her in the middle only to pull back the next second, trying to set the rhythm. One, two, three, they repeat. Then, a spin. On and on they go, twisting and turning, too fast and too clumsy, but it’s their first time, so that’s alright. On and on, and Venti feels like he was born for this moment, to watch and hold Lumine for one wonderful second in his long, long life.
When the melody dies, he pulls her close.
“Next song?” Lumine asks, sounding anxious, sounding hopeful.
“Oh? You still want me?” He chuckles. “Even after all these tortures?”
“It wasn't a torture," she says. "Quite on the contrary."
He gasps, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Then, of course, Lumine,” he says, fixing the wreath on her head, and leaning over her ear, he whispers: “Anything for my warrior.”
Her hitched breath is lost to the distant music and cheers when the next song starts.
Before they realise it, the whole day passes by. They dance without break, they dance quickly, then slow, they dance amongst tall grass and in the evening haze, and none of them ever wants to take a break. Their dance now smooth, fluid, as if they’re both gliding over the field, as if they’re dancing in the castle hall, so simple, so effortless, like dying in sleep. Honestly, in Venti's arms, Lumine wouldn’t mind that.
She wants to sing. Of course, he lied, she thinks, saying he’s a terrible dancer — his body is giving in to the rhythm easily, his moves far from perfect but still comfortable. Sometimes, he even sings along, or hums a soft tune; she submerges in it with ease, preferring it over the lyres.
And all this time, Venti keeps her close, hardly ever letting go of her hand. Each time he does it, she catches herself — she’s disturbed by the breeze grazing over her hand as he lets go of it, and yet she doesn’t care about the night slowly crawling onto the sky. She just wishes to dance, to fall — how ironic — into the loop again.
“Ooh, Lumine, now comes a really fast bit!” He snaps her out of her thoughts but then his easygoing expression turns to worry. “Do you still want to, though?"
“With you? Always.” She whispers against him, praying he would catch a hint of her affection; but he just grins, carefree, and sweeps her away again.
Lumine squeals as he throws her high, high up to the sky, as if to help her regain her wings — and then he catches her and spins around, and the squeal turns to giggles as he laughs against her stomach while she dedicates a messy verse to the clouds.
"Come, Lumine," Venti laughs again, oh how wonderfully he laughs, slightly drunk, putting her down and pulling her toward the carts; her cheeks burn as she falls with him into a nearby pile of hay. "Come here."
The hay is warm from the sun and smells of a summer gone by; and it goes everywhere, in her hair, between her fingers, stinging her neck.
But Venti is beside her, within arm's reach, so she doesn't mind.
“Indeed, you have many talents," he says, rolling over to face her and, Archons, he’s so close she can admire his green-blue eyes. "I've never seen anyone dance like this."
“Thanks. You weren't so bad yourself,” she huffs, trying to regain her composure. The fact that he scoots even closer doesn't help at all.
"Such high praise coming from you," he says. “The only thing missing is a smile.”
"There will be a smile when you stop stepping on my feet,” she teases.
“Oh, uh, sorry.” He scratches his neck. “I haven't danced in a long time."
"Me neither."
He doesn't answer, so they lie in silence, listening to the last chords dying amongst flowerbeds. Meanwhile, something pulls at Lumine's heart; she doesn't know what exactly. Maybe the fading sun, or the still rosy sky, or the fact that Venti's hand is so close. Perhaps, it’s just fatigue. Or the affection that’s never to be said out loud.
She glances to the side. Venti has already relaxed into the hay, his limbs splayed like rag doll's, eyes closed. He leans his head back and inhales the scent of freedom, a slight grin on his lips, braids half untangled. Lumine watches. She feels the urge to crawl over the hay, just a little closer, and press her tired body against his warm chest. Maybe, if she did that, she would hear the wind louder, connected to his veins, and maybe they would meet again in a dream. Maybe, in that dream, he would whisper: “You’re more than a warrior. More than a hero”, and kiss her lips softly, in a way she always wanted to.
But that would be stepping over a very fine line between friends and lovers, and she could never be the latter, she knows.
With this thought, she falls asleep. She no longer can feel the hand that tenderly combs through her hair, nor hear the song hummed by the very same lips that she's just wanted to kiss.
This time, she wakes to Venti’s voice and the clear night sky above her head. Despite the cool wind, the landscape remains dreamy and smudged.
“Hey, Lumine.” He gently shakes her shoulder. “Wake up, starlight.”
“Hmm? What is it?” She rubs her eyes but no, he’s still here, embraced by moonlight. Like a ghost, she thinks, shivering.
“They’ve set a bonfire over there.” He points somewhere forward. “C’mon. You’ll get cold if you stay.” He says, stroking her shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you ill.”
Venti leads her into the night, and she follows him as if in a trance. The air is cool and crisp; shreds of cloud drift across the sky, brushing the moon, pale and hovering in the dark, but her mind is still heavy and sticky with sleep. They get to the fire; Lumine watches as sparks shoot up high into the sky. Someone begins to strum the lyre; someone starts singing. Not Venti — she would recognise his music even at the end of the world, just as she somehow knew from the start that the melodies sung by Aranara came first from under his fingers.
She glances at him. The warmth of the fire clings to their skin, the smell of burnt wood and smoke reaches her nostrils and their shoulders brush, but she’s so tired that it all just comes and goes away like waves.
She turns back to the sky. Sparks dance above her, flaring up only to turn to ashes. She watches.
The wind blows again, shaking the shoulders of all people gathered, wavering the song; to Lumine, it’s like a sudden rain that extinguishes the heat of the flames. Not thinking much, she presses her cheek to Venti's shoulder; for a moment, the scent of wine and Cecilia wafts over her, sweet and still summer-like, so familiar, though they have hardly ever been sitting so close.
Above her, Venti sighs softly, and it vibrates through her skin. Normally, she would have flushed — but now, she’s slowly lulled by the drunken song and dance of the fire in the night, and only relaxes more into his warmth. She doesn't even notice when he pulls her down, when they lay down on the grass and when the sky fully opens above their heads. She can only follow the sparks skywards, so high she could see them becoming the stars until the wind blows on harder, dispersing them.
And then, for what appears to be just a brief moment, she sees it; she and Aether, a hand in hand, dancing in another realm. It’s winter; the air is crisp in their lungs, turning their breath into silvery clouds as they dance. She gasps, eyes wide. She sees the milky way again, a shimmering streak in the sky; she hears ringing laughter on the tip of their tongues, like thousand little bells, and there’s nothing else, only the snow and the time frozen, and them caught in a dazzling rush of adrenaline.
"One day, we'll know all their secrets," Lumine hears herself saying as they halt, her bright eyes looking up at the endless sky, all shining nebulas and galaxies. "We'll see all these worlds!"
"Oh? And flirt with all these boys?" Asks Aether, raising an eyebrow. The younger Lumine; the fake one, the ghost, a lone shred from the past — huffs, rolling her eyes.
Aether laughs at her fondly.
"I know, I know, there’s only one boy, waiting for you somewhere like in those fairytales… Which is a shame, because I'd love to threaten all those unworthy admirers to death."
"Aether!"
“I’m joking! …well, not really.” He backs off when she punches his side. “Hey, stop that!”
They’re no longer dancing; now, they’re chasing each other through the snow-touched fields. He catches her first, and they wrestle for a little while, but soon, she gives up, and Aether embraces her.
"My little sister," he says, his face so tender, his voice vibrating with emotions.
“Yes, my big brother?” She asked, turning to look into his eyes. Then, something strange happens; as if the ice starts cracking under her feet, shattering the memory.
"I'll never leave you," she hears him saying, but his silhouette is now blurry and his voice is different, less audible, starting to echo. "Home is wherever we are together, remember."
“I will,” she says, turning to look into his dimming eyes, smiling back. “Aether.”
Then, the wind rushes on again, taking her brother and the dance and the snow with it.
Aether.
It takes her a long time to realise that the fire has almost gone out, that the lyre has long since ceased to play; that the song has already been sung, and that most of the people have fallen asleep, laid out by the fire, including Paimon, limbs numb, wine bottles tumbled under the feet, empty, broken. It takes her a while to recall what happened and to realise she’s still lying on Venti's shoulder, who has also fallen asleep.
It’s also then when she realises that throughout this whole evening, Venti has never let go of her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers into his neck, imperceptibly slipping her hand from his and walking away into the darkness.
Venti wakes and turns to nudge Lumine’s shoulder, but he finds emptiness.
“Lumine?” he whispers into space, into the forest, anxiety washing over him like a tide. Neither speaks back.
“Mmm… Lumine?” A yawn. “Where’s Lumine?” Paimon asks, just having awakened, the sleepy worry on her face turning into irritation when he stands up, accidentally kicking one of the bottles. It rolls into the shadow. “Hey, where are you going, Tone-deaf Bard?!” She lets out a strangled scream, flying over to him. Someone sighs and moves sluggishly on the ground, sending another bottle into nothingness.
“Stay here,” Venti says firmly; so firmly that Paimon stops halfway, confused. “I’ll go search for her.”
“But…”
“Paimon.” He looks hard into her eyes. “Just trust me this once.”
The fairy sighs, resigned.
“Fine. But if anything happens to her…”
“Nothing will,” he says. “I promise.”
Paimon’s silent, and he takes it as permission. He puts on his cape and hat and slowly retreats from the campfire's dimming warmth, and a few people are watching him go before turning back to sleep. When he’s sure they’ve lost his silhouette to the shadows of night, he teleports away.
Dancing with Venti awakened something in her. Or was it this treacherous wind? She wonders. Either way, it’s his fault.
But she can’t be mad at him, really. She could never be. Irritated, yes, sometimes, when he was eheing his thoughts away, mocking Paimon (even when she deserved it), or when he drank too much. But mad — never.
She sits under the Windrise tree, his statue before her, and before it the meadows and meandering paths vanishing over the horizon. Without fire, it’s cool and dark, but her shivers don't come from either of those. No; she looks at Aether — at the memory — and stretches out her hand, wanting to touch, to keep, to bring him back.
Venti, she thinks again, when the dream disperses. Oh Venti, if you could, would you bring my brother back to me?
When he arrives at Windrise, it’s still night, shred clouds swirling around the moon and wind bringing the spectre of rain.
He spots Lumine under the oak, knees hugged to her chest and chin propped on them. She gazes forward, but somehow he has a feeling she’s not admiring the view. He comes closer, slowly, his heart washed by relief.
“Hey,” he whispers, letting her know he’s here. Startled, she lifts her head. She doesn’t say anything. “Mind if I sit here?”
She shakes her head, so he plops down next to her. “Did something happen? You vanished in the middle of the night, we were worried you were kidnapped by a big bad fatui guy or something.”
For one second, the corner of her lips lifts in a grin, there and now gone. “No, it’s not that.”
He moves closer. “So, what happened?”
She sighs. “When we were at the campfire, I had a vision.”
Oh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.
Lumine’s silent. But he waits. He's always waiting. Sometimes, he thinks it's the only thing he knows how to do.
“I saw myself and Aether, but younger.” Finally, she starts speaking, her voice fragile like glass, ”we-we danced, and we talked… Our song was on, somehow.”
“I see,” he says quietly. “Is this a fond memory?”
“Yes,” she answers, smiling slightly. “Very. “ Then, she sighs, and her voice vibrates from sorrow. “Maybe that’s why it hurts so much.”
Venti hums, sympathetic.
“Say, do you still remember that song?” he asks, looking far away; in his hands, he crumples his keychain, a false anemo vision, his fingers running over the feather’s soft surface.
Lumine ponders.
“I don't know... Maybe, I guess.”
His vision glows; it turns into der Frühling. Lumine’s eyes widen as she hands it to her.
"Perhaps you'll recall," he tells her. Lumine looks at him, various emotions flashing in her eyes. Gingerly, she strokes the surface of the instrument as if greeting a long-lost friend.
“I remember you teaching me how to play it,” she says, and these words taste like rain.
"Oh, yes, I remember as well," says he, snickering. "You almost threw it into the bushes after failing for two hundredth time."
She huffs a laugh.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Well, two hundred approximately, ehe,” He scratches his neck. “But it only shows your persistence.”
She laughs again.
"Let's not go back to that," she says, then hums thoughtfully, her fingertips running lightly, almost ghostly over the strings, making no sound. Venti waits.
"...I think it started like this," she says, plucking the first string, the second. The melody stops. "Hmm..."
“Stuck?”
“Yes,” she admits. Venti wraps his arm around her waist, stroking her arm.
“Don't worry. Try another part," he encourages, nudging her slightly, affectionately.
Lumine nods, and sighs. Then, she gasps, and her fingers start moving, gliding over the chords. “That was the bridge,” she tells him, once again skipping a few notes, “and that should be the refrain.”
Venti listens, enchanted by the sound and the handicraft of her fingers. For a moment, he goes back in time, to the summer night when he taught her to play the lyre, and once again his heart swells with pride — as well as this urge to take her playing hand and kiss her fingertips.
The song ends with a resigned pause; for a while, Lumine gazes at the lyre, then passes it back to him. She doesn’t say anything, and nor does Venti; she seems lost in her own world again, and he doesn’t want to snap her out of it. Instead, he tries to memorise the melody. The notes are spinning — Lumine has missed a lot, he knows — but he still wants to sort it out for her.
They remain silent until the moon rises high, this broken lyrics and a soft hoot of an owl being the only song for tonight. Somewhere in between — he doesn’t know when — Lumine lays her head on his shoulder, sighing. Venti hums, enjoying the closeness.
“It was winter, you know,” Lumine says, then, her tone distant and eyes gazing far as if talking to a ghost. “When we last danced.”
His heart breaks. Feeling compassionate, feeling brave, he laces his fingers with hers. He’s tired of waiting.
“Lumine,” he says, meeting her in the eyes. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course,” she breathes.
“Good.” He stands on his feet, taking her with him. “Then don’t tell anyone about this.”
With a flick of his fingers, the lyre emanates with a subtle glow, its strings start moving on their own accord, repeating the melody she played. Lumine stares, wide-eyed. Venti laughs. “Your lyre can play itself?” She asks.
“Sometimes, when I need to have my hands free,” he explains, fond of this little trick. Then, he turns to her. “Care for a dance?”
For a moment, she freezes; her hand trembles slightly in his. “Another?” She asks softly.
“Only if you want.” He reassures her; maybe himself as well.
Lumine nods, however, finding his other hand and sliding into it. He leads her down, to more solid ground. Their hands intertwine again — his other encircle her waist, involuntarily, naturally, as if he’s done it thousands of times. He feels Lumine slightly shiver under his touch — or perhaps it’s simply because a stronger wind blows, distant, smelling of the storm.
It’s hard to believe that it’s real, he thinks as a subtle smell of windwheel asters wafts over them. Shadows and light fickle on her skin, creating the most fascinating visions. The song is fast-paced, but this time, neither of them seems to rush, so they move a bit more languidly, missing the steps just as the melody misses its notes. Venti hums along, filling in all the blank parts, hoping Lumine wouldn’t mind. But no, she looks at him tenderly, pulling away only to return.
"Venti," she says one moment, breathless, almost whispering; he lifts his arm and she spins, her dress sweeping his legs.
“Lumine?” He catches her and pulls so that she almost bounces off his chest. “What is it?”
She pauses for a second, then leans to whisper over his ear: “Thank you.” And quickly pulls away.
He chuckles lightly. “Whatever for?”
“For everything.”
The song plays on and on, endlessly on repeat. They don’t mind. They dance, and yet it’s so different from the dances they shared back at the festival; this is a dance of two souls, linked by hands and constellations, sinking in memories and walking on air.
The magic used on the lyre ceases eventually, so they end up rocking to the unhearable melody, hums and whispers passed between them as they hold each other. Lumine's arm is loosely draped around his neck; her eyes shine like stars, closer than anytime before.
“You’re beautiful,” he dares to whisper.
“And you're drunk,” Lumine retorts, brows frowned, blushing away.
“I'm not!” He licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Not anymore. Not with you.”
Lumine goes silent; uncomfortably so. His blood runs cold. He wants to apologize, but before he can, she puts a finger over his lips. “Don’t. I’m not mad.” She looks at him firmly, until a smirk cracks in. “I didn’t know I had the power to drive you back from intoxication, though.”
“You purified Dvalin’s tears,” he takes notice. “It’s only natural to suspect that you have other amazing abilities.”
Lumine snorts, and he joins her; soon, they laugh long, they laugh silly, not really knowing why — but all that matters is the fact that she’s smiling again, that she’s happy, and that he can be a part of it.
The night drags on, and somehow, it feels even more intimate, with their chests so close they can feel each other’s heartbeat. The space is luscious from whispers; Lumine's hand makes its way to his neck, playing with loose strands of hair there; his fingers brush her arm, making her shiver. It takes so little to lean in and kiss her.
But before he can consider it, Lumine speaks, her voice heavy with sadness. “I won’t always be here.”
He turns to sorrow. She’s right.
“I know.”
“And you’re alright with that?” She asks, her big eyes digging a hole in his heart.
“The most important thing to me is that you still want to come back.” He smiles gingerly, cupping her cheek. He feels braver than anytime before. Maybe people were right, about the wine.
Once again, Lumine falls silent, halting in dance. She scans his face; she seems convicted about something, but also terrified.
“I never told you”, she says, bashfully, coming closer; their noses brush, and Venti holds his breath. “But I’ve always wanted to dance with you like this.”
“Oh,” Venti gasps against her lips, so close to being shattered. “Oh.”
“Something’s wrong?” She asks, a little restless in his arms, horror washing over her face.
But he laughs heartily, and sweeps her off her feet, lifting her to the stars. Her breath hitches. Then, he dips her down, down, their noses touch again and the sky opens above her head — the milky way, the fireflies and falling leaves.
“Oh, no,” Venti chuckles. Then, he whispers, reaching for her lips, “Not at all.”
He kisses her softly, he kisses her hungrily. The gale gathers and billows around them almost triumphantly when Lumine kisses him back, and her hand once again climbs over his neck, up, up, fingers fiddling with his hair, their breaths whispering poetry as they pull away, then indulge once more. Yes, Venti thinks vaguely, this is his place; it’s by her side where the wind dances.
Weinlesefest will end in a few days. Soon, she’ll return to Sumeru and continue her journey; she’ll leave him behind again, and he’ll find himself waiting for her once more. And one day, perhaps, he’d wait, but she’d never be back. Maybe everything they have is this moment. After all, the story is yet to unfold itself.
But that’s alright.