Chapter Text
A tranquil oasis lay in the heart of Natlan, far from the roaring volcanoes and fiery plains that defined the Pyro Nation. The calm waters of a steaming hot spring reflected the orange glow of the setting sun, and the air shimmered faintly with heat, carrying the scent of blooming fire lilies. This serene refuge was where even Natlan’s warriors came for respite, where fire became warmth and passion turned to peace.
Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, leaned casually against a smooth rock at the edge of the hot spring, his lyre resting across his lap and his wings folded against his back. The soft notes he strummed blended harmoniously with the bubbling water. Beside him sat Xbalanque, the First Pyro Archon, his fiery aura subdued to a gentle, comforting glow.
“Your nation’s not all roaring flames and heated duels, is it?” Barbatos mused, his voice light as the breeze. “This place feels almost too calm for Natlan.”
Xbalanque chuckled, a sound deep and resonant like a steady crackling fire. “Even fire knows when to rest, Barbatos. Natlan’s passion doesn’t always need to burn wild—sometimes, it’s a steady flame that lights the way.”
“Well said!” Barbatos grinned, plucking a cheerful tune. “Perhaps I underestimated the poetic soul beneath all that armour.”
Xbalanque smirked, leaning back on his hands. “And perhaps I gave you too much credit for being serious. Do you ever set your songs aside, even for a moment?”
“Not if I can help it!” Barbatos shot back with a laugh, his voice echoing through the peaceful oasis. Then, his expression softened. “But in all seriousness, I owe you a debt, Xbalanque. A favor for a favor, if you will.”
The first Pyro Archon arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “A debt? What could the free-spirited Singer of the Winds possibly owe me?”
Barbatos placed a hand over his heart, his tone unusually earnest. “It’s about Venessa and her people. When they sought freedom, when they needed a new path, you could’ve barred them. You could’ve said, ‘These are Natlan’s people, and they shall remain here.’ But you didn’t. You let them go, let them follow the winds to wherever their hearts desired...and it cost you. ”
Xbalanque’s golden eyes flickered like embers. “Ah, Venessa's people. They carried Natlan’s fire within them, even as they walked away from it. I didn’t stop them because their flames weren't meant to belong here. They needed the winds to grow stronger.”
Venti smiled, a glimmer of respect in his gaze. “And because of that choice, Mondstadt was shaped into the land of freedom it is today. For that, I owe you. Name your favor, and I’ll see it done.”
Xbalanque leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Anything, huh? That’s a dangerous thing to offer to another Archon.”
“Danger is part of the fun!” Barbatos replied, his grin turning mischievous. "I know you, and I know your morals. Anything you ask would not be greedy or cruel."
The Pyro Archon smiled at the praise, then grew thoughtful.
After a moment, he spoke, mind made up. “No, I don’t think I’ll use it. But I will pass it down.”
Barbatos tilted his head, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “Pass it down? Whatever do you mean?”
“To one who carries my spirit forward,” Xbalanque explained. “When they are in need, please help them.”
Barbatos’s expression turned uncharacteristically solemn, though his smile lingered. Something in his eyes seemed silted for a second before it vanished. “A favor for the future, carried on the winds until it finds its way to the right hands. I like that.”
Xbalanque stood, his presence radiating a quiet strength as his fiery aura flared briefly. “Good. Then it’s settled. Don’t forget this promise, Wind Singer.”
“Forget? Never!” Barbatos called after him, though his grin turned impish. “Though if you have some Natlan wine to help my memory along, I wouldn’t say no.”
The Pyro Archon laughed heartily, his voice like a rumble of distant flames. “Only you would think of that! Try not to drink yourself into a stupor before my flamebearer finds you.”
“No promises!” Barbatos’ laughter joined Xbalanque’s as the Pyro Archon walked away, disappearing into the warm haze of the oasis.
And so, a favor tied to the freedom of Venessa's people became a promise for the future, carried by the winds of time and waiting to ignite when the ember of Natlan’s spirit sought out the Singer of the Winds.
Later on, as their conversation turned to farewells, Barbatos reached out to one of his wings and withdrew a feather that shimmered like a fragment of the sky itself. It glowed faintly, green and gold as if it contained the very essence of wind and freedom.
“This,” Barbatos said, holding the feather delicately, “is a token of my promise. The winds will carry protection wherever it is needed most. If someone bearing your spirit ever finds themselves in peril, this feather will guide them to safety.”
Xbalanque tilted his head, studying the feather with a mixture of curiosity and respect. As he was not a born god like the rest of the archons, Xbalanque's power came almost entirely from the pyro gnosis. Yet, even he knew how powerful relics of gods could be as old as Morax or Barbatos.[1]
“You carry strange gifts, God of Anemo. Why trust me with this?”
Barbatos smiled, his tone light but his words carrying a deeper weight. “Because you trusted me with Venessa and her people. This feather isn’t just a trinket—it’s a promise from Anemo to Pyro. A favor passed through the ages, waiting to find the right hands.”
Xbalanque nodded solemnly, his fiery gaze fixed on the feather. “Very well. I’ll see to it that it’s protected. If the day comes when it’s needed, I’ll ensure it finds its way.”
The Pyro Archon reached out, and Barbatos placed the feather in his hand. For a moment, the cool breeze of the feather and the warm glow of Xbalanque’s flame intertwined, creating a fleeting harmony between wind and fire.
“A promise sealed by the elements,” Xbalanque murmured. “The flamebearer will know what to do, even if the rest of the world has forgotten.”
Barbatos gave him a mischievous grin. “They’ll have the winds at their back, Xbalanque. I’ll make sure of it.”
As the two Archons parted ways that evening, the feather was placed within Natlan’s secret vaults, safeguarded by the fires of Pyro. The winds whispered as the feather rested, waiting for the moment it would awaken.