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Diluc Ragnvindr returns to Mondstadt on a rainy spring day, in the middle of the week. The townsfolk notice his reappearance almost immediately, all scrambling to ask questions about his trip, his general health, whether or not he’s joining the Knights of Favonius again and the state of the winery now that he’s back at the head. For an exhausted and jaded man as himself, this is far from the kind of welcome that he would be comfortable with, and by the third day, Diluc is seriously considering packing up and marching towards Snezhnaya again.
This is only reinforced by a certain someone coming to the Angel’s Share and inconspicuously returning his pyro vision, the one he had rejected so many months ago.
Diluc can’t bring himself to look Kaeya in the eye for more than two seconds at a time, and he’s feeling decidedly worse by the time the cryo user finally walks out of the tavern, his mission accomplished.
That night, after closing up the tavern and bidding goodbye to Charles, Diluc sits on the wooden platform of one of Mondstadt’s windmills and looks down at the city with a heavy heart. He isn’t the same person that walked out so many months ago, filled with rage and a desire for vengeance; he has changed, and he can’t help but think it hasn’t been for the best. Now, Diluc is tired and bitter, keen on avoiding contact with people and focusing only on his work, banishing the past memories to the very back of his mind.
There is no trace of the young hopeful knight, the one that wanted to follow his father’s steps and fight alongside Kaeya and the Ordo for the peace of Mondstadt. Sure, he still feels a burning desire to defend his city, deep inside his heart, but the image of the Knights has been tainted forever in his mind.
He looks up at the starry sky and sighs inwardly.
The sound of someone strumming a lyre brings Diluc out of his thoughts, and he turns to see an unfamiliar person sitting on the same platform at him, several inches away, also looking up at the sky as he idly brushes the strings of his instrument.
“The stars sure look beautiful tonight,” the newcomer says with a certain lilt, almost as if he is reciting the words, “I wonder, for the meaning behind their light.”
A bard, probably. Diluc doesn’t remember seeing anyone with his peculiar attire —a matching set of green beret and cape, twin braids framing the young man’s face not unlike those on the statue of Barbatos—, but new bards in Mondstadt aren’t particularly rare.
Before he can say anything, however, the bard turns to him with a tenuous smile on his face.
“Mr. Ragnvindr, isn’t it? I heard the news of your return.”
Diluc nods, not knowing exactly what to say. He’s growing quieter these days, finding comfort in silence instead of fumbling for the right words.
“Must be good to be back, after all this time,” the bard continues. He strums the lyre a bit more. “There are many beautiful places all across Teyvat, but at the end of the day, there’s nothing like home. Like Mondstadt.”
There is a thread of nostalgia in the bard’s voice, a sliver of something deep and yearning that Diluc doesn’t know what to do with. He speaks of Mondstadt with a mixture of feelings coating his words; fondness, and wistfulness, and a little bit of sadness, all of it and more.
“You’re a local, then?” Diluc asks, unable to help himself. “I don’t recall ever seeing you around.”
The bard chuckles lightly, his eyes drifting over the city.
“Oh, I’ve been away for a long time. Only came back about a month ago.”
Diluc nods in understanding. That makes sense.
They look over the rooftops and cobblestone streets in silence, the notes coming from the lyre acting as background music for their respective reveries. Diluc isn’t sure why he feels more comfortable than he ought to with a perfect stranger, but he supposes there’s companionship in the way they seem to share similarly conflicted feelings towards Mondstadt.
Eventually, the bard stands up from his post, lyre disappearing in a flurry of energy particles (Diluc notices there’s a vision hanging from his belt, an anemo vision at that) and bids him goodnight. Diluc is left alone at the windmill once again, but he suddenly doesn’t want to keep losing himself in his thoughts. After several minutes have passed, he too leaves the windmill behind.
Later that night, as he prepares for bed, the young Ragnvindr feels strangely at ease. He feels like his eyes have been opened, in a way, and the prickle of anxiety at the back of his mind telling him to pack up and flee isn’t there anymore. Instead, he has a renewed feeling of appreciation for his city, and a resolve to not let certain things happen again.
He closes his eyes, and the last thought that crosses his head is that he does need Mondstadt — but Mondstadt might need him as well.
Diluc doesn’t see the bard again until the next week, the day after he decides to start covering some of Charles’ shifts at the tavern. He’s placing a drink in front of Cyrus, the Adventurer’s Guild Master, when the door opens and in walks a familiar bard, lyre in hand and a big smile on his face.
He must be somewhat of a regular at the tavern, because the patrons greet him warmly and immediately begin to ask for their favorite songs or tales, almost competing for his attention. Diluc can’t help but stare after him, reluctantly curious.
“That’s Venti, a local bard,” Cyrus supplies from the bar, taking a swig of his drink. “He appeared randomly one day, regaling us with tales of past heroes and epic adventures. I actually owe him a lot, the interest in the Adventurer’s Guild has certainly grown as of late!”
The man laughs heartily, thrusting his beer towards the bard in a messy toast and then taking a long swig. Diluc feels his eyebrows shoot up and turns towards the bard — Venti — once again.
“Alright, alright everyone!” He’s saying, now standing on top of a table. “For this gentleman over here: The legend of the Dandelion Knight!”
Everyone listens with rapt attention as Venti starts playing the lyre, his voice flowing smoothly moments after, regaling them with the tale of a tyrannical regime and its subsequent overthrowing by none other than Vennessa, the Dandelion Knight, and her companions, the Dawn Knight and Barbatos himself.
Diluc hangs onto every word as he silently works the bar alongside Georg, serving drinks, cleaning glasses and collecting mora. Despite knowing the story quite well thanks to his father’s old history books, Venti’s narration feels like a whole new way of seeing the events that transpired. He manages to bring a certain closeness to the tale, almost as if it was unfolding right before their very eyes.
Several more tales and folk songs come after the first, each as enrapturing as the next, until Venti finally seems to grow tired and makes the lyre disappear, thanking everyone for their attention and hopping off the table he had been using as a makeshift stage.
“Ah, Master Diluc!” He greets happily, finding an empty stool to sit on at the bar. “A bottle of your finest Dandelion Wine, if you would be so kind.”
Diluc obliges, and watches the short bard take several long swigs with apparent satisfaction. He’s then summoned by another patron, but after serving them as well, the bartender returns to stand in front of Venti.
“Those were interesting tales you relayed,” he comments, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall at his back. “I didn’t even know half of those things about Vennessa, and I have read the books passed down for generations.”
“Thank you.” Venti smiles, and Diluc can’t help but notice the nostalgic glint in his eyes, where the smile doesn’t quite reach. “Different sources do make for different stories.”
He takes another long swig of the bottle, which is nearing its end, and leans against the bar, resting his cheek in one hand.
“Tell me, Master Diluc, do you have a favorite tale?”
Diluc hesitates before answering, the memories a tad too painful for him to bear. He can clearly picture his father, sitting at the edge of his bed and speaking the words he knew by heart, regaling him with the stories of the Anemo Archon, of Old Mondstadt, lovingly passed down by its people through the centuries.
“The fall of Decarabian was my preferred one as a child,” he ends up saying, in a rare moment of vulnerability that no one else except Venti can witness. “Barbatos ascended to godhood and created the City of Mondstadt, freeing the people. The very beginning of all of this.”
Diluc makes a small gesture at the tavern and Venti’s eyes follow. When the bard looks at him again, he’s smiling again, but this time the sadness is even more prominent at the edges.
“Of course, a mighty tale.”
Venti then orders another bottle, the sadness fading from his eyes and replaced by a playful twinkle. Diluc gives it to him and decides to start a tab, since he has a feeling that the money earned that night won’t be enough to cover the two (or more) bottles that he seems to be planning to drink.
They don’t talk much after that, apart from the occasional passing remark on the good quality of the wine and two more requests for a bottle, and by closing time he’s gone, leaving Diluc to clean the mess of bottles and glasses left behind. He tiredly wonders how can so much alcohol fit into a small body like Venti’s, and isn’t very reassured when Georg informs him that it’s not uncommon for the bard to drink up to four or five bottles a night.
As it turns out, a tab had already been started three weeks ago.
Diluc walks back to the winery once the tavern is closed, the fresh air rousing him up just enough for the trip, and he enjoys the solitude and the familiarity of the worn path that takes him out of Mondstadt. There is a light breeze shaking the nearby treetops, the weather still a bit chilly these days, but he doesn’t mind it. His pyro vision, hanging from his belt, always keeps him warm.
The walk is peaceful, until it isn’t.
He is first alerted by the hilichurls yelling at the side of the road, all crowding around what looks like a battered supplies crate. A man cowers not too far from them, trembling, and it doesn’t take much more for Diluc to get the full picture.
In a flurry of particles, his claymore appears, the familiar weight comforting in his hand. Diluc swings at the hilichurls, making use of his flames to chase them away — and oh, how he had missed it. Ever since his return to Mondstadt, he hadn’t had the chance to fight anything, and it had been even longer since he had made use of his vision in combat.
The experience is absolutely thrilling.
He only half listens as the man —a shopkeeper returning to Springvale— thanks him repeatedly, then picks up the crate again and bids him goodnight, resuming the path towards the village. Diluc can only think of how unsafe the road is, if the hilichurls have managed to get so close to it and scare a poor man like that, and feels a spark of irritation at the inefficiency of the Knights of Favonius in securing the route to Springvale.
Someone has to do something, he thinks. There’s no way the safety of Mondstadt can rely solely on the Knights when they do such a poor job in maintaining it. Diluc wants to — no, has to step in. He can’t let the citizens down. He can’t let his city down.
That night, the Darknight Hero (not yet under this name) is born.
Turns out, he’s not the only one worried for the wellbeing of Mondstadt. On the second night of his new nighttime activity, clad in a mask and cloak, Diluc bumps into one of the Favonius Church nuns: Rosaria. She moves silently through the shadows, proficient in her ways, and only acknowledges him with a curt nod.
Eventually, they form an unspoken alliance, and Diluc learns not to interfere with her activities as long as she doesn’t intrude on his. They fight off a couple of abyss mages together, one time, but nothing is spoken about it. The only thing they have in common is the protection of the city.
He does save several more people over the course of the weeks, mostly from rogue slimes or hilichurls and the occasional samachurl, and they are all extraordinarily grateful to this mysterious vigilante that has appeared overnight. Diluc shies away from the attention; he’s only doing his part as a citizen.
There are other shady things going on in Mondstadt as well. Treasure hoarders, Fatui and abyss creatures are the most prominent of them, and the ones that irk Diluc the most. He fights the skirmishers that roam on the fields surrounding Dragonspine, perhaps with a little bit more force than required.
Once they are defeated, he doesn’t feel any better about it. The Delusion on his hand only reminds him of a fateful night, of things that can’t change. Diluc feels his resolve waver slightly at those times, but he always ends up reinforcing his purpose the next time a citizen needs help, or an abyss mage gets too close to the gates, or a treasure hoarder tries to smuggle something in.
A month passes by in which Diluc juggles his responsibilities as Master of the winery, working some nights at the tavern and moonlighting as a vigilante. He has help from his staff and expertly avoids any possible suspicion over his person — the last thing he wants is any more attention.
And then, one night like any other, a melody playing from the top of the Barbatos statue grabs his attention. Diluc decides to search for the source, since he’s having a rather slow night in crime-fighting, and finds Venti the bard comfortably sitting on the statue’s outstretched hands, strumming his lyre.
“If it isn’t the Darknight Hero in the flesh,” he’s greeted with a smile and a beckoning wave.
Diluc hesitates for a moment before he decides to join him, carefully perching himself on the stone-carved hands. He doesn’t say anything — he’s not sure he wants Venti to recognize him.
“Noble work you’re doing for the city,” says the bard, stopping his playing and focusing all of his attention on Diluc. “Everyone’s grateful for that, but it would be wise to remember to rest sometimes.”
“I rest plenty during the day,” Diluc replies, lying through his teeth.
Venti chuckles, teal eyes boring into his crimson ones behind the mask.
“The people of Mondstadt may be fooled by your attire, Master Diluc, but I sure am not. And I have seen you during the day, tending to all sorts of business in the city.”
Diluc stills, carefully considering his options. He isn’t sure just how Venti has figured him out yet, when he has very carefully avoided anyone following him at night. But then again, Kaeya had been sending him smug looks all of the past night at the tavern, so maybe he wasn’t being as inconspicuous as he’d like.
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Venti adds, perhaps thinking he might run away.
As tempting as it is, Diluc chooses to stay.
“How did you know?” He asks, and the bard laughs lightly.
“I merely keep an ear to the wind,” Venti muses. He starts idly strumming the lyre, and Diluc finds he doesn’t mind the background melody one bit. “I have also seen Sister Rosaria around… and a certain Cavalry Captain as well.”
At the mention of Kaeya, Diluc feels his hands tighten over one another and his mouth becomes a thin line. Of course the bastard has been keeping tabs on him without Diluc noticing.
“What are you doing here at this hour?” He asks Venti, trying to divert the attention from his illicit nighttime activities. “Not much of a crowd around.”
Venti grins before turning away from him, looking over the city. There’s a certain type of emotion in his eyes that Diluc can’t quite catch, but might have been sadness, wistfulness, and weariness, all at once. It is a very strange look in the usually cheerful bard.
“I have found myself overcome with inspiration,” the bard finally says, plucking the strings some more.
A sort of calm washes over Diluc as Venti starts humming a tune, the melody foreign but enthralling all the same, and he feels compelled to close his eyes and let the music distract him from his tainted memories.
They stay like that for a few minutes, simply enjoying the music and the other’s presence, until Diluc stands up, nods at the bard as a ‘thank you’ and leaves to continue doing his duty. He feels like he now knows Venti a little better. He also feels like Venti is a complete mystery at the same time.