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Just as the Traveler prepared to leave Windrise, he hesitated. Amber eyes meet vibrant green and the Traveler calms.
‘Venti,’ he begins. ‘There’s another question I have. Who leads Celestia?’
The Traveler doesn’t miss the flash of hasty emotion flitting from Venti’s visage.
Venti’s grin subsides, content expression now solemn. ‘When the skies hear, the wind doesn’t lend an ear.’ Venti’s gaze steadies: the vibrant shine lost. ‘Remember that very well, Traveler.’ That serious glimmer fades, and Venti’s smile returns. ‘May the wind bless your travels, Traveler!’
When trodding away after having said his goodbyes, the Traveler ponders Venti’s obscene words. Paimon thinks nothing of it, too enticed by Liyue’s prosperous food. The Traveler, however, remembers his past experiences in foreign worlds and ponders, ponders, ponders…
But there is no use pondering what cannot be pondered.
Upon his departure from Liyue, the Traveler recalled those frozen green eyes and turns sharply.
He waits for Zhongli’s gaze to meet his and says, ‘…Tell me about Celestia.’
Zhongli’s eyes briefly flutter shut. His chin dips, contemplating. ‘Mm,’ he hums. ‘It’s best I don’t, Traveler. I apologize for the inconvenience,’ it’s just a tiny twitch of the brow—just once. But the Traveler’s learned to be perceptive at all times. ‘I’m afraid I’m under a contract.’
The Traveler nods. ‘I understand.’ The Seven… Celestia… The Traveler glances to the skies, to where Celestia floats, an omen; perhaps a warning, perhaps a promise—its true intentions unknown. What are you hiding?
In Inazuma, when the Traveler approaches Ei, she tries her best not to appear threatening. Their grievances are in the past, after all.
Even she, the Raiden Shogun, wouldn’t dare to raise her blade against the Traveler. They were friends, weren’t they? She hoped so.
‘Do you need something?’ she asks, because that’s what friends do. They help each other.
And Ei’s eyeing Paimon’s dango yearningly. Perhaps… I could—
The Traveler breaks her sugar-hungry thoughts. ‘Do you know…anything about Celestia?’
The dango forgotten, Ei’s breathing almost stops .
Her indigo eyes narrow and that divine flame burns out the previous softness. ‘I do not associate with Celestia anymore, Traveler.’
Even the Traveler doesn’t dare to question her when she uses that dangerous tone.
He leaves soon after.
Who the Traveler thought had surely the answer sat solemnly across from him.
Nahida, by far the wisest out of The Seven. The goddess of wisdom, the Dendro Archon. When said goddess heard the Traveler’s plea of long-sought answers to questions he himself didn’t even know, she frowned.
‘I’m sorry, Traveler,’ Nahida chimes, and to her credit: she did look rather sorry. Her lips purse. She continues slowly, ‘I can’t answer this question.’ Nahida’s wide gaze is hesitant. ‘I don’t know much…anyway. I’ve only been an Archon for only a short while, and I’ve been locked up for those short 500 years.’ Nahida’s expression brightens. ‘Perhaps you’ll have some luck in Fontaine,’ she giggles. ‘Their archon has a unique charm, from what I know.’
Furina hesitates when the Traveler approaches her, mismatched ocean-blue gaze guarded.
‘About…Celestia?’ she echos, her smile freezing.
The Traveler amends their question, saying, ‘What do you know about the Heavenly Principles?’
Furina’s about to slip that mask on when—she can’t. She’s free. How could she forget? There’s no more the Hydro Archon. There’s no more suffering, and yet that mask’s disparity is a familiar…comfort.
The familiar comfort of a carefully-ordained script. Furina picks up the paper.
She clears her throat. ‘Ahem! I’m afraid I don’t know, for even Furina de Fontaine is but a mortal!’ her smile twists. ‘Because of recent events involving you, dear Traveler, of course! Ahaha…’ Furina manages an awkward-sounding laugh.
Right! Furina, your chance is now!
With sparkling eyes, Furina surveys the delicacies balancing atop pristine plates. ‘Let our tea party commence, shall we?’
A murder of seven crows paint the sky with seven dollops of black.
The Traveler feels an eeriness creeping up his spine. He shivers, watching those black splashes of crows drift further and further away.
Seven crows… He stares into the clouds, blond hair ashewed by a strong windblast. He smooths his ruffled hair and sighs.
The truth is surely in Natlan.
The Traveler follows where the crows flew, Paimon hovering about after.