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Winning the revolution was something he had longed for—and earned.
Ruling the nation he fought for, wasn’t.
The Bard doesn’t know how he has ended up having an audience with Celestia, but he forces himself to keep his head lowered out of respect. The hair on his arm stands on end as their voices echo around the large place, announcing him as the newly Anemo Archon. Most of the things they tell him are far beyond his comprehension, but he manages to catch a few things.
The first is the power to wield anemo. The second is an item called a gnosis.
The third is a name, since he seems to be lacking one. Barbatos, they call him.
The next thing he knows, he’s teleported back to Mondstadt. The sky is pitch black, with only the moon sitting up high to illuminate it. The lands are no longer covered in snow, and it’s quiet without the winds howling around the place.
He sees small, floating lights in the distance, and when he steps closer, he realises that they are tiny wind wisps, who seem to be resonating with his power. All of them look like they are waiting for him, and it takes a while for him to realise that these are the wind wisps that have served Decarabian to create the wind barrier.
“You are free now,” he says, his lips curling into a small smile. The wind wisps look at each other, seemingly confused. “There is no need for all of you to remain here. Decarabian’s reign is no more.”
He waves his hand in the air, using his elemental sight, and he sees the connection Decarabian has made to bind the wind wisps to this land. With a swipe of his hand, he instantly severs the ties to Decarabian’s magic.
It takes some courage before the wind wisps slowly gather around him. Their bodies start to glow under the night sky, and a gentle breeze suddenly blows at his clothes, as if they are thanking him. Each of the wind wisp starts floating into the air, dispersing and fading away from his vision.
He can’t help but smile. This marks the new beginning for Mondstadt.
➳
It’s strange to hear people call him ‘Lord Barbatos’. It’s even stranger to see them kneeling before him—until he tells them not to.
He was always known as the ‘Bard’. He is nothing but a young boy who plays songs and writes poetry. He is not used to people worshipping him and fretting over little things whenever he’s present. Even though he appreciates all the effort that they put in to make sure the place he steps into is appropriate, he prefers if they treat him like during before the rebellion.
He tries to endure all of this—listening to people’s problems, approving or disapproving whatever plan they have to expand the nation, and helping out whenever they need him. It starts to take a toll on him, and he realises that he has never felt so drained before, not even during the rebellion. He misses the times where he feels tired thinking on how to continue the lines of his poem. Now, he ends up spending most of his energy figuring out what’s best for Mondstadt.
He’s not sure how many weeks have passed with him dealing with all of this, but if he experiences one more “request to have an audience with him”, he’s going to explode.
He decides to go against his schedule—switching out of his pristine white robe to his old bard clothes and fleeing into the woods. It’s going to cause some inconveniences for the others, but just this once, he wishes to be selfish and spends some time alone.
The forest he ends up in is quiet. Its greenery is welcoming, and the sound from the nearby stream calms his nerves. He decides to sit on a rock, taking out his lyre—now named as Holy Lyre by the people—to pluck its strings.
The first few sounds he makes with the lyre are not very pleasant to the ear, but after some strumming, he’s finally able to find the right tune to play. He closes his eyes, and his fingers start to skilfully pluck the strings of his musical instrument. It’s a song he has written before he turned into an archon, and he can’t help with the sombre tune that bleeds into his music from the yearning he’s feeling.
He feels a faint presence nearby, and his fingers come to a stop, his eyes flying open.
There’s a wind wisp floating not far from him. That’s odd. Didn’t he release all the wind wisps who were under Decarabian’s control? Why is this one still here?
“Hello,” the Bard greets. The wind wisp only continues to observe him from a distance. “Why are you still here, little wisp? I—Barbatos has released you and your friends from Decarabian’s hold,” he says, cringing at the archon name he was given.
The wind wisp doesn’t answer, blinking at him, which is understandable since they don’t usually talk. The Bard notices how it’s looking at his lyre, and he assumes that maybe the creature is more interested in his music. Shifting the lyre in his hands, he decides to play a different song, and his assumptions are right when the wind wisp floats closer, before it ends up sitting on the patch of grass right next to him.
“I see that you are a fan of my tunes,” the Bard says playfully, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.
The wind wisp looks at him with beady eyes and, surprisingly, nods.
➳
The Bard decides to visit the forest again, but this time, he comes early in the morning to avoid causing chaos—like yesterday.
The sun is rising from the horizon, and the sky is in tints of orange and pink. It’s quieter today since the citizens of Mondstadt are still sleeping soundly in their beds. A perfect time to play his music before people start to look for him.
He sits at the same spot and strums the strings of his lyre. The next thing he knows, he’s already playing a song.
He doesn’t expect to have the same, extra company. The wind wisp from yesterday appears from a bush, and it slowly flies closer to him as he continues to play his lyre. The Bard can’t help but smile. Even when his audience is only one tiny creature, he’s happy to know that at least someone appreciates his music.
If only the people of Mondstadt are willing to hear his songs. Unfortunately, they find him not having any time for those.
The song finally comes to an end, and the Bard finishes it with a string of melodious notes. “How was it this time, little wisp? Do you like the song today?”
The wind wisp does not think twice before nodding.
“I’m glad,” the Bard says, and he puts down his lyre. “It brings me joy to know that my music is appreciated.”
The wind wisp responds by looking at his lyre before turning its head to face him. As if expecting.
“Oh,” the Bard gasps in surprise. “Would you like to hear more?”
A nod.
“Very well,” he grins, and he lifts the lyre back in his hands. He throws a glance at the town in the distance. There’s still some time left. “There’s this song I’ve written, but it’s still in progress. Perhaps I’ll be able to find some inspiration with you listening…”
➳
It has become a routine to visit the forest early in the morning. The Bard will sneak out of town, disguised as a normal bard, and head over to his usual spot. He finds himself anticipating his tiny audience, who never fails to come out of its hiding spot to hear him play. He’s currently playing his lyre, when he notices how the wind wisp has flown really close to him.
He stops playing and observes the wind wisp. It’s blinking curiously now as it looks at his lyre. “Would you like to play?” he asks, setting his lyre down and pushing it closer to the creature.
The wind wisp hovers over the lyre for a few seconds before landing on top of it. It stares at the strings under its body and plops onto the lyre so that it’s lying flat on the surface. The Bard is confused at first with what the wind wisp is going to do, when he realises that it’s trying to pluck the strings with its head.
“You poor thing,” the Bard says, frowning. He sympathises with the creature, because it looks like it’s struggling to play his lyre. He cups his chin for a moment, musing. “If only you had a human body. I think it would be much easier for you to play.”
The wind wisp lifts its head. It looks interested with the idea.
He feels anemo trickling from his fingertips, and his eyes widen before he wiggles his fingers. He’s not entirely sure if he can do it, but with this power flowing in his veins—maybe he can try. “Would you prefer if I grant you a human body?”
The wisp tilts its head. Curious.
“I—ahem,” the Bard awkwardly clears his throat. He hopes he doesn’t appear or sound suspicious. “I may have some powers to manipulate the wind. If you would like a human body, I may be able to grant you one.”
The wind wisp nods, quite vigorously. The Bard displays his palm, and the little creature flies towards him to sit on it. He uses his free hand to wave around, and anemo begins to swirl in the air as he focuses on his elemental power.
There’s someone holding his hand. He slowly lifts his eyelids, slightly afraid that he has messed up in some way, and he’s shocked when his eyes meet a pair similar to his. The wind wisp from a few minutes ago has turned into a human—looking exactly like him. The only difference is that the end of his braids don’t have the colour blue, and he has a pair of white, feathery wings behind his back.
He must’ve taken the Bard’s form before he ascended into an archon, along with some of his external traits as a wind wisp.
“Hello,” the Bard greets, and he can’t stop the wide smile that curls over his lips. Inwardly, he’s feeling quite excited. This is the first time he used his powers like this.
The human-wisp stares at him, before his lips twitch into an awkward facial expression. It turns out that he’s trying to replicate his smile, and his voice is soft when he says, “He—llo.”
The syllables are a little off, so the Bard guesses that this is his first time speaking. “You have such beautiful wings…” he muses, only to realise that the human-wisp is lacking some clothes. He quickly takes off his cloak to wrap around him, earning large, blinking eyes. “I’ll find something more comfortable for you to wear so that you don’t get cold. For now, this will have to do.”
The human-wisp spends a few seconds touching the cloak around him, before he smiles—a little more natural now. “Thank—you.”
“You’re most welcome,” the Bard replies, brightly. What a polite wind wisp! He moves to kneel back on the grass, sitting right in front of him. “Do you have a name?” he asks, though he’s not very sure if wind wisps have a name to go by.
The human-wisp looks thoughtful for a few seconds. It turns out that maybe they do have names, because he sees him moving his tongue. It’s apparent that he’s struggling a little, but he manages to say, “Ven—ti.”
“Venti,” the Bard repeats, receiving a joyful nod as a response. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can be great friends.”
Venti gives him another nod, before he looks like he has fallen deep in thought again. He slowly moves his arm, using his forefinger to point at him. “Your... name?”
Ah, the Bard should’ve expected this. It might be difficult to explain that he didn’t have any parents, and he would rather stick his head into the mud than use the name that tied him to Celestia. He can only offer a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a name,” he admits. Though, he doesn’t allow himself to feel any sadness. “People often call me ‘the Bard’, but since we’re friends now, how about you just call me your friend?”
Venti lightens up at that, his wings twitching in excitement behind him. “F—riend?”
“Yes,” the Bard says, beaming. He reaches for his lyre, and he places it down right in front of him. “Would you like to try and play now, my friend?”
➳
It takes a few days before Venti can finally play the lyre. Most of the time is spent with him trying to adjust his limbs. He may have a hard time talking, but he has a lovely voice when he sings. The Bard discovers that today while he’s listening to his friend playing the lyre, only to be taken aback when it’s accompanied by a melodious voice.
Almost immediately, the music stops, and the Bard finds Venti suddenly looking hesitant. He must’ve noticed his reaction.
“I’m sorry, I was just—” the Bard has to shake his head to snap himself out of his stupor. When he sees Venti shrinking, he quickly waves his hands reassuringly. “No, no—you are doing so well. It’s just... you sing so beautifully. I can’t help but be entranced by it.”
Venti’s fingers fidget over the lyre, while his eyes widen. “Friend like—song?”
“Yes,” the Bard answers, shifting closer to his friend. His eyes are practically twinkling in awe as he looks at him. “I never thought it’s possible to fall in love with your songs even more.”
He can see Venti’s cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson, before he hides his face under the white cloak the Bard has gifted to him.
The Bard lets out a hearty laugh, lifting the hood from Venti’s face so that he can meet his friend’s gaze. “That was a compliment, my friend. There’s no reason for you to hide yourself,” he says, a fond smile settling on his lips. However, as much as he wants to continue to hear Venti play, the sun is already up, and that means he has to return.
Maybe it’s the frown that has subconsciously made its way to his face, because Venti suddenly asks, “...Go?”
The Bard lets out a small sigh. “Sadly, yes.” It’s a mistake to look at his friend, because his heart instantly clenches when he sees the despondent look on Venti’s face. “My friend, how about you keep the lyre with you? At least you’ll have some company while I’m gone.”
Venti gives him a worried look. The Bard knows what he’s thinking; isn’t this something important to you?
“Don’t worry,” the Bard reassures. The lyre has been in his hands long enough, and he’s happy to pass it to his precious companion. He kneels down on one knee, using both hands to hold Venti’s free one. “Count it as a promise that I’ll return.”
Venti stares at him, before he smiles. “I—wait. For you.”
➳
The Bard is unable to visit the forest today.
He’s needed for some Mondstadt event, so he has to arrive at an appointed place early in the morning—which is usually the time where he meets Venti.
He makes a mental note to bring gifts for Venti later as an apology for being late. It has become their daily routine to meet each other at the same time and same place, so he hopes that his friend won’t wait too long for him. The last thing he wants is to keep him waiting.
He finds himself restless throughout the entire ordeal, approving almost everything the people propose to him, which are mostly the decorations and the sequence of the event. He thinks that his presence isn’t really needed, because everyone should know by now that he’s not picky when it comes to things like these. It’s not like he isn’t grateful that the people are enthusiastic about an event that involves him, but sometimes, he thinks that maybe they are a little too dependent on him...
“Lord Barbatos.” The Bard flinches at the name. No matter how much time has passed, he still isn’t used to the name given by Celestia (not that he will ever associate himself with it). Slowly, he turns around, and he finds a small group of knights gathered. He recognises the leader, and if he’s being honest, there’s always something about him that he doesn’t like. “We’re here to report on our duty.”
The Bard nods. If the leader is here to report, then that means they must’ve found something while they’re patrolling around Mondstadt.
The leader’s face is full of pride when he reveals something, and the Bard’s eyes widen in horror at the sight of his wooden lyre. “We found your Holy Lyre der Himmel, my lord,” the leader announces, displaying the musical instrument to him. “Someone was trying to impersonate you. They claimed that they were you, but rest assured, we managed to—”
The Bard grabs the leader by the front of his armour, earning a startled reaction. “How dare you attempt to use deception on me?” he seethes, and it takes everything in him not to send a gust of wind flying at him. Venti is not an impersonator, and the Bard knows full well that his friend would never do such a thing. “That ‘impersonator’ was my friend. I was the one who gave him that form and gave him the Holy Lyre.”
The knight instantly pales. “My lord, you... w-what?” Behind him, the other knights are starting to cower. It seems like they were in this too.
“Where is he?” the Bard asks, visibly vexed.
“H-he’s still in the forest, my lord…”
The Bard grits his teeth, before he quickly whirls around. “If I find him harmed even by a strand of hair,” he looks over his shoulder, his eyes glowing a bright blue, “all of you better pray that banishing you from Mondstadt is the most I’ll do.”
He gathers his elemental energy and takes off into the sky.
He can only hope that Venti is okay.
➳
“Venti!” the Bard calls, searching frantically for any sign of his friend. He has been looking around their meeting spot for nearly half an hour now—for those white wings, or the pair of dark braids—but to no avail. No matter how much he calls, or how much he reassures that he has come here alone, his friend is not making an appearance.
He can sense that his friend is around, but he’s unable to pinpoint his exact location. He tries to search for him around the trees, and after examining for the umpteenth time, he finally notices the small trail of white feathers that lead to a cave—practically hidden by the bushes.
“Venti?” he calls, bending down to peer inside the cave.
It’s dark, but he does see some movement in the cave thanks to the pair of white wings behind Venti’s back. He waits for his friend to come out, but he only hears a small whimper, before his friend presses himself deeper into the cave.
“My friend... please come out,” the Bard coaxes, lips pulling into a frown. He moves to sit on his hands and knees, giving a pleading look. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Did anyone hurt you?”
Venti’s quiet for a while, before he slowly crawls out of the cave. The Bard forces himself to push down his anger, because if he shows the clenching of his jaw at the sight of his friend’s wounds, it would only give Venti the wrong idea. He’s internally thankful that the injuries aren’t severe, but that still doesn’t mean the knights are forgiven.
“Anemo Archon…” Venti suddenly whispers, his eyes widening. The Bard notices how he’s staring at the blue tattoo around his wrist—one of the few tattoos that branded his skin after turning into an immortal.
His friend shifts his body to rest his knees on the ground, moving into a kneeling position.
“No, please—don’t,” the Bard quickly says, his face horrified. He places a hand over Venti’s shoulder, bringing his movements into an abrupt halt. “I’m not— I really don’t want you to see me in that way…”
Venti looks up, brows furrowing together in confusion.
“I... never wanted to be the Anemo Archon,” the Bard admits softly, lowering his head. He hates the title, he hates everything about being the nation’s archon. But he has no choice, because defying Celestia would only lead him to punishment, and neglecting Mondstadt would leave his efforts of fighting for its freedom in vain. “I only wish to return back to being the bard, who can go back to writing poems and playing music,” he adds, voice cracking. He slumps to the ground, drawing his knees to his chest. “I don’t want to be known as the Anemo Archon anymore.”
His eyes suddenly feel watery, and he quickly hides his face in his arms as he breaks into a quiet sob. It hurts to know that his friend was ready to submit to him too, all because of this divinity he was cursed with. If Venti, his one and only friend, acts like the others, then who is really left with him?
He feels gentle hands pulling him close, and he lifts his head to find Venti wrapping him in what he can manage as an embrace.
“You... not Anemo Archon,” Venti says slowly, before he gives him a genuine smile. “You are friend. To me.”
The Bard stares at him, wide-eyed.
Venti uses a hand to dig into the layers of his white cloak, before he pulls out a wrinkled paper. The Bard’s eyes widened even more, because that’s the paper he thought he had thrown away since he was unable to finish the song’s lines.
His friend puts the paper in his hand, looking at him in anticipation. “We play music, friend?”
The Bard stares at him, his eyes becoming all watery again. Venti is slightly startled when he abruptly throws his arms around him, closing all the distance between them.
“Yes,” the Bard whispers, his face buried into his friend’s shoulder. He feels Venti leaning his head right next to his, sharing warmth with their cheeks in contact. “Let’s play music together, my friend.”