Chapter Text
His chin lay rested to his collarbone, eyelashes fluttered closed in what could only be a makeshift rest. It was uncomfortable, leaned up against a rock, tongue heavy from the lack of hydration and stomach growling. The rock was mossy. Comfortable despite its rough nature. Scaramouche was like a fawn to a hunter’s bow here, vulnerable and alone. Yet, his feet throbbed, his sides heaved, and his body needed a rest. Mondstadt seemed so unearthly far away, and the whispers of the winds were fading the more he entered the deep caverns.
It was night, the deep abyssal flow around Scaramouche’s body formatted in the wrong places, making him on edge. His slow eyes flickered open, panning at the scenes around him. It was a small place where the opening to the sky showed off its great wings of despair. Gentle twinkling made Scaramouche bite the inside of his cheek until copper tasted on his brain’s receptors. It was irritable, the slow, flickering light. Why couldn’t they just stay still? It was annoying. He sighed, pressing his calloused hands around for his satchel. Once he found its leather outer, he raised it to his lap and folded through its contents.
Once his canteen is raised, slow, slow drops of tender water gather in his mouth. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get more. No, no, he just didn’t want to get up and filter some. His feet ached from walking, and endurance could only give so much.
Perhaps we shall clarify where he is:
A small, jaded cavern with glowing orbs of light pooling from the ceiling. Scaramouche had been stuck in the caverns for quite some time. Following his compass and map the Liyue merchant had given him, he’d known that this was a speedy way to get to Mondstadt. Or, at least, he hoped it was. It’s not like that matter much, though. Right now, Scaramouche has to worry about getting some rest. He needs it, terribly.
His body quivers from the small chill of night, shifting his knees to his chest, head on the outcrop created. In his mind, the man formed a prayer to the dear god he now owed his pledge to. The Oracle, the one that would supply him with help on how to control the quelling elemental rage burning his body. The gift from the selfish gods that he hadn’t wanted. That ruined his life. Perhaps his new god could help him:
Your work is the Ameno truth,
breathing new life,
whispering precious promises.
Stir my soul today with the purity of your oxygen,
Help me quell the curse I contain, decease it with your winds.
Omen.
He finished his abominated prayers, biting back a bit of bile from talking about his old god. Scaramouche leaned his head back, trying to rest again.
He is no stranger to loneliness, it is a feeling that those of his other kind do not have in common with him. He became too….’human’. Maybe that was a mistake, a mistake that was now irreversible. He once wore a more innocent shape, and then a human shape. But now, his mood reflects the gray clouds and rain, the sun doesn’t often show because Mondstadt rained a lot.
Maybe there was once a time when it was more bright and cheery. But those days had long passed.
Sure, things were better now than before. When Decarabian was still around, he had known nothing but a cage. A cage that he’d rather not be stuck in again if he can help it.
But when Decarabian died, his Kingdom was in ruins. He only ended up in a different kind of cage of his own making. He had attempted to show people a better way, he had thought that things would get better. But after Durin, and then Ursa the Drake…and the Lawrence clan betrayed him. He had helped Vennessa overthrow the aristocracy, but things just never got better from there. He didn’t know why.
His people took it all for granted, so ungrateful, so selfish and greedy for more and more. He didn’t understand humans, why couldn’t they just be grateful for what they have? What were they given? Couldn’t they just enjoy the nature around them? The world that his friend had so dearly desired to explore? No…. perhaps not.
Hence, after a couple centuries passed when he was still patient enough to give them a chance, but it was the same as before. And so….he had stopped coming to the taverns in Mondstadt.
He had stopped visiting his people, and they were none the wiser. Now, he just spends his years in the gloomy skies, or visits Zhongli in Liyue. He drinks in Liyue’s taverns nowadays.
Once, they may have praised Barbatos, the Archon that saved them from Decarabian. But now he was the spectral boogeyman that caused children to wake up screaming in the night. Not the innocent ones, just the more bratty ones that absolutely deserve it.
The land had become gloomier and greyer, rain and storms came more often because he wanted to leave dread instead of cheer. He won’t force them to obey him, but he’ll make sure that their hubris and selfishness doesn’t lead them to dark places, a few boos would help prevent that.
And oh, it was so fun. He once felt bad about it, but he loved doing it now. The looks on the faces of mortals was priceless, sometimes there were thieves, murderers, serial killers, and grave-robbers. He specifically despises grave-robbers. The dead are the reason Mondstadt was in a better place than before, like his dead friend, he gave his life to free the rest and this was how they repay him? It made him so…..angry. He hadn’t stopped feeling angry and disappointed since. His smile was once cheerful, but now it was a smirk that was condescending and sarcastic. Similar to Kaeya’s actually.
Oh, he still had a few friends, but not all knew of his more odd activities, he just rarely, if ever, visits Mondstadt nowadays. Oh, and look at that. Venti detected life within a dark, small, and jaded cavern. The dude wore a bunch of rags; yet he looked like he was from Inazuma. Interesting…Ehe.
Scaramouche’s head pulled back as dawn broke, eyes fluttering open to stare at the desolate cavern he was in. Licking his dry lips, he stood, relentless despite his ever aching bones. Making a slow pant, a hand flew out to clutch onto the rock beside him. Ugly, yellowing hassocks around him drove Scaramouche nearly insane without color. His eyes shifted upwards, to the hole in the ceiling. There, the sky was pink… blue— a morning blossom. However, if he shifted his gaze just slightly, he could see the dark, brooding Mondstadt.
A glimmer of relief flowed through his weak body for a moment. This is what he had wanted! Eyes wide, Scaramouche hurriedly packed up his items and dashed down the tunnels. His legs burned and screamed at him—lungs felt like they were going to burst. Yet, he was so, so—so close. So very close. So close. Dear, please don’t let this go in vain.
Scaramouche only stopped when the tunnel ended suddenly. His purple, electrified eyes stared at the end in horror. No? It couldn’t end! It couldn’t! Even with the pain in his body, he slammed into the end of the tunnel, digging frantically until he looked disgusting. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, and suddenly Scaramouche felt unearthly ill. That merchant had lied to him, and they falsely created this map. They’d just wanted his mora.
His mora. He supposed he didn’t need it anymore. Nor anything. Angrily, he tore off his satchel, slamming it against the wall. Scaramouche felt a deep resonating pain in his body, deep and quelling. And then it came. He roared with grief, of his naïve nature. So dumb. Scaramouche grasped at strands of hair, throwing his body against the walls in a panic.
He could hardly notice the waters had risen. Once a low trickle, it had raised about an inch or two. Scaramouche let his eyes slowly fall closed as a heaved sob burst into his body. He sunk to the wet ground, musty fodder of air gathering in his lungs. What a weak excuse of a follower. His eyes slid closed, and the sire’s lips slowly moved into another prayer.
There is no way into your land of free,
Archon of Ameno, breathing in my lungs,
I am afraid they will burst soon.
Scaramouche weakly stared down the end of the tunnel with a glare. Surely, making it to the entrance would…? Would his supplies last? It took him perhaps weeks to arrive here now. What an unfortunate pattern of events. Perhaps there was another chance.
And despite his utmost hate for his lungs quelling in his soul, he rose to his bruising legs and took a slow stride forward.
The Anemo Archon had heard the Inazuman’s prayers, Barbatos can hear all breaths in Mondstadt if he puts his mind into it. He heard thousands to billions of prayers, but those prayers were now just there to motivate and inspire those to help themselves without stepping on others to reach the top. The bad ones that prayed to him, however? Those were the prayers he answered, just not the way the bad would find enjoyable. But…..he had no one to play with, he was a bored archon. A bored haunting Reisu of Mondstadt.
His people had noticed his new form for quite some time, but they do not know that the ghostly apparition and their god Barbatos are the same individual. He would like to keep it that way, the same went for his other form: the bard. Which he rarely uses nowadays. But…. he took pity on the soul that found themselves stuck in the cave. He can always find a reason to mess with the mortal, but he can somehow hear the Inazuman’s thoughts, those who tricked him had wronged him. And thus, it would most be against this Archon’s nature to refuse to answer the Inazuman’s prayer. The ghostly head poked through the wet, rocky ceiling as he watched the Inazuman try to save themselves. A spectral hand came out, and winds blew from below, becoming stronger and stronger.
Yes….the exit that the Inazuman had thought was there, had never existed. But there were other ways to escape the caverns. And he can be a fair Archon, a generous Archon. Why would he not reward the Inazuman’s efforts? With his strong winds, he pushed the large stone out of the way, another tunnel had opened, which led to another passageway ... .which may or may not lead the way the Inazuman wants to go. To the lands of chilly winds.
The sire let himself still for a long moment as wind flew through the tunnel, shifting to turn where it came. His eyes physically lit up as it flew past him. There was an exit! Was this the work of the Archon he begged? Scaramouche almost hoped so. He’d have to give them an offering the next time he’ll be well.
He hobbled forward through the dampen tunnel, eyes fixated forward and towards the alternative exit. It’s cramped and uncomfortable to walk through. At some points, Scaramouche had to get down and crawl. However, with his heart pounding and soul screaming, he emerged. Sunlight glittered onto his face, letting Scaramouche adjust as he climbed out of the hole.
Wait, a moment. Mondstadt wasn’t bright. Panic almost enveloped Scaramouche as he adjusted to the surrounding lights. His nails created crescent-shaped markings on his palms as he gazed around the landscape. Where… was he? Only for a moment did Scaramouche calm down. He let himself release tension, relaxing. Think of the positives!
Lord of the winds,
your glory is overstretching,
Thank you for showing me the way.
He reopened his eyes, feeling an ounce of new strength hit him. And then it came crashing down. He didn’t have his satchel anymore. And that meant no more food, unless he caught or foraged for it. Scaramouche frowned, letting a scowl stay on his face as he got moving, heading to a more heavily forested area.
Heavy exhaustion had really struck the fellow now, the once blue skies turning red and orange. It was evening now. Scaramouche’s eyes turned to a small bush with small, red berries. Scaramouche wasn’t a scholar, but he was sure these would be safe to eat. The survival book he’d read before his journey had stopped at the foraging & safety chapter, however.
Scaramouche picked up the berries, resting them on his tired tongue. He was exhausted, worn. But that was alright. He was out of the tunnels.
What was that feeling again?.....when one helps another?...It is a good feeling. Sometimes he misses this feeling when he helps others, because schadenfreude was not the same thing.
The Inazuman had escaped the tunnels, and he had heard the new prayer. One that made the Archon feel a bit happier, it was a different prayer from the ones he usually heard.
Oh, Barbatos!
Give me strength.
I want to be rich
I want respect
I want to be famous and popular.
I want, I want, I want, I want, I want.
Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me.
These prayers were the ones he would turn away from, it only reminded the Archon of their greed, like a bunch of mora weasels. Some were funny to listen to, though it does sometimes sadden him. Other creatures, even the hilichurls he understood. They were like humans, but even though they craft, construct, raid. They were more in one with the elements and nature than humans are. Their redeemable feature is that they are not as threatening as a few humans can be, he can’t really take them seriously. Oh, he can understand them just fine. Do they view him as a God differently from how humans viewed him? Oh, yes. And he reckoned it wouldn’t make much difference to them, if he revealed himself to them fully.
Funny little things, they are many things, but their loyalty to their tribes and small raiding parties were also their most defining feature, he thinks he had been paying more attention to the hilichurls than the people of Mondstadt. Sometimes, he indirectly helped guide them like how he guided the Inazuman to the surface. He heard the Inazuman’s mood going from high to the lowest low, when he realized he had lost his satchel of supplies in the caves.
Now, that can’t be done, can it? The Archon can do multiple things that could help the Inazuman satisfy his thirst and hunger, but he didn’t want to risk spoiling the Inazuman. Hmm.. should he….oh fuck it, why not? Not like the Inazuman would know who he really is. Either as the spirit or the bard.
Maybe when he really needs to appear in case the Inazuman found himself in some extra trouble, it would satisfy both the God’s additional needs for hauntings, and his need to feel needed.
And, the Inazuman doesn’t really seem like in the mood to chat with someone anyway, he’ll appear when it’s the right moment to do so.
Scaramouche let himself rest on the dirt, breathing in foolish floating dust. He make a quiet cough, pale hands grasping against the ground to stable himself. The berries made his stomach quell in pain, twisting in ways he was sure would cause him more irritability later. He coughed once again, letting his head press against a thorn from the berry bush he laid under. Because of the minimal protection it gave.
It had dripped. Cold, certainly. Scaramouche dragged his tugged clothing closer around his body. It was a wool blanket fashioned the best he could into coverings. He’d sold almost all his fancy Inazuman clothing in Liyue. All that showed his heritage was his dreadful accent, appearance—and a faint glow in his soul. An electrified core, as those close followers had.
His closeness to the electro archon had been replaced by his loyalty to the Ameno, he was aware, but something didn't disappear in a few weeks. Nor years, truly. His electric core would never truly leave— it was something he was born with. Scaramouche was aware.
He sighed, biting his lips and curling the best he could around himself to rest. Gentle drops of water platted his face occasionally, wetting his clothing and hair. Scaramouche couldn’t mind, letting his eyes drift close.
Perhaps this new dawn would provide him with strength. The dull sunlight glittered around the swampy landscape; Mondstadt. A bit of earthly calm echoed around his body. The indecent wetness wasn’t his favorite, but it was the land of the divinity he longed to serve. Making a Slow mumble, Scaramouche let himself rise. Dizzy from the berries, the world spun. His eyelids slowly sat shut again, letting himself adjust. He’d get an offering for the Ameno god today.
Scaramouche found the strength to stand, wobbling from the fragile weakness in his bones. A sob nearly echoed from his ribs as his legs clawed at his body, nerves raw from pain. He bit his lip to keep a yell of pain inside, struggling forward to find something worth the archon’s graciousness. A short while later, a small duel of cecilias appeared into his vision. He tenderly caressed their petals, before taking solely one, cutting it properly as it could grow again. He tangled his fingers around the flower, lifting his gaze up to the sky. A dull smile appeared to his lips.
“Is this your work? It is quite beautiful.“
Scaramouche lifted the flower to the heavens, in a meager attempt of an offering. An offering of thanks:
Please, though I cannot send my thanks in many, will this do?
Perhaps I am a mere mortal, foolish and engravenly wrong in life.
My best will be in servitude.
Oh, what is this? Now this is a surprise. Venti thought. While the God had cringed when the mortal ate some berries that he wasn’t supposed to eat, the businessmen had apparently left the Inazuman ignorant of his surroundings here. Deprived of the knowledge that one needs to thrive here.
While Venti had helped the Inazuman escape the caves, he was tempted to leave the man alone afterward, wanting to see what he’d do next. And when the mortal took Cecilia and offered it to the sky, praying to him to the dull skies. God's decayed compassionate heart came to life at the desperation in the mortal's voice, and the weak smile on the Inazuman’s face would make one cave in to help this poor soul.
Oh, but how could he not. When the mortal is asking so nicely? This was a rare occasion, especially when a foreigner in his lands showed him more respect than how some Mondstadtians sometimes showed him, it was a nice change of pace indeed. Now….what to do….what to do here…
Oh!, since the mortal had lost his satchel along the way, why not leave it on the shortest branch? Seems like a good plan, why not?
The cold winds became a little warmer in response to the Inazuman’s prayer, as the winds blew. The musical sounds of a lyre begin to play from above. The satchel the mortal had lost was now hanging from one of the trees. The music still played, which had a soothing, but also a sad tone to it. But whoever was playing it, was out of the Inazuman’s sight. The music seemed to be there to help the Inazuman find his lost satchel.
Servitude?
A soft voice was heard through the winds.
The solitary Inazuman.
From the lands of Beelzebub
Wishes to serve?
The Archon went silent until he says next.
Fear not.
For servitude is one certain fruit, I do not bite.
It is quite alright, for take value in the freedom you have.
But if it eases your mind, then I’ll feel free to let you know…
I have no rejection.
The voice in the winds eventually stopped, and the lyre stopped playing.
The man let himself softly sway and gently press the flower to the ground as warm winds shifted around him. Truly, he considered himself blessed by the archon of Ameno.
And then the music came. The words, the voice. It was something Scaramouche could only describe as divinity, truth. His eyes blew wide, shifting around. To simply hear a god was one he didn’t expect—! Him, a lost and far traveler! Ah, mess of a human; mere mortal with the lack of knowledge that would make Sumeru sages send him to the streets for even trying to pray to their god; either one, in-fact.
His breath was calmed now, body feeling strangely strengthened and whole at the voice. Scaramouche caught sight of his satchel, yet didn’t dare move until the words ended. Something he almost didn’t want. When they ended, he strode forward cautiously, plucking his satchel off of a branch. Scaramouche rummaged through the bag, pulling out his canteen. Desperately, he downed as much as he could, dropping liquid fading down the edges of his dry, cracked lips. As soon as he pulled it away, Scaramouche nearly coughed it all up. It would be alright.
He felt cradled, welcomed into the arms of the god. There was no other way his satchel could be here, on this branch, intact. Even his notebook didn’t look much wet as he flipped through the pages. Scaramouche sank to the ground, pulling out a pen and carefully began to write down what he’d experienced, including the strange poems he’d heard.
Deciding on another prayer as he gathered his belongings and got going again with a new hop in his step was something he had wanted to do. Despite being ill, dirty, and hungry, he still felt a small joy. Joy despite the gloom around him. He began to hum in the tune the lyre had rung earlier, his voice soft and fair in a prayer.
I am a sole slave from the lands of Beelzebub,
heart of electro, come to rue himself.
I serve now, the lord of the winds.
To do so, is my greatest honor, to be able to pray.
You have blessed me, dear archon.
Scaramouche paused for a moment. He wanted to ask why. Why had Lord Barbatos himself given him a chance? Certainly, his people give him the same amount of praise? Or more? Certainly! Barbatos was a benevolent god, of course his people would praise him endearingly constantly. Certainly, the god deserved it!
…Mondstadt never used to be gloomy. Or, he’d seen in pictures, stories. Books. Everywhere, the place he dreamed of the most. Perhaps the archon was upset? No, his people must deliver the best praise! Celebrate the divinity, spread their arms wide. Barbatos was the only god he was certain had never asked for a human sacrifice. It was a story well told, a dream!
Someone who wasn’t the Archon of spitefulness. That was an archon who would kill him with a lightning strike for fun if she was bored.
The Archon was surprised by the Inazuman’s persistence, the God had believed that a mere ‘thank you.’ Would’ve been all he heard and then be forgotten again. The way Venti was interacting with the Inazuman, wasn’t how he used to communicate with the Mondstadtians, he once walked among them and bonded with them. But that bond had been ripped apart slowly, now he was almost the same as he had been before: An ethereal spirit in the wind.
The lack of accusation or unquestioning acceptance from the Inazuman warmed the Anemo Archon’s cold heart. The spirit smiled in the winds but was unseen. If he were the old and cheery green bard once, he’d be standing with the Inazuman with his lyre before him. Along with the sweetest smiles and laughs. But the spirit almost seemed like the opposite from before, he wasn’t being shy, it was different from shyness. The spirit genuinely feels as if the Mondstadtians weren’t worthy enough for him to walk amongst them now.
He still loved each and every one of them, but like a disappointed parent when they keep seeing their child going down a pathway that they can’t bring themselves to follow.
A strange change of fate, when Venti had made home in Decarabian’s former tower and ruins. It reminded him of a time where people were most united against the tyrant of storms, and it was a simpler time. That leaves a sad irony to be taken at heart. The spirit clenched one of the tree branches, looking down from below him. The glowing, white wrappings surround him like a ragged cloak. The spirit closed his ethereal eyes as he listened to the next soft prayer from the Inazuman. Barbatos hears the faintest thoughts from the Inazuman. And he proceeded to let out the softest of sighs, as the spirit disappeared into the wind.
The lands of Barbatos.
Are an inverted reflection of your homeland.
Thy heart of Anemo, hath went frost.
Wish to know thee truth, Inazuman?
Seek out the town of Mondstadt.
That I once walked.
The spirit softly spoke through the winds, the spirit sounded sad. But also there was a hint of anger underneath, the Reisu had given the Inazuman an objective.
Now, the spirit will need to eventually return to the old Monstadt ruins, just to be sure that the dead resting there, were not being disturbed. But the spirit will watch the Inazuman with great interest, it will sadden the God for the Inazuman’s innocence will be broken further when he steps into New Mondstadt.
The new words echoed to him made him almost feel grief; what had happened within this beautiful, yet gloomy land to make its own archon feel this way? Scaramouche shook his head. The Archon had given him an objective. An objective from a god! With wind in his step, Scaramouche traveled closer and closer to the city of “freedom”.
As soon as his eyes laid upon the city, spikes of horror fell into his soul. A start of its façade he’d adored so much drifted. The city was dirty; the people looked almost mean. Scaramouche shifted his bag, holding onto it tighter than before. Even if he didn’t have that much mora, he was almost afraid someone would appear out of nowhere and demand it all from him. He hesitantly walked into its walls, the guards simply not caring.
And there was a scene Scaramouche wanted to scream at. How could the lord of Mondstadt live in this?! People ran rampant, orphans and homeless begged. Merchants were everywhere, stealing, cheating. People were arguing in another heavy language that nearly made it worse. Scaramouche bit his lips until he felt a small copper taste, hissing in disgust at his own flavor.
Perhaps the church would assist him in his studies! To learn and praise more of Barbatos! He blinked, gazing around. There was no one here he felt he could talk to. The most he could do now was look for an inn for his stay. Scaramouche gazed around, eventually picking out words on signs. “Inn! Only 800 mora per night!” “Inn! 100 mora per bed.” The words blurred together, and Scaramouche could only frown. Certainly, this wasn’t how business was?
Soon, the sight of the cathedral was welcoming. He jumped the steps twice at a time before being stopped by a guard at the front. Scaramouche insisted on being let inside, and eventually—he was. The inside was barren of anyone. No sisters, no one. The place nearly covers in coats of dust, and it looked heavily run down. Scents of gross sewage flooded his nostrils and Scaramouche had to take a second to sit down quietly. Why? Why hadn’t this benevolent god’s cathedral not been cared for? Hardly any signs of human life, besides maybe a few scavengers who robbed the place.
Oh, Barbatos.
Barbatos, benevolent god,
Scaramouche got choked up, halting his words and unable to finish. Was this why Mondstadt was…?
Yes, it was precisely the reason Venti left Mondstadt to it’s own devices. It was the price that he had to pay for the ideal of freedom that his friend had cherished so much.
The aristocracy was once a dominant power in the city, but now it had been replaced with a worse form of capitalism, from Kings and Lords to shady business people and currency.
He guessed he only had himself to blame for that, if he had just ruled Mondstadt himself as a fair ruler, maybe this wouldn’t have gone the way it did. A bit too late to do much about it now though, since it was harder to get alcohol in Mondstadt, let alone Liyue. He did other methods to soothe his feelings of the past through meditation or becoming one with the wind. Or….
He sees around six people in the ruins of Decarabian’s Kingdom with a few shovels and bags, each wearing a dirty uniform that were best suited for digging up holes and taking old items to be sold for cash. Or to mine the riches underneath the ruins.
The Reisu frowned, he thought they had learned by now. Apparently not. But he was happy to oblige their foolishness and greed. At first he had watched them walk around until they found the considered best spot to dig. And as they lifted their shovels. The spirit realized something.
That…that was the spot his best friend had died at. They weren’t going to…
And, they did. They started digging. The spirit snarled from the tower, and he shifted into angry, icy winds. The gravediggers were oblivious to the winds, but as they dig. The ghostly apparition of the Reisu appeared, and it let out a screech of outrage and feelings of hurt.
The gravediggers screamed in terror as the cowards started running for their lives. The Reisu made a smile as he laughed with glee and amusement. “And don’t come back!” The spirit shouted at them.
Scaramouche closed his eyes, leaned up against a pillar of the cathedral. It had vines crawling over it, and nature had taken over this part. He reopened his eyes, gently running his ivory fingers along the accordion. He rested them on a pipe, standing up on his tip-toes to stare inside. It was cloudy, and little spiders nested inside. Making a sigh, he slid back, staring around at the chapel’s insides. A new feeling of grief echoed in his soul for Mondstadt’s archon.
Scaramouche had found a broom in the side of the large halls, sweeping carefully around the alter and other important places. Barbatos deserved more respect than this. It brought bile to his throat, Scaramouche swallowing it back down. Carefully, he rubbed a cloth he’d found to dust tenderly the small Barbatos statue. His hands were gentle, making sure he got all the small bits. Little promises to polish the statue came from his lips, soft, as if a secret between a mortal and a god. It wasn’t a secret, but he definitely meant it just for Barbatos.
Once he was done with the statue, Scaramouche sunk to his knees, hand on the statue’s base.
What have they done to you?
Why leave you in such disarray?
I will restore the best a mortal can.
Dear lord of graven truth and mercy,
I will restore the most I can.
The Reisu had returned to the tower where Decarabian had died, he might as well be the reincarnated Decarabian. For even his own people had turned on him, like how Decarabian’s people did. But that was fine. As long as his friend’s ghost wasn’t being disturbed, it was fine.
The Anemo Spirit heard the kind prayers from the Inazuman, even from this location, being far away from New Mondstadt. Their words soothed the spirit, closing his ethereal eyes.
That was a good question, what had happened between him and Mondstadt? Every time he isn’t needed, he would end up going to sleep for thousands of years, and so there was a downside to that. He doubted Celestia cared for the state a specific city would be in, so long as people respected Celestia’s rule, it didn’t matter.
But the Reisu responded to the Inazuman eventually from miles away. Whispering.
Have you heard of the godless Kingdom of Khaenri’ah?
Mondstadt is the closest to a land without a God.
I realize that unchecked freedom.
Is the absence of love for nature, and the absence of respect.
For the dead.
When you were exploring Mondstadt.
Have you heard the tales of a wandering spirit?
The Haunting Reisu of the Land of the Winds?
The Reisu brings dread to the hearts of sinful men.
I am the Reisu that haunts all, for I feel it is the only way to make them understand.
The spirit smirked to himself as he leaned against a ruined pillar. The Reisu was now the Bard, opening his eyes and watching over the land of old Mondstadt.