Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a beautiful day in Mondstadt. 

The skies have never been clearer, not a cloud in the sky to block the pleasant glow of the sun as it casts its light out over the town and the landscape. The birds fly high, the flowers sway in the breeze, and the citizens bustle about in the streets, going about their lives with the cheer that can only come from a wholly peaceful existence. 

Watching over it all is the statue of Barbatos that stands in the courtyard of the church, hands outstretched as if he’s offering that beautiful ideal of freedom to his beloved people. His wings shield them from the harsh winds of the north, and his face, hidden beneath the hood, is kind and gentle. 

Needless to say, the people of Mondstadt love their life, and they love their Archon just as much. Today, just like every other day, is shaping up to be a good one. 

What it won’t be, though, is normal – not that anyone knows it yet. 

It’s around midmorning that it happens. Right at the base of the statue, the winds begin to gather, slow and unnoticeable at first until they start to grow out of control. Something is pulling the breezes in, forming a makeshift cocoon of wind and Anemo, wrapping around something bright and glowing at its centre. The people begin to gather around, murmuring amongst each other – wondering what could it be, why is it happening, should somebody run and get the knights? Yet no one moves from their place in the amassing crowd, unwilling to miss this mysterious sight. 

And then, just as the surrounding winds have grown strong enough to start knocking people’s hats off, the cocoon dissipates in a burst of Anemo and light both golden and teal, and a slim figure falls to the ground. 

A rush of exclamations goes up through the crowd, some of surprise and some of worry. 

“Oh my goodness!” 

“Who is that?” 

“Is he alright?” 

“What just happened?” 

“Move out of the way, I want to see!” 

“Dear Barbatos, what’s going on?” 

“Somebody get the Knights!” 

“No, somebody get the Deaconess!” 

“Is he injured?” 

“I can’t get a good look at him!” 

“Doesn’t he look familiar?” 

As the murmurs grow louder and louder, the crowd begins to inch closer to the small body now lying on the ground, curled up with his back to the group and his face pointed towards the base of the statue. All that can be seen is a head of short dark hair, a ratty blown cloak swathed around his torso and shoulders, and a pair of tattered boots that are definitely a size too big. 

One particularly brave, or perhaps curious, soul – a woman by the name of Margaret – crouches down beside the boy, and reaches out to touch his shoulder. “Excuse me, are you alri–” 

She never gets to finish her sentence, for not even a second later, she’s interrupted by the boy jolting upright, one hand coming to clutch at his chest as though he’s expecting to find something there that seems to be missing. 

He looks around wildly for a moment, the two braids on either side of his head swinging with the motion, and as his movements slow, the perplexed expression on his face becomes clearer. This poor boy obviously has no idea where he is, much less what’s going on. Besides that, now that he’s sat up, his archaic clothing is now visible – no one has worn that style of vest in centuries, maybe even millennia. Put together, along with the familiarity of his face, the people of Mondstadt can only really draw one conclusion from this boy’s sudden appearance. 

“Lord Barbatos,” breathes a voice in the crowd, and the second it’s said, the surrounding people begin to repeat it. 

“Lord Barbatos!” 

“That– that’s him!” 

“Barbatos has returned?” 

“Our god is back!” 

“Lord Barbatos, you’re here!” 

With each proclamation, the boy’s expression only grows more baffled. He glances at Margaret, as if to ask her what on earth is going on, only to find himself taken aback by the matching expression of reverence on her face as well. 

After a moment of sitting in confusion, the boy decides that, whatever he does next, he shouldn’t be sitting on the ground while he does it. He props himself up with one hand, preparing to haul himself to his feet, only for multiple sets of hands to immediately reach out to assist him. The boy staggers as he stands, but manages to nudge away the helping hands once he’s upright, looking around at the gathered crowd as they surround him. 

“I’m sorry, you must have mistaken me for somebody else,” the boy informs them kindly, shaking his head. His accent isn’t one that any of them could name, but somehow, it still sounds oddly familiar. “I don’t recall ever meeting any of you, I’m afraid, nor do I recall how I got here. Could anyone tell me…?” 

“Where you are?” Finishes Monroe. Beside him, Susie watches in awe. “This is the courtyard outside of the church. We’re in Mondstadt proper, right in the middle of the highest level.” 

Somehow, this only serves to confuse the boy even more. His brow furrows as he looks around, clearly taking in the scenery with the air of someone who is absolutely not where they thought they were. “This is… Mondstadt?” 

“Yes, it is. Is something… is anything wrong?” Susie asks. 

The boy shakes his head slowly, unsure. “No, it’s only that… I was just in Mondstadt, you see, and I don’t believe this is the same place. It seems to be on the other side of the country, for starters, and… the sky, it’s so blue. I’ve never seen a sky like that before.” 

He looks up, grey eyes wide and glittering as he stares up at the vast expanse of the midmorning sky. Around him, unnoticed by the distracted young boy, a few of the citizens exchange glances and one of them is shoved out of the group with hurriedly whispered orders to go and find Deaconess Barbara, or perhaps Acting Grandmaster Jean if the Deaconess can’t be found. 

It’s not a moment too soon that Jose goes running off up the stairs to the cathedral, for the boy looks back down at the people surrounding him a few seconds later, blinking away the awe from looking at the sky. 

“Would any of you be able to tell me how I got here?” The boy asks politely, looking around at the faces in the crowd.  “I’m afraid I… can’t seem to remember.” 

“You appeared,” Sansa tells him, pointing to the base of the statue, just outside of the small ring of water that encircles it, “right there.” 

“Appeared?” 

“In a burst of Anemo and golden light,” Monroe confirms. “Like the rebirth of a star.” 

The boy’s brow begins to furrow again. “But… why were you all calling me Barbatos, and Lord? I don’t know anyone by that name, and I am certainly no nobleman.” 

“Not a nobleman, but our God.” 

A voice from behind has the boy turning around, grey eyes wide and earnest as he takes in the arrival of another new group of people. At the front is a young woman with curly blonde pigtails and a frilly white dress, flanked by two older women in long black gowns with close-cut hoods and stark white embellishments around the neck and face. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon, ma’am, I didn’t hear you approaching,” the boy greets, inclining his head to the young woman of obvious rank. “Can I help you, milady?” 

“My name is Barbara Gunnhildr, Deaconess of the Church of Favonius,” she responds, bowing deeply (and in the process, missing the odd look that flashes across his face when she says her family name). “We are the devotees of the Anemo Archon, Barbatos. We are at your service, my lord.” 

Her attendants bow as well, and their action is quickly mimicked by the gathered crowd. The boy is soon the only one left standing upright, feeling more and more lost by the second. 

“Please, please, there’s no need to bow to me,” he insists, tugging gently at the Deaconess’ shoulder in an attempt to get her to rise. “I know no Archon nor Lord – I believe there must have been a misunderstanding here…” 

“No, no, you’re Lord Barbatos!” José proclaims. “You look exactly like the statue, and you appeared beneath it in such a show of divine power – you must be our god!” 

The boy still looks unconvinced. 

A beat of silence passes, broken only by the quiet murmurs of the crowd as the boy’s expression slowly grows more and more uncomfortable, before Deaconess Barbara straightens up and clasps his hands, looking frightfully earnest. “Lord Barbatos, would you consider accompanying us into the church, if you please?” 

“...I suppose?” The boy responds, blinking slowly. He glances at the gathered citizens again, but Deaconess Barbara’s sparkling grin distracts him. 

“Oh, that’s excellent! Please follow me, Lord Barbatos, I’ll show you inside!” 

The boy allows himself to be shepherded away from the statue and up a tall set of stone stairs before the Deaconess and her attendants pull open the doors of the picturesque building to allow him to enter first. Deaconess Barbara leads the way through a dimly lit hall and into a side room with an open stained-glass window, directing him to sit on the cushy sofa before she slips out of the room again to ‘speak with the nuns’. 

For a moment, the boy simply sits and waits, straining his ears to see if he can catch any of the whispered murmurs from outside the room. After a couple minutes, though, it becomes obvious that they’re speaking too quietly for him to overhear, and he lets out a sigh, leaning back against the cushions. 

A light breeze coming in through the open window ruffles his bangs and he glances over, gaze flicking back to the door for a moment before returning to the window. It seems to open into an empty courtyard of headstones, lined only by a small, easily jumpable fence. He can’t see from this vantage point if there’s anything below the tier of graves, but even if there’s naught by stone walls… well, he’s always had a talent for climbing. 

Deaconess Barbara returns to the room after a few minutes, slowly nudging the door open so as not to disturb her god. When she enters the room, though, it quickly becomes obvious that the area is completely empty. Whoever was in here before has vacated in the time she’s been gone. 

“Deaconess?” One of the nuns’ voices comes from behind the door, and the older woman pushes it open to pop her head in. “Deaconess Barbara, is everything alright?” 

“...He’s gone,” Barbara says faintly, pointing towards the gap in the stained-glass window. “He went out the window.” 

“He… what?” 

“Out the window. He’s gone now.” 

The nun gasps, eyes flicking from the empty room to the ajar window and back again. “Deaconess, do you mean to say that–?” 

“Yes,” Barbara confirms. “I have lost God.” 

oOoOo

The bard is having a deeply unfortunate day. 

The last thing he remembers is being shot through the chest with those arrows, and then… nothing. It was all darkness, for so, so long, and then– 

And then, he was here. He was waking up in the middle of a town he doesn’t recognise, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, and every last one of them was desperately trying to proclaim him their god. He couldn’t stay there after that. 

The bard doesn’t want to be trapped in a church to be worshipped and exalted, especially when he’s not even the being they seem to think he is. He is only a humble orphan, a purveyor of the arts, not a deity. 

He doesn’t need to be revered. All he wants is to see the sky – and now, he’s finally done it. 

It’s so much bigger than he ever could have imagined. 

He only wishes that his friends were here to see it with him. Amos, Gunnhildr, Ragnvindr, and especially his sprite – they should be at his side right now, looking up at that vast expanse with him. They should be able to see the visage of Mondstadt free and peaceful, just as he is. 

Because despite his confusion, despite the unfamiliarity of the situation, this obviously is Mondstadt, even if it’s not the Mondstadt he remembers. The folks in the crowd had said as much earlier, and even from a distance, he recognises the shape of those mountains. The only difference is that now, he’s on the opposite side of them. 

Was this town here the whole time that Mondstadt was fighting against Decarabian? Was there an entire town’s worth of people out there that no one in the bard’s own city had known about? 

However they came to be here, it’s obvious that these people live in peace. There is no tyrant presiding over them to stifle their freedoms. This is Mondstadt as he’s always wanted to see it, even if his friends aren’t here to view it with him. 

The bard leans up against the wall, tucked away in some unfamiliar alley where no one can see him, and lets out a miserable sigh. “Oh, my sprite, I wish you were here with me now. Even if I’ve ended up far from home, I could always trust in you to stay by my side.” 

A breeze blows through the alley, ruffling his hair and clothing. The bard keeps his eyes fixed on the sky, a mournful sorrow making its way through his chest and into his heart, before a voice shakes him out of his thoughts. An oddly familiar voice – one that he’s heard each and every day, both in speech and in song. A voice he knows like the back of his hand. 

“My friend,” comes the murmur from the end of the alley. “Is… is it really you?” 

The bard looks down from the sky and his eyes fall upon the face he sees in every reflection. That’s… him. That’s his face. “What?” 

His double lets out a choked sob as he stumbles back, knocking into the wall behind him and sliding down it until he’s sitting in a crumpled little heap on the ground. He buries his face in his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes to stem the tears that are quickly beginning to well up, and the bard takes a hesitant step forward, unsure of how he can help. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, but his double shakes his head, refusing to look up. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” 

“No, no, no,” the double says nonsensically, “no, I can’t. I can’t do this again, I can’t, I can’t!” 

His double’s voice is wavering and the bard frowns, feeling the other boy’s sadness tug at his heart. He crouches down beside him, reaching out to touch the double’s shoulder, but he flinches back violently, causing the bard to recoil. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you–” 

The double only shakes his head again, curling further in on himself as he tugs at the braids on either side of his face, identical to the bard’s own except for the glint of teal at the ends of each one. “I can’t do this again. I already lost him once, and now– and now my mind is torturing me with this!”  

He flings a hand out in the bard’s direction, nearly hitting him in the face if not for the quick dodge. 

“Why can’t it just end already?” His double whispers brokenly. “Why do I have to suffer over and over for something I'm never going to get?”

The creaking of a door opening reaches the bard’s ears, causing him to straighten up and look around for the source of the sound. This had better not be someone mistaking him for God again– 

“Venti, what the hell’s going on?” Comes a voice, one that sounds rather reminiscent of one of the bard’s own friends. But wait a moment, did he just say– “Why are there two of you?” 

The double – Venti, but it can’t be, unless it is? – looks up with wide eyes, staring at the redheaded newcomer for a moment in unmitigated shock before he all but throws himself into the bard’s lap, letting out a heart-wrenching sob. The bard’s arms wrap around him on reflex even as he gives the redheaded man a completely baffled look, which is then returned in kind. 

“ Parum ventus? ” The bard murmurs, one careful hand moving the double’s face out of his shoulder to get a better look at him. “Little wind, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

Venti sniffles and nods, squeezing the bard tighter as he buries his face in his shoulder once more. His words are muffled as he pleads. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave. Please stay.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” promises the bard, “that I know of, at least. And if I do go anywhere, you’ll come too, won’t you?” 

Another nod. 

“Should you two maybe have this conversation somewhere that isn’t the alley?” Says the red-haired man, causing the bard to jolt in surprise (which, in turn, makes Venti dig his fingers into the fabric of the bard’s cloak in a gesture that can only be described as ‘clingy’). “I don’t entirely know what’s going on here, but I can guess well enough to know that you probably don’t want to be interrupted by random townsfolk asking why Venti suddenly has a double.” 

“I believe it would be myself who now has a double,” the bard mumbles, but nods in agreement. “Yes, getting out of the open would be a good idea. Parum ventus , is that okay with you?” 

Venti hums in agreement, still refusing to remove himself from the other boy’s person. He’s practically wrapped around the bard now, half in his lap with no signs that he’ll be willing to move anytime soon – if they want to take this conversation elsewhere, the bard is going to have to get his sprite to let go for at least a few minutes. 

“I can’t get up with you in my lap, Venti,” he points out gently, a bit teasing as he pokes his now-humanoid sprite in the side. “Come on, you’ve at least got to stand up for a few minutes while I find us somewhere more secluded. You don’t have to let go of me, just be somewhat upright.” 

His sprite lets out a loud sniffle, pressing closer to the bard for a moment before his form seems to twist and shift, folding in on itself with a burst of Anemo as his human shape dissipates, leaving only a teary little sprite behind in his lap. The bard scoops him up immediately, cupping his sprite carefully in his hands as he presses the soft little body to his cheek. This, if nothing else, is familiar to him – carrying his wisp around in his hands or hidden in his clothing, just like he’s always done. 

The points of Venti’s cloak are already wrapped around his fingers, clinging to him just as tightly despite the diminished size, and the bard takes a moment to smile fondly at him before he turns to the redheaded man again. “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t suppose I could trouble you with a question or two? You seem quite knowledgeable about this place.” 

“I know enough.” The man regards him with little skepticism, shrugging a moment later. “Go ahead, ask what you want.” 

“Where might I find a private place to speak with my friend? I’m not yet familiar with this city, you see, and I’m afraid I have no home yet to take him to.” 

“Take the upstairs room of Angel’s Share,” the man offers. “If anyone interrupts you, tell them Diluc Ragnvindr gave you permission. No one’s going to argue with me about it in my own bar, so you ought to be fine up there.” 

The bard nods gratefully, noting the familiar family name. First the Deaconess named Gunnhildr, and now a bartender named Ragnvindr? This is surely more than a coincidence. “Thank you very much, good sir. If there is any way that I can repay your kindness, please do let me know, and I will do my best to–” 

“No need. I’m… a friend of Venti’s, I suppose, so it’s no trouble to help out someone he obviously cares about.” 

“Still, you have my gratitude.” 

Even if this Diluc Ragnvindr claims he needs no repayment now, the bard knows better than to take words at face value – though, if Venti trusts him (and he must, since he’s stayed contently quiet in the bard’s hands all this time), then surely the bard can trust him as well. He’ll still keep an eye on Herr Diluc, just for now, until he can ascertain his trustworthiness for himself. 

The bard follows Diluc into the bar and up a set of stairs before Diluc shows him into a small sideroom off of the second floor. Well, small in relation to the rest of the establishment – it’s about the same size, maybe even a bit bigger, than the storerooms the bard had often found shelter in under Decarabian’s reign. Of course, he’d had far less need to scrounge for shelter after he’d been offered a room in the homes of both Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr (not Amos, but only because she feared that Decarabian would take notice of him if he stayed with her), but even then, he can still recall more than one occasion that he’d had to find his own lodgings for the night because there simply wasn’t time for him to get to one of those places before curfew fell and the guards came out. 

“You two can stay in here for as long as you need,” Diluc states. His voice is a bit flatter than Ragnvindr’s and a bit less gruff, now that the bard thinks about it, though his face is still uncannily similar. “I’ll be downstairs. The bar closes ‘round eleven, so if you come down any time after that, it’ll be empty.” 

“Thank you again, Herr Ragnvindr,” the bard says with a small bow. He slips inside the room and Diluc shuts the door behind him, leaving the bard and his sprite alone once more. 

He doesn’t hear the click of a key turning in a lock, though he does hear the sound of Diluc’s footsteps going away from the door and back down the stairs. That bodes well – they aren’t being trapped, and Diluc seems to have no intentions of eavesdropping on them. So far, he’s proving himself to be quite the trustworthy friend in the bard’s humble opinion. 

“We’re here, parum ventus, ” the bard murmurs, holding up the sprite cradled ever so carefully in his palms so they can meet each other’s eyes. “Do you want to stay as a sprite and calm down, or do you want to be a human again and talk? It’s up to you, my friend.” 

Venti rises up out of his hands and floats back a bit for space before transforming back into his humanoid form in a whirl of Anemo. His face is still marred by teartracks, but he looks far happier now than he did earlier. He takes a hesitant step forward, as though he’s not sure if he’s allowed, one quivering hand reach up to ghost over the bard’s jaw. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Venti whispers. “You were dead. I saw it happen, and now…” 

“And now I’m here,” the bard finishes. He gives Venti a gentle smile, shifting his head just enough to lean into the feather-light touch. “And I won’t be leaving any time soon, I promise you that. I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.” 

“Forever?” Venti pleads, and the bard giggles. 

“If that’s what you wish, then yes. Forever.” 

Venti smiles, eyes sparkling for a moment before he seems to realise something and his face falls. “You… if you’re still mortal, then I’m only going to lose you again in a century.” 

“How do we know if I’m mortal or not?” Asks the bard. “And if I am, how can we change that?” 

Venti’s eyes widen. “You would… you would do that? You would want that?” 

“I may as well.” The bard shrugs. “I’ve got an awful lot of the world to see, and I did promise to stay with you for as long as you’d have me – and if that’s forever, then I suppose I’d better figure out how to make it happen, now shouldn’t I?” 

A moment later, the bard finds himself with an armful of Venti once again as the other boy fists his hands in the bard’s tattered cloak and squishes his face into his shoulder. The bard smiles fondly, giving his sprite a tight squeeze. He’s honestly surprised that Venti didn’t knock him over with how hard he slammed into him, but now that he’s paying attention, he finds that his sprite is actually quite light even in the shape of a human. He can’t weigh more than an apple or two, at most. 

“How about we sit down, and you tell me about what you’ve been up to since I last saw you?” The bard suggests, looking around the room for a suitable place. 

There’s a desk and chair off to the side, next to an open glass-paned window (and that truly is a testament to the peaceful weather that this Mondstadt must have, for a window of glass would have never survived Decarabian), and on the other side of the room is a small bed that’s been made up with black sheets and a soft green blanket. Other than that, there are a few bookshelves, but not much else – then again, these three pieces of furniture are sort of the limit of what this room could comfortably fit without becoming cramped. 

The bard tugs on one of Venti’s braids to get his attention. “Would you like to sit at the desk or on the bed?” 

“Bed,” Venti mumbles, face still buried in his shoulder. “S’more comf’rtable, ‘n there’s only one chair at th’ desk.” 

“All right, bed it is then.” The bard hesitates for only a moment before he decides that scooping Venti up and depositing him on the bed is probably the best course of action. He climbs onto the bed himself right after, sitting up against the wall and allowing Venti to all but climb into his lap in a valiant effort to become like one of those octopus creatures from Amos’ ocean book. “Will you tell me what I’ve missed, parum ventus?”  

And Venti does. 

He tells the bard of the battle against Decarabian, and how they had won the battle but lost both him and Amos in the process. He tells him how they had moved the city to the island in the middle of Cider Lake after Venti had chased away the blizzards plaguing the nation, and made an agreement with the Wolf of the North to convince him not to call them back. He tells him about Dvalin, one of Mondstadt’s Four Winds that protect the nation in his absence, and how the dragon had become one of his closest companions even when his mortal friends had passed on. He tells him about Vennessa, about the descendants of Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr, about how the city had continued to grow and flourish and uphold their ideal of freedom as best as they were able. 

“They worship me as an Archon,” Venti murmurs. His face is no longer buried in the bard’s shoulder, but he’s leaning against the bard’s torso and letting his cheek be squished against the other boy’s chest instead. The bard knows that Venti is listening to his heartbeat, so he simply wraps his arms around him and lets his sprite do as he pleases. “I don’t rule them, not like Decarabian did, and not like any of the other Archons do, either. My people know how to handle themselves. They don’t need a god breathing down their necks.” 

“Are the other Archons kind to their people?” The bard asks softly. “Or is Mondstadt the outlier?” 

Venti hums. “Most of the time. Sometimes… sometimes, they lose track of what it means to be responsible for so many people, but even then, they can be reminded of their purpose. Most of the other Archons take a more active role in the governing of their people.” 

“Mondstadt doesn’t need a ruler, though, does it? This is the city of freedom, and if the people can’t lead it themselves, how can they truly be free?” Though he knows Venti can’t see it, the bard smiles, wrapping an arm around his sprite to give him a comforting squeeze. “I think you’ve done wonderfully, my sprite. This is beyond anything I could have ever dreamed of our nation becoming.” 

A knock at the door startles them both out of their thoughts, and the pair exchange a glance before Venti reaches out to send a spiral of Anemo over to turn the door handle. 

Diluc is standing there with a pair of plates, containing what appears to be some sort of fried golden thing with a reddish sauce beside it. “I thought you two might be hungry. It’s been a few hours, and I don’t know about you, but I know he hasn’t eaten anything for the entire time he’s been in the bar… which was almost the whole day.” 

He tips his head first toward the bard and then towards Venti as he walks in to set the plates of the desk. 

Venti frowns. “I’m a wind sprite, I don’t need to eat!” 

“You don’t need to drink, either, but you do plenty of that,” Diluc points out. “If you don’t want it, just bring it back down after close. I don’t care either way.” 

Diluc exits the room again without another word, and the bard peers over at the plates he’d left. They smell good, at least, so that’s a point in favour of trying a bite or two. 

“What is this?” The bard asks, extricating himself from under Venti to pick up one of the plates. “It smells good, but I don’t recognise it.” 

“It’s a Mondstadt Hash Brown.” Venti picks up the second plate, plucking one of the little golden circles and popping it in his mouth. “I think you’ll like them, though you may not enjoy the sauce – it's basically jam. The hash browns themselves are made of fried bits of potato.” 

“Oh, I like potatoes.” The bard picks out one of the hash browns and takes a small bite, savouring the flavour before nodding vigorously. “I definitely like this. When did these come into fashion?” 

Venti shrugs. “It was… a few hundred years after the city moved, I think? Somebody had the grand idea to make these, and they become quite popular. There are a lot of dishes that you’ll like – and I can cook almost all of them, so if you ever see one you like, rest assured that I’ll find a way for you to try it.” 

He sounds quite proud of himself, and the bard can’t help but smile. “I look forward to it.” 

oOoOo

“How do you lose an entire god?!” Rosaria asks incredulously, rubbing at her temples. 

Beside her, Kaeya sighs. “Well, he’s very short, very fast, and seems opposed to the idea of being worshipped. I can’t say I’m surprised that he ran off, nor that he’s somehow managed to thoroughly vanish into oblivion.” 

“ Thank you, Sir Kaeya, that is not helpful.” Barbara buries her face in her hands, letting out a despairing whine. “I can’t believe I lost him! Me! The Deaconess!” 

“To be fair, I believe it would be far worse if he had wanted to leave and you hadn’t let him,” Jean points out. 

Barbara sighs. She does not remove her face from her hands. “That is not very helpful, Jean.” 

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” Kaeya asks. “Do we simply leave him to roam the city? If we decide that he needs to be tracked down and brought back to the church, that may be a more difficult endeavour than one would think. He is the god of wind and freedom, after all, I’m sure he’s quite skilled at evading pursuers – even well-meaning ones.” 

Rosaria shakes her head. “Normally, I’d say to just let him be, but… Barbara, didn’t you say that he didn’t seem to know anything about the city? Almost like some form of amnesia?” 

“Yes, I did. He was… very confused, when he first awoke, and while I know Mondstadt has changed a lot over the centuries since his last appearance, Lord Barbatos didn’t seem to recognise it at all. If I had to guess, the last thing he remembers would… would probably be from before the city was moved.” 

“That… was over two and a half thousand years ago,” Jean says slowly, and Barbara nods. 

“It was around the time he became Archon. That must have been why he was so confused to be called a ‘lord’ – he must not remember becoming an Archon, nor the city being in the middle of Cider Lake instead of up in the mountains.” 

“So then,” Kaeya starts, “we not only have a god running around the city unsupervised, but he’s amnesiac as well?” 

“...I believe so, yes.” 

“Well, shit.”  

Jean shoots him a look. “Language, Kaeya, we’re still in a church.” 

“I am well aware.” 

“Have we considered that he might not be in the city anymore?” Rosaria asks. “He doesn’t remember this place. Why would he stay here instead of going somewhere more familiar?” 

A hush falls over the room as they all consider this. It… does make an upsetting amount of sense, for Lord Barbatos to leave the place he doesn’t know in the hopes of finding one he does. And if he’s looking to get back to his home, then– 

“He’s going to Old Mondstadt,” Jean says. It’s what all of them were thinking, and so they all nod in agreement. “We need to get a few knights up there to make sure nothing happens to him, then – I’m not going to demand that he return to the city, not if he doesn’t want to, but it’s the least we can do to protect our god and make sure he’s not left in the dark.” 

Rosaria nods, leaning back in her chair with a contemplative look. “He’s bound to realise something’s wrong when he sees that his city’s in ruins. As long as you send someone who can explain without upsetting him, it should be fine.” 

“I’ll go myself, then, and Kaeya, if you’d like to come with me? I know this isn’t exactly your scene, but you are good at explaining things in a way that keeps people calm.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Kaeya agrees. “Sure, I’ll come along. Though, I’d like to let Eula and Amber know in case either of them needs to cover my duties in our absence.” 

“Of course. Lisa will be informed as well, and any questions they have, they can direct them to her.” 

“Could you increase the patrols overall as well, or do we lack the manpower for that?” Barbara asks, turning to her sister. “If he’s unfamiliar with the area now – I know the mountains have shifted a bit over the centuries – then I fear he may get lost and end up somewhere else entirely. I’m sure I could find some civilian volunteers to keep watch near the towns, if needed?” 

“Yes, that should be good,” Jean agrees. “I’ll speak to Diluc as well and see if he can get the Winery staff to keep an eye out near that area. I promise you, Barbara, we’ll find Lord Barbatos and make sure he’s safe.” 

Barbara sighs. “I really hope you’re right.” 

oOoOo

Across the nation of Mondstadt, three Statues of the Seven begin to glow with an unusual golden light as the past meets the present and the timeline shifts on its axis. Istaroth has seen her son’s plight, his loss of every mortal friend – and she has no reason to stay silent and watching any longer. 

Not when she knows there is something she can do about it. 

Chapter Text

In the center of Old Mondstadt, there is a white-haired woman in the clothes of a hunter lying beneath the Statue of the Seven. 

Her brow furrows in confusion as she slowly sits up, eyes sliding open to take in the scenery around her. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time – she seems to be right where she was before, right where she’d fallen to the ground as the life left her body, and yet… everything is different. 

The city, her city, is in ruins. 

Amos had fought for so long to stop Decarabian from reducing Mondstadt to this, and yet, it seems that it had all been for naught. Mondstadt is crumbling to pieces, not a single human left besides her, and she wonders if this is her punishment – to forever live amongst the rubble of what she had tried to save. Decarabian is certainly cruel enough to condemn her to such a fate for the crime of standing against him. 

She had loved him once, before he became so heartless – no, before she realised he was so heartless. He had never loved her, not like that. Not in any true way. He had only wanted to possess her. 

Amos leans against one of the few walls of the Storm Tower that’s still standing and puts her head in her hands, letting out a shuddering breath. The bard is already dead, and that is her own fault – by now, Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr may have met the same fate. Perhaps a few souls had managed to escape the destruction of their home, but surely not many. Amos will forever be alone now, the last one standing in the ashes of devastation. 

To Decarabian, this is her punishment for refusing and defying him. To Amos, this is her punishment for what she had done to their poor bard. He had been so young, so full of hope and life, and it had been her own arrows that had pierced his chest and taken that all away from him. 

Even if she were to ever see them again, she knows that Ragnvindr and Gunnhildr could never forgive her. Amos wouldn’t ask them to, anyways. She doesn’t deserve their grace. 

Amos stays like that for quite a while – wallowing in her misery, and grieving that which she’s lost. She doesn’t know if she has the right to grieve the bard, not when it was she who had felled him (however unintentionally), but her heart cares not for what it does or doesn’t deserve. It will keep on weeping until the day she dies, and of that, she is quite certain. 

She’ll stay here in the ruins, living alone in sorrow, atoning for the crime of daring to hope for a better future. None shall share in her torment, not after– 

…Wait a moment. 

That sound. She can hear people approaching. Those are voices, off in the distance, and they’re drawing closer – who the fuck would come here after the disaster that had clearly befallen the place? 

Is it Ragnvindr and Gunnhildr, coming to pay respects to the fallen? Is it a group of foreigners, looking to see what’s become of the once-enshrouded city of Mondstadt? Or… could it be something else entirely? Something that not even Amos had foreseen? 

“...don’t know if he’s come this way, but just be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.” A female voice, strong and commanding, and eerily reminiscent of Gunnhildr. Then again, it could be Amos’ own delusions tricking her mind into hearing what isn’t there. She wants it to be Gunnhildr, but even at this distance, she can tell that it isn’t. “New tracks, emptied monster camps, disturbed plants… even if it’s just a branch missing its berries, that could be a sign.” 

“Grandmaster, over here!” Another voice. This one is male, fairly unremarkable – he clearly respects whomever he’s speaking to. “The Statue of the Seven is lit up!” 

…Statue of the Seven? That doesn’t sound like anything Amos has ever heard of. 

She looks around, seeing nothing, but then a thought strikes her, and she looks up – sure enough, there’s a statue resting atop a pillar on the platform above her, glowing with soft blue light. Amos stands, squinting up at it through the curtain of her bangs, but she’s at the wrong angle to see the features. 

Hoisting herself up the remains of the stone walkway, Amos brushes off her clothes and looks up at the statue with a better vantage point. The figure is oddly familiar, with those twin braids, but the face is too vague and simplistic for her to be sure if it’s truly meant to depict the bard or not. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had made a statue in memory of him – he had started this revolution, after all. If anyone had escaped the wrath of Decarabian and the fall of their city, any commemorations of their efforts would surely honour the bard above all others. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t believe I’ve seen you around Mondstadt before.” 

Amos startles, whirling around at the sound of the smooth voice from behind her. There’s a young man standing there, dark-skinned with blue hair and a patch covering one bright eye. He’s looking at her expectantly, and she realises too late that he had been anticipating a response. 

“Who are you?” Amos asks, looking him up and down. His clothing isn’t anything close to what she recognises – such a low-cut shirt! And the fur on his cloak… it’s almost reminiscent of Ragnvindr’s own fur collar, but it’s far too decorative for that. No, this young man reminds her more of those brightly coloured birds from her books. He is a show and a warning, all rolled into one. 

The man inclines his head slightly in greeting, though he doesn’t take his eyes off of her. “Sir Kaeya Alberich of the Knights of Favonius. And you are…?” 

“...Amos,” she responds slowly. “Where is… Favonius, exactly? I haven’t heard of it before.” 

“Ah, the Knights are a Mondstadtan organisation, Miss Amos. We protect the nation of Mondstadt, you see.” 

Mondstadtan? 

No, that can’t be right. Unless they outsourced this man from somewhere, she would know him from before the city’s fall. Or… was there another city somewhere, outside of the purview of Decarabian’s storm wall and the snowstorms? Could the survivors of Amos’ city have gone there for refuge? 

“Jean, you may want to come over here,” Sir Kaeya calls to someone behind him, and a moment later, a blonde woman with a slightly familiar face appears from behind a ruined wall. 

Her eyes widen at the sight of Amos. “Oh, my. Kaeya, who’s this?” 

“She introduced herself to me as Amos. Miss Amos, this is the Acting Grandmaster of the Knights, Jean Gunnhildr.” 

“Gunnhildr?” Amos murmurs. “That can’t be right. That can’t…” 

She had just seen Gunnhildr. They had prepared for battle together. They had screamed themselves hoarse over the bard’s demise together. 

Gunnhildr had been there – had watched – as Amos had fallen for what she thought would be the final time. 

Unless, perhaps, it was. 

“Tell me something, please, Knight and Grandmaster,” Amos pleads. “How long has it been since the battle against Decarabian?” 

The Grandmaster and Sir Kaeya exchange a glance before the former responds. “Over two and a half thousand years, Lady Amos.” 

oOoOo

At the base of the tree at Windrise, there is a blonde woman with features as sharp as her blade lying beneath the Statue of the Seven. 

She lies there for a moment with her eyes closed before sitting up abruptly, opening her eyes at last to take in the environment around her. Scanning the scenery with a furrowed brow, she lets her hand inch closer to the sword strapped to her belt – unfamiliar territory usually means an attack is on the way, and Gunnhildr is never one to be caught off-guard. 

First things first. Assess her surroundings, figure out the potential threats. Gunnhildr needs to know where she is and what she could be dealing with before she proceeds. 

She seems to be lying under an enormous tree in the centre of a valley, which is a good landmark to have in case she needs one later. There are a few small ponds surrounding the back of the tree, all interconnected, and presumably they lead to a larger water source elsewhere. In front of the tree is a statue resting atop a tall pedestal, depicting a winged figure wrapped in a hooded robe. It’s glowing with a soft blue light, one that’s oddly comforting despite its unfamiliarity. Beyond the statue, she can see a stone path transitioning into dirt and leading off into the fields beyond. 

Right, then – water, tree, statue, road. This tells her that she’s at least close to a civilisation – those roads must lead somewhere, after all. In fact, depending on how far out she is, they might even lead back to Mondstadt, or perhaps to one of the small fringe towns that had been developing as of late. 

Although… she can’t seem to remember, did they ever finish construction on the first of those towns? Gunnhildr had been overseeing at least one of them, as an easier task in her old age– 

Oh. 

So that’s what was off. 

Gunnhildr, last time she had checked, was nearing the end of her life. She had lived well, and outlived many of her friends (by quite a bit, in the case of the bard and Amos). Mondstadt had taken up most of her life, but she hadn’t regretted a single moment of it – she had been content, in fact, knowing that the town would be in safe hands with the next generation. 

And yet… she’s here again, waking up young and spry, somewhere out in the unfamiliar wilds of a valley she’s never seen before. 

Or has she? Those mountains in the distance… they’re not exact, but they’re too close to be coincidental. This… this is the Windwail Highlands, isn’t it? Gunnhildr’s found herself in a valley she knows quite well, or at least, one she thought she knew. 

“Now, just what the hell is going on here?” Gunnhildr mutters to herself. She steps down from the stone platform in front of the tree, chancing a glance at the statue as she passes it by. It’s one of Lord Barbatos, judging by the double braids and the wings. Gunnhildr hadn’t approved the creation of this one, but she also hadn’t been aware of the enormous tree now taking up the centre of the field, so clearly, she had missed more than a few developments out here. 

Well. She might as well start heading down that path and see if she can’t get herself sorted here. There must be a town at the other end, or something, and she’s getting nowhere by just standing around like this. 

Gunnhildr turns around and starts to walk down the path, looking up ahead of herself to see where it leads. To her surprise, she can actually see the town at the end of the road off in the distance, half-hidden by the ridges of the landscape. It looks fairly tall and developed, meaning it’s clearly an established society. It’s odd that she hasn’t seen it before, but then, a lot of things today have been rather odd. 

From here, she can see a few of the main structures in the town as she begins to walk down the path that will lead her there. There’s some very large building that sort of resembles a temple – ostentatious, with gorgeous architecture, though she’s not sure what god they would worship there. Lord Barbatos is the obvious option, since the mountain shapes had told her she’s still in Mondstadt’s vicinity, but there had been a few other partially forgotten gods roaming these lands from before Decarabian’s reign. Istaroth, the goddess of time, had been one from Amos’ oldest books, and the Wolf of the North, Lupus Boreas, had been another. 

A closer look at the temple building reveals that there seems to be a statue in front of it, similar in shape to the one of Lord Barbatos beneath the massive tree she’d woken up under. That answers that question, then. 

The strange thing, though, is the town’s location. For the more she looks at it in relation to the mountains and landmarks around her, the more it seems like this town is exactly where the new location of Mondstadt had been. Though, that can’t be right – Mondstadt had been well established by the time Gunnhildr had reached her old age, but it hadn’t been that tall. 

Gunnhildr frowns, looking down at the beaten dirt road beneath her feet. Something very odd is going on here, and she doesn’t care for all of this mystery and subterfuge. 

“Um… excuse me, strange yet respectable traveller?” 

A voice from behind shakes her out of her thoughts, and Gunnhildr turns abruptly at the sound. “Who goes there?” 

There’s a young man standing there, dressed in an unfamiliar guard’s uniform. His armour is quite well-made, but the crest it bears isn’t one that she recognises. Upon closer inspection, there are two other guards standing behind him, and all three look a bit apprehensive at the prospect of speaking to her. 

“Sir Huffman of the Knights of Favonius, ma’am,” the first knight announces, giving her a slight bow. “It’s just, um… have you seen someone come through here? A young boy with black hair in two braids, maybe dressed in green and brown?” 

That is… an oddly specific description. Are they looking for Lord Barbatos? She can’t really think of anyone else who might fit… well, nobody alive, that is. Then again, Lord Barbatos had never really worn brown – he’d mostly worn white, in fact, only donning green when he wanted to be ‘subtle’ (not that he ever really was). This sounds more like they’re searching for the young bard who had perished during the battle for Mondstadt’s freedom. 

Gunnhildr narrows her eyes, looking the man up and down. “I’ve seen no one on this path who would fit that description. Why are you searching for him, anyways?” 

The knights all share a look, and one of them leans in and whispers in Sir Huffman’s ear, glancing at Gunnhildr as he does so. Sir Huffman listens for a moment, then squints at the knight who’d whispered, as though he’d just said something incredibly stupid. He probably had. 

“We… can’t tell you,” Sir Huffman says evasively. “But um, for a completely unrelated reason, would you mind telling us your name?” 

“Gunnhildr,” she states flatly. She doesn’t bother adding any of her titles – chances are high that these three wouldn’t recognise any of them, and she has no desire to give up any more information than necessary. Thus far, they’ve given her no reason to trust them – honestly, she probably could have lied about her name, but she does try to be a little more upstanding than that. Lying outright and lying by omission are two very different things. 

All three of the knights jolt at that one-word answer, and Gunnhildr frowns. One of the ones who hadn’t spoken yet steps forwards. “Your name is Gunnhildr? What’s your first name?” 

“That is the only name I have. If you have a problem with it, then keep it to yourself.” 

Once again, they lean in and begin to whisper furiously amongst themselves, and Gunnhildr rolls her eyes as she turns on her heel and continues down the dirt path. She has neither the need nor the desire to entertain whatever tomfoolery this is, and she certainly has better things to be doing with her time than talking to these three jesters. 

“Wait, wait!” The third calls, rushing to catch up to her. “Miss… um, Miss Gunnhildr–” 

“Wouldn’t it be Lady Gunnhildr?” The second interrupts, and Sir Huffman elbows him in the stomach. “Ow! Okay, fine, I just won’t say anything then.” 

“Lady Gunnhildr,” corrects the third knight, darting forward to stand in her way, “would you come back with us to Mondstadt? We have some… questions to ask you.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you understand how suspicious you sound right now?” 

The knight turns red. 

“Besides that,” Gunnhildr continues, stepping right around him, “I have already been to Mondstadt, and I am on my way to this town right now. I’ve no time for your antics.” 

She nods towards the town up ahead, and the knights exchange yet another glance. Sir Huffman shoves his entourage behind him, stepping up once again to take the lead. “Then please allow us to accompany you, ma’am. We were heading that way ourselves, anyway.” 

…Sure they were. Gunnhildr shrugs, deciding that ignoring these three would likely be a better use of her time than attempting to make sense of them. 

On the bright side, they have given her some useful information – Mondstadt is known to them, and from the way they’d spoken, it’s still in the same place, as well, even if it seems to have grown quite a bit since Gunnhildr had last seen it. It would seem that her earlier assumption of something fishy going on had been correct, and now, it’s simply a matter of finding out what. 

oOoOo

On the cliffs overlooking Dawn Winery, there is a red-haired man with the scars of a warrior lying beneath the Statue of the Seven. 

As he awakens, his first thought is that he doesn’t particularly want to be awake right now, and if he could go back to sleep, he would do so in an instant. Unfortunately, the stone podium he lays on doesn’t really lend itself to a comfortable slumber, and so all he earns is a sore shoulder and a sizable amount of disappointment when he attempts to roll over and get five more minutes of rest. 

“Oh, where the hell am I this time?” He grouses, rubbing at his face as he rolls off of the statue’s base and lands in the grass in an ungainly heap. Ragnvindr rests there for a moment, face-down in the dirt, before letting out an exasperated groan. “This is not my bed.” 

Hauling himself to his feet with no small effort, Ragnvindr stretches upwards, reaching towards the cloudless sky and waiting to hear the tell-tale crackle of his aging spine as the vertebrae pop. All he gets, however, is one satisfying crack, and none of the accompanying ache that he’d expected along with it. It’s as though the strain of old age had been removed entirely, leaving only the usual cricks left behind by a bout of inactivity, such as lazing around and sleeping on the ground outdoors. 

He blinks a bit as he looks around, noting that he doesn’t quite recognise his surroundings. Not only that, but when he’d rubbed his face earlier, his beard had been much shorter. Had someone cut it while he’d slept? 

“Now, this is a strange situation indeed,” Ragnvindr muses. “Where to go, where to go… this seems like a nice, civilised place. Surely there’s some sort of town or farmstead out here.” 

It is a rather pretty field – if no one has settled here already, Ragnvindr just might have to. He turns in a circle, examining his surroundings, only to find that the stone he’d laid upon was, in fact, the base of a statue closely resembling the young bard who had perished during the battle for Mondstadt’s freedom. It must have been made to look like that sprite who had stolen his face, which is a thought that makes Ragnvindr’s stomach twist every time he thinks of it. Of all the ways to honour a memory… he can’t imagine that the bard would have been okay with that, had he lived to see it. 

Taking the poor kid’s face, and then using it to act as a god, just as Decarabian had? It’s no secret in Mondstadt that Ragnvindr disapproves of that sprite and his divinity, even if he’s willing to play nice for the sake of their town. He hasn’t had the same relationship with Gunnhildr for years, either, not when she’d been so ready and eager to accept yet another god lording over them. 

Ragnvindr turns away from the statue, putting all thoughts of Barbatos and such out of his mind. He only has one task right now, and that’s to find a sign of civilisation so that he might figure out where the hell he is and how to get back home. By now, his sons are surely wondering where he’s gone. 

Luckily, there looks to be some sort of estate just over the ridge. It will take him a bit to get down there – even with this unusual spryness that he seems to be feeling today, he’d rather not risk trying to climb down the cliff’s edge – but he should be able to knock on the door and ask for directions back to Mondstadt. Hopefully, the town is close enough that he can walk back on his own, because he can only imagine the sort of hassle it would be to find a horse. 

Making his way around the edge of the ridge, Ragnvindr manages to get himself down to the bottom without too much trouble, picking his way past outcrops of rocks and dirt until he’s reached solid ground again. He dusts himself off a bit before moving onto the road, hoping that nobody saw him climbing ungracefully down the side of the ridge. He’s sure it didn’t look pretty – he hasn’t done anything like that in decades. 

The sun is high in the sky by now, shining bright overhead as Ragnvindr approaches the estate. The main house is surrounded by gardens upon gardens of grape trellises, leading him to think that this could be some sort of winery. He can’t think of a farm that would only grow grapes, but he also hasn’t heard of any wineries in the area around Mondstadt, especially not one this large. He wonders who owns this place, but he also can’t help but wonder just how long it’s been here, to be so sprawling and yet, for him to have never before heard of it. 

A few workers out in one of the furthest fields turn to look at him as he comes up the path. Most of them only cast him a glance before turning back to their work, but a few squint and look closer, bringing a hand up to shield their eyes from the sun. One drops her entire basket as her jaw hangs open, and Ragnvindr frowns, wondering what’s got her so upset. The state of him can’t be that bad, can it? 

Ragnvindr steps up onto the porch of the main house and knocks on the door, folding his hands behind his back as he waits. Inside, he hears hurried footsteps as someone rushes to answer – a moment later, the door is opened by a kind-faced woman in the uniform of a housekeeper. 

“Oh, Master Di–” she starts, but then cuts herself off abruptly with a choked sound. She looks him up and down, bringing a shaking hand to cover her mouth as she stares at his face with unbridled shock. 

“Pardon the interruption, miss,” he says, nodding politely. “I’m Ragnvindr, I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself a bit lost. Could you point me in the direction of Mondstadt?” 

The housekeeper stumbles back, shaking her head as she turns away from the door. Ragnvindr frowns at her distress, stepping closer and offering a hand – she seems liable to collapse to the ground any moment now, and he’d hate for the poor woman to hurt herself. 

She takes his hand with an iron grip, eyes still searching his face for something unknown as she takes a few deep breaths, obviously trying to calm herself down. “I’m sorry. I– my apologies, it’s just that– you look very, very similar to somebody else.” 

Her brow is furrowed, like she doesn’t entirely believe what she’s saying, and Ragnvindr’s frown deepens. “Who did you mistake me for, ma’am?” 

“Master Crepus Ragnvindr,” she murmurs, not meeting his eyes. 

Ragnvindr stills. 

The first part of that name isn’t right, but the second part is. He is Ragnvindr, even if he isn’t this ‘Crepus’ person that the poor housekeeper seems to have mistaken him for. In a way, she’s at least half-right, and Ragnvindr… doesn’t know how to feel about that. Why would there be someone here who shares his surname? Neither of his sons owns a winery, not that he knows of, and he certainly didn’t name either of them ‘Crepus’. And for that matter, why would his appearance be so jarring that it would nearly cause the housekeeper to collapse from distress? 

“Who is… Crepus Ragnvindr?” He asks slowly, brow furrowing. 

The housekeeper draws in another shaky breath, straightening up and dusting off her skirt as she looks out a nearby window, obviously avoiding his gaze. “He’s… he was the master of this house. He died a few years ago, I’m afraid.” 

A Ragnvindr who had died, presumably leaving behind this sprawling estate. Had it gone to a son or daughter after his death, perhaps? But no, that would be a rude thing to ask – and besides, Ragnvindr has more important questions regarding this mystery man who shares his name (and apparently, his face as well). 

“Where was this man from? Did he have any siblings? A father, an uncle, perhaps?” This man could be related to one of his sons, couldn’t he? A grandson he didn’t know about… it would be unlikely, but vaguely plausible, he supposes. 

But the housekeeper shakes her head. “No, nothing of the sort. Master Crepus was an only child, and his father died shortly before his son, Master Diluc, was born. Illness, I believe.” 

No other surviving relatives, and another name he doesn’t recognise. This is only getting stranger and stranger. 

“Ah, forgive me, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” the housekeeper says suddenly, shaking her head in dismay. “My name is Adelinde, and I am the keeper of this household. The master of the house is away in town, I’m afraid. Is, ah… is there anything I can help you with, sir…?” 

“...It’s actually Sir Ragnvindr, Miss,” he says in response. He’s sure he’d stated his name earlier in the conversation, but given her upset at the beginning, he can’t blame her for missing it. “I was only hoping for directions to Mondstadt. Could you tell me where to go?” 

Adelinde draws in another shaky breath, blinking hard at the reveal of his name. “Sir, I think you had better come and sit in the parlour while I send a runner to town.” 

“...Okay?” Ragnvindr follows her, finding himself more and more baffled by the moment. As she leads him through the halls and towards a door off to the side, he catches sight of bright red hair in the mirror, and his heart stops short. He steps closer, ignoring Adelinde’s questioning call as he stares, wide-eyed, at the face in the mirror. 

Red hair. Red. Last he checked, it had been white for nearly a decade and a half, and he certainly hadn’t cut it in this style since he was young. His entire face, in fact, seems to have gone back in time fifty years overnight. Ragnvindr is young again. 

“What the hell?” He murmurs, reaching up to touch his cheek. Smooth, unwrinkled skin meets his fingertips, and he marvels at the feeling. 

Adelinde steps closer, her worried face coming into view behind him in the mirror. “Is– is something wrong, sir?” 

“Ah, no,” Ragnvindr says hastily. “I just didn’t realise I’d gotten dirt on my face, that’s all.” 

He rubs away the smudge that was, sure enough, on his cheek before stepping away from the mirror and following Adelinde into the sitting room. Something strange is going on here, and though he’s not yet sure of what it is, Ragnvindr isn’t going to stop looking for the answer until he finds it. 

oOoOo

When the bard wakes up in an unfamiliar room, he’s immediately on edge. 

The fact that his sprite is resting on his chest as usual does provide some comfort, but it still takes him a rather long time to remember the events of the previous day. He’d ended up in the distant future after those arrows had pierced his chest during the battle for Mondstadt’s freedom, and now, he’s hiding away in the spare room of a bar from all of the citizens who seem to think he’s their god. 

What an odd situation to be in. At least he’s got Venti – despite the strangeness of this ordeal, the bard knows that his sprite will stick by him no matter what. 

“Venti, it’s time to wake up,” the bard murmurs, poking the little wind sprite and nudging at his head. “I can’t sit up until you move, parum ventus.” 

His sprite lets out a sound somewhat similar to a yawn as he slowly rises up into the air, allowing the bard to sit up fully and scoops the little creature out of the air and into his hands. Venti always takes longer to wake up in the mornings, so the bard likes to tuck him into his pocket, allowing the little sprite to get a few more minutes of rest. 

The bard cups his hands to cradle his little friend in his palms, just like he always does. Venti makes a little sound like a tiny bell jingling as he leans into the bard’s thumb, allowing the boy to stroke his head. He’s so small like this – the bard will never cease to be amazed by the sheer amount of power that such a tiny being can contain. Strong enough to stand against the god of storms, and yet, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. 

“Are you going to stay like this while I get ready?” The bard asks, and Venti nods, perfectly docile as the bard slips him into the pocket of his shorts. 

He pulls on his vest next, then his socks, noting that there’s another hole in one of the heels. He’ll need to get some thread and fix that later, but it ought to be fine for one more day. Next comes his boots and finally his cloak, and thus, the bard is ready for the day. 

For lack of better sleeping clothes, he’d simply worn his shorts and button-up to bed – then again, it’s not like he really had many clothes back in Decarabian’s Mondstadt, either. If he did have a set of spares, it was usually only another pair of shorts or an extra blouse, and anything else was borrowed from Amos, Gunnhildr, or Ragnvindr. He can’t even count the amount of times he’d borrowed one of Ragnvindr’s nightshirts to wear to bed after the man had complained once again about the bard wearing ‘outside clothes’ to bed. Diluc had made no such fuss, but he had also largely left Venti and the bard to their own devices after giving them both some flat-cakes that Venti had referred to as ‘Tea Break Pancakes’ to eat for dinner. 

The bard glances out the window, marvelling at the clear blue of the sky overhead as he reaches into his pocket and takes Venti out, placing the sprite on his shoulder. Venti likes to ride there, both because it gives him a higher vantage point and because it lets him hide in the bard’s hood, and it seems that today is no different. The bard had wondered briefly if Venti would prefer to change back into his human form before going down for breakfast, but seeing the way his sprite nestles into the fabric of his cloak, the answer is quite obviously a resounding ‘no’. 

The pair head out of the room and down the stairs to the main room of the tavern, where Diluc is already setting plates at the counter. He looks up upon hearing them arrive, seeming quite unsurprised by their appearance. 

“Not Venti, I presume,” Diluc greets the bard, giving him a once-over. 

The bard nods, motioning to where Venti sits, tucked away on his shoulder. “He’s here as well, but you’re right that I’m not him.” 

“Thought so. Your clothes are different, but you also don’t have any teal in your hair or eyes. Venti does.” Diluc disappears into the back of the bar, reappearing only a moment later with a bag. He takes a few smaller containers out of it, revealing what appears to be a salad, some more of those cakes from the night before, and a few yellow and white things that the bard doesn’t recognise. “Speaking of which. What should I be calling you?” 

“Pardon?” The bard asks, taking a seat at the counter to inspect the containers. “What are these for?” 

“Breakfast. I picked some up from Good Hunter, the restaurant in the square. Take what you like, there’s enough for all three of us and then some.” 

“Oh, you didn’t have to – I would hate to impose.” If this were his Ragnvindr, he would take the food in an instant, but it isn’t. As much as Venti obviously trusts him, the bard can’t risk being indebted to anyone he doesn’t know, especially in such a new environment when he hasn’t had a chance to get a handle on things. 

Diluc, however, simply shrugs. “It’s no imposition.” 

“He’s right,” Venti pipes up from his shoulder, leaning against his chin. “Diluc’s filthy rich.” 

“He is?” Asks the bard, and Diluc’s brow furrows. 

“Was that Venti talking?” 

The bard nods. “His voice is higher as a sprite, I’ve noticed, though the cadence is about the same.” 

“Huh.” Diluc seems to process this for a moment before moving past it, pulling up a barstool on the opposite side of the counter to sit down and take a portion of the salad for his plate. “Anyways, we’re getting off-topic. I was asking about your name. What is it?” 

“Oh,” says the bard. “I don’t have one.” 

Diluc pauses. “What?” 

“I don’t have one. I’ve never had one – most people just call me ‘the bard’, if they call me anything at all. I think Decarabian called me a ‘petty nuisance’ and a ‘brat’ more than once, but I don’t think I’d really answer to that.” 

“You don’t… have a name,” Diluc repeats. “How did that happen?” 

The bard shrugs, feeling Venti shift with the motion. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember ever having a name, and nobody else remembers calling me by one. I assume that whoever my parents were, they didn’t have the time or wherewithal to give me one before I was orphaned.” 

Diluc is frowning, but this isn’t really anything strange to the bard. It’s simply the way his life is. The sky is shrouded by the wind barrier, Venti is a palm-sized sprite, and the bard was born without a name. But… none of that is really true, is it? Not anymore, at least, not all the time. The sky is blue outside, bluer than the brightest dyes. Venti is a wind sprite, but sometimes he’s a human as well, identical to the bard in almost every way. And the bard… 

“You could pick one,” Venti pipes up. “Anything you want.” 

Diluc nods in agreement. “He’s right. Introduce yourself by whatever you like – it’s your name, and nobody gets to tell you what to do with it. This is the Nation of Freedom, after all, and that includes the freedom to choose who you are and who you want to be.” 

“The Nation of Freedom, huh?” Murmurs the bard. Venti really did make all of his dreams come true, didn’t he? The freedom he always yearned for is now the trademark of their nation. 

If he could pick a name… 

It must be something he likes. People will call him this forevermore – this will be how he’s remembered. 

“I don’t… know what to pick,” he confesses, turning to glance at Venti. “You picked Venti because of your nickname, but I haven’t got one like that. What do I have to choose from?” 

Venti floats up off of his shoulder and, in a swirl of Anemo, is suddenly sitting in the seat beside him in a human form. “I picked ‘Venti’ because it made me happy. What’s something you really like, that would make you happy to be called?” 

Something he really likes… something that makes him happy. 

Music makes him happy, but he can’t think of any beautiful names he would want to take from his most treasured skill and pastime. The sky makes him happy as well, but it can be violent as well as peaceful, can’t it? What else is there to… 

Oh. There is one other thing, a rather particular one that makes him happy, isn’t there? 

“Cecil,” he decides, looking to Venti to see what his sprite thinks. “Like the cecilia flowers. They can grow even in the harshest weather – it was the only flower that could survive in Decarabian’s Mondstadt. They were beautiful and strong, even amongst the storms. Cecil is the name I want to be called.” 

“It’s perfect.” Venti smiles at him, at Cecil, and he can just tell that this is the right choice. Across the counter, Diluc nods, adding his own approval to the stack before he slides a plate over – apparently, he’d taken the liberty of portioning out some of the food for Cecil during his moment of distraction. 

“It’s a good choice. Cecil and Venti,” Diluc states. “Here. You should have something to eat – it’ll get cold if you don’t hurry up and eat it soon.” 

Cecil thanks him, taking a bite of the flat-cakes that he’d enjoyed so much last night as he eyes the unfamiliar yellow and white thing. “What is this, by the way? I haven’t seen it before.” 

“Fried egg,” Venti informs him. “Try a bite, I think you’ll like it. It’s a new texture, but it’s not a bad one.” 

His sprite turns out to be correct, and Cecil’s eyes widen as the taste hits his tongue. He knows that eggs come from birds, but there had been none inside of the storm barrier, and so he had never eaten anything like this before. It’s delicious – was this what he’d been missing out on, trapped in that cold, grey prison under Decarabian’s reign? 

Cecil won’t have to endure that any longer. He’s free now, free to live his life and experience whatever he wants, free to choose a name and eat fried eggs and sit beside his sprite beneath the blue sky, living out a dream he never knew he wanted. 

Chapter Text

Amos is having a strange day. 

For starters, she’s apparently been dead for quite some time now, having been slain during the original battle for Mondstadt. That much isn’t a surprise, but it has been rather interesting to hear about everything she’d missed after her death. Two and a half thousand years of history had gone by without her, and Amos is desperate to know every last detail. 

“So then, Lady Vennessa didn’t have one of those… what did you say they were called? Visions?” Amos asks, and Sir Kaeya nods. 

“Not that we know of. If she did, the knowledge of her gaining it, as well as whatever element it might have been, have been lost to time. Our librarian, Lisa, would likely know more about it than I would. I’m sure she’d be happy to entertain any historical questions you may have.” 

Sir Kaeya had been kind enough to try and get her up to speed on some of the bigger events, although she can tell that his own knowledge is limited. He’s no scholar, after all, and even if he was, some things will have simply been lost to the annals of history. “I see. I think I’ll take you up on that offer once we’ve gotten a few things sorted out – I believe the Grandmaster wanted to take me to the… Cathedral first?” 

Up ahead, Jean nods. “Your appearance isn’t the only strange occurrence we’ve had in these past few days. It may help us figure some things out if we can consolidate all of the information we currently have.” 

That makes sense. Amos nods sagely, allowing a comfortable silence to fall as the Grandmaster continues to lead the way down the road and into town. Sir Kaeya had already informed her of the change in Mondstadt’s location, as well as how much it had developed over the years, but Amos still finds herself in awe at the sight of the city as it draws closer and closer. It had towered over the mountaintops, visible from many leagues away, and it only grows more impressive as they approach. 

“So this is what they built in my absence,” she murmurs. Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr had surely spearheaded the effort to remake their beloved city into a place of peace and freedom, and Amos can’t help but feel a pang of regret as she thinks of their group, once four, pared down to only two. Without the bard, she’s not sure if that little sprite would have stuck around, and she’s heard no mention of him thus far in Sir Kaeya’s explanations. 

Sir Kaeya glances over at the comment, smiling up at the city with pride clear on his face. “It is impressive, isn’t it? Mondstadt may be a smaller nation, but we’re still strong enough to stand beside the other six.” 

The other six, meaning the other nations that had come out of that ‘archon war’ with a god leading them. Amos is a bit confused by that number, since she’s positive there had been at least one or two more nations that were separate from the ones listed, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they had gotten annexed or something like that over the centuries. 

They head across a wide stone bridge to reach the island that Mondstadt now rests on, and Amos marvels at the defenses built into the very structure of the city. The lake and the wall provide a line of defense against any invaders, and although it would be easy to siege the city when there’s only one way in or out, Sir Kaeya had mentioned that pretty much every Mondstadtan is well-versed in using the winds to glide. The sky would provide a line of escape, should it be needed, in the unlikely event that the entire lake were to be surrounded by an invading army. 

It’s a surprising thought, that the winds could be so helpful when she had only ever known them to be cruel – then again, these winds are far more similar to those of the bard’s little companion than of Amos’ own ex-lover. If it were parum ventus, she thinks that she might be able to trust the winds, though not as much as one of these new citizens of Mondstadt. 

Amos finds herself the target of more than a few curious looks as the Grandmaster leads the way through the main gate and into the bustling heart of the city. It’s so lively here, free in a way that her own city had never been able to be, and she’s so incredibly proud of her friends for winning that battle and going on to create such a beautiful place. Amos wishes she could have been there to see it, to help them, but this, seeing it in all its glory centuries down the line… well, it’s close enough. 

“The Cathedral is at the very top, but it might be easier to meet Barbara in the Knights’ Headquarters instead of going up all those stairs,” Jean notes, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun (yet another marvel, high up in that clear-blue sky with not a single storm shrouding its light) as she looks up at the Cathedral. “Kaeya, would you mind showing Lady Amos to my office while I go find Barbara?” 

Sir Kaeya nods. “Of course. Lady Amos, if you would follow me?” 

Amos does so, following the man up the stairs to a large rectangular building as the Grandmaster breaks off from the small group to continue on toward the Cathedral. Amos watches her go, inspecting the winged statue in front of the church as she realises exactly why it looks so familiar. 

“That statue,” she says, “why are the hands empty?” 

Sir Kaeya looks up, shrugging slightly. “I’m not sure. Symbolic, perhaps? Lisa or Barbara would likely know. Why do you ask?” 

“It’s just odd that he isn’t holding his sprite, that’s all,” Amos explains, turning away from the statue and heading to the door. Sir Kaeya looks a bit confused at her words, but he holds the door open for her nonetheless, ushering her inside and into a large, grandiose office off to the left that surely belongs to the Grandmaster. It’s elegant, but not overly extravagant, and Amos finds herself intrigued as she wonders about what the rest of these headquarters looks like. 

She takes a seat on one of the cushy benches, realising that she’s probably going to be waiting for a good long while. Sir Kaeya, apparently coming to the same conclusion, sits down in one of the chairs opposite the desk, leaning back as he glances out the window. 

A few minutes go by, when without warning, there’s a knock at the door. She doubts it’s the Grandmaster, given that she’d have no reason to knock on the door to her own office, but it also hasn’t been nearly long enough for her to have gotten all the way to the Cathedral and back again. Amos and Sir Kaeya share a confused glance before the latter gets up to open the door, bafflement transforming into shock as he’s met with a red-haired man who seems to be about his age. The other man is slightly bulkier, but about the same height, and the closer Amos looks, the more she realises that his face is oddly familiar. He looks almost identical to– 

“Ragnvindr?” She asks, unable to prevent the word from escaping as she stares at the young man with a furrowed brow. 

He frowns. “Diluc Ragnvindr, yes. And you are…?” 

“Ah,” she says. “My apologies, I believe I mistook you for someone else. My name is Amos.” 

“...Right,” he responds, once it becomes clear that she has nothing else to say. Diluc, who surely must be Ragnvindr’s descendant, turns to Sir Kaeya with a serious expression. “Is Jean not here? I need to speak with her. It’s urgent.” 

Sir Kaeya shakes his head. “No, she’s at the Cathedral retrieving Barbara. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’ve had some odd happenings around here lately, Master Diluc.” 

“I’m sure. You said she’s only getting Barbara?” 

“Yes, she’ll be back in a few minutes. What is it you needed to tell her?” 

Master Diluc regards Sir Kaeya with an odd, guarded expression for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it’ll be faster if I don’t have to explain it twice. I’ll wait until she returns.” 

He steps past Sir Kaeya and into the room, sitting on the opposite end of Amos’ bench. Sir Kaeya stares at him for a good minute before slowly returning to his seat, though he still keeps glancing at him periodically. Amos would have really preferred to not be in the middle of… whatever it is these two have going on (and it’s certainly something, even if she can’t quite identify what), but alas, it would be far too awkward to get up and move seats now. 

Luckily, the Grandmaster returns shortly after Master Diluc’s arrival with another young woman in tow, a blonde who seems remarkably similar to Grandmaster Jean herself, albeit a few years younger. They must be sisters, or at least cousins – it seems that Gunnhildr’s descendants had persisted just as Ragnvindr’s had. 

“Oh, Diluc, I wasn’t expecting you to come here,” Jean says, stepping inside of her office and closing the door once the other young lady, who must be Deaconess Barbara, had entered as well. “Is something the matter?” 

“Yes, actually,” Master Diluc states, and the Grandmaster’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I just had a runner arrive from the winery to tell me that there’s a man there who resembles my late father to an almost uncanny degree, and who had introduced himself only as ‘Ragnvindr’. I thought you may want to know about that.” 

Jean stares at him for a moment, eyes flicking to Sir Kaeya briefly (who, Amos notes, is looking rather shell-shocked himself) before she responds. “That’s… well. Hm.” 

Amos, however, finds herself reeling at the news. Someone who resembles a member of Diluc’s family, calling himself by the name of her old friend… could it be? 

“Pardon,” she asks, “but does this man have a beard, by any chance?” 

Master Diluc nods. “From what I can tell. Why?” 

“Ah. That would be my Ragnvindr, I think.” 

“Your…?” Jean asks, trailing off as she realises exactly what Amos means. “Then, you aren’t the only one who came back?” 

Diluc’s brow furrows. “Came back? What do you–” 

He’s cut off, however, by yet another person knocking at the door. Jean opens it to allow them in, and is greeted by a pair of knights escorting a blonde-haired woman that Amos knows quite well. She stands abruptly, walking to the door and finding herself face to face with one of the people who, only a few hours ago, she had thought she’d failed immeasurably. 

“Gunnhildr,” Amos breathes, and Gunnhildr’s eyes go wide as she, too, realises who’s standing in front of her. 

“Amos?” The name comes as a mere whisper, and Amos barely has time to nod in confirmation before she’s being swept into a bone-crushing hug. She can’t even find it in herself to squirm away or ask Gunnhildr not to squash her, because she knows she’s squeezing back with just as much strength. “Amos, you’re… but how? Last I saw… last I remember, you were–” 

“I know. I was, but… a lot has changed now, hasn’t it, Gunnhildr?” Amos lets out a teary laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe at her eyes. “I’m sorry for leaving you all alone, and for… for the bard. I never meant to–” 

“I know, Amos. You have nothing to apologise for.” 

That admission alone brings fresh tears to her eyes, and Amos buries her face in her friend’s shoulder, relishing in the feeling that she thought she would never get to have again. Just for now, just for a moment, she can let herself indulge in this. 

But after a minute, she forces herself to pull away, remembering that there is, in fact, a world outside of herself and her fellow revolutionary. Amos wipes away the last of the tears, hoping she doesn’t look like as much of a mess as she feels like, and turns to the rest of the folks still in the room. The guards who had escorted Gunnhildr have now vanished, but Kaeya, Diluc, Jean, and Barbara are still here, waiting for an explanation. 

“Gunnhildr is from the same time and place as I am,” Amos tells them all. “She and Ragnvindr, who I believe is the man that must have appeared at your Winery, Master Diluc, were two of the four leaders of our revolution. I was another.” 

“And the fourth?” Grandmaster Jean asks. 

Amos hesitates. 

The bard… just like her, the bard had died during that last battle. It had been her fault that he’d died – her arrows that had pierced his chest and stolen the light from behind his eyes. 

And yet, if Amos and the others can come back, who’s to say that he couldn’t do so as well? 

“The fourth leader,” she says quietly, “was the bard. He was really the one who started it all, but he fell during the battle against Decarabian, just as I did. But… I can’t help but wonder, if Gunnhildr, Ragnvindr, and I could all come back, if there’s a chance that he’s here, too.” 

“He is,” Diluc confirms. 

Amos stares. 

Diluc, noticing her shock, decides to clarify. “The kid with the braids, right? That looks like the statue in front of the church? He did come back. He’s in the upstairs room of Angel’s Share – the bar that I own, I mean.” 

“The bard is here?” Gunnhildr breathes, and there’s a note of hope in her voice like Amos has never heard before. She opens her mouth to continue, but she’s cut off by an affronted gasp from across the room. 

“You had him?!” Barbara yelps, shooting up from her seat to glare at him. “We were looking for him, you know! We were worried! How long has he been there?” 

“About a day now.” Diluc shrugs. “He didn’t seem to like all of that attention and hero-worship.” 

The Deaconess steps forward, and Amos can only presume that Ragnvindr’s descendant is about to get chewed out just as badly as his ancestor had often been, but Jean interrupts before her relative can get that far. “Diluc, would you mind bringing us to see him? I would suggest asking him to come here, but I don’t know that it would be a good idea to have him walk through the street, what with all of the rumours already flying around about his appearance.” 

Diluc nods. “Angel’s Share was going to be closed today anyways, since Charles still has that cold that’s been going around. We can meet there – I’ve already sent the runner back to get… Ragnvindr, as well.” 

Soon enough, they’ll all be reunited again for the first time in over two and a half millennia. Amos will finally get to see the bard again, and tell him how sorry she is. He’ll be alive to see the sky and the world, free from Decarabian’s reign. They all will be. 

oOoOo

Diluc is having far too many thoughts right now. 

Aside from the situation with Cecil and Venti, there are at least three other people who have come to the future from the past, and one of them is Diluc’s own ancestor. On top of that, Diluc seems to be one of the only ones here who knows that Venti is Barbatos, and he doesn’t know how to explain this fact to the people who had come from the past without also revealing to certain people of the present, such as Kaeya and Barbara, that Venti is Barbatos. And that Diluc knows that Venti is Barbatos. 

And now, they’re all headed to Diluc’s bar to meet up with the aforementioned ancestor, not to mention the aforementioned god. How is he supposed to handle all of this at once, plus all of the emotions he’s been feeling about being this close to Kaeya? 

He doesn’t want to think about Kaeya. He can’t stop thinking about Kaeya, not when he’s walking right beside Diluc for the first time in what must be years. 

But Diluc has no time for that, not now. He can regret the stupidity of his actions later, when he isn’t about to be faced by a distant ancestor with an upsetting resemblance to his own deceased father. He needs to steel himself for that encounter. 

Diluc is about to see his father’s face again – or at least, something far too similar. He’d rather not go into this without adequately preparing himself first. 

And yet, he still finds himself glancing at Kaeya, wondering if he’s thought about this as much as Diluc has. He can’t help but wonder how he’s going to react when he sees Ragnvindr, looking so similar to the father that had left them both – will he be upset? Will he be happy? Will he even care at all, or was that grief nothing but another layer to the facade?  

They reach Angel’s Share far too quickly, and Diluc can feel Kaeya’s gaze burning into him all the while. Surely, his brother still knows him better than anyone else here would – if anyone were to notice Diluc’s inner turmoil, it would be Kaeya, no matter how much he wishes he could deny it. 

But regardless of what he wants, they’re at Angel’s Share now, and no amount of steeling himself ahead of time could have prepared Diluc for the sight of what looks like Crepus Ragnvindr standing beside the door. 

It’s uncanny.  

His face is nearly identical. If Diluc looks closely, the shape of his eyes is a little bit off, and the jaw might be a touch too wide, but the latter detail is entirely hidden by the beard – and for that matter, even his facial hair is cut in a similar way. Ragnvindr, the red-haired warrior from the tale of Mondstadt’s first revolution, looks so much like Diluc’s own father (his own descendant, his mind whispers) that it takes all Diluc has to stop the tears from forming in his eyes. 

This feels like everything he wants, being shoved in his face with a mocking laugh. His brother by his side and his father up ahead of him, and he can’t keep any of it. It’s all fake. No matter what Diluc wants, it’s all fake. He needs to remember that. 

Beside him, he hears Kaeya’s breath hitch, though that’s the only sign that he, too, has seen Ragnvindr and has come to the same conclusions as Diluc. Jean and Barbara’s surprised inhales are less subtle, but they’re overshadowed by the tearful gasp that Amos lets out as she steps forward, advancing past their own group to approach Ragnvindr. 

“Ragnvindr?” She asks, voice almost echoing in the empty backstreet. “Is it really you?” 

He turns at the voice, eyes wide as he catches sight of her. “ Amos?! But how–?” 

“Same as you, you foolish man,” Gunnhildr snorts. “And the same as the bard as well, apparently. Amos tells me it’s been over two and a half millennia since our battle against Decarabian ended.” 

“Two and a half– what?!”   

Amos laughs, embracing Ragnvindr with a wide grin, and squeezing tighter when the man’s own arms come up to hug her back. “Ah, I’ve missed you, my friend! Though I’m sure it wasn’t as much as you both missed me – I really didn’t mean to leave, but…” 

“You couldn’t control that,” Gunnhildr says firmly, walking up to join her friends. “You and the bard, neither of you meant to leave, but the circumstances were beyond your control.” 

“But the bard… I–” 

“Gunnhildr’s right. None of that, now.” Ragnvindr pulls back, studying Amos’ face as he keeps both hands on her shoulders. “Your arrows went wide because of his winds. You weren’t aiming anywhere near the bard – there was no way you could have hit him, not without someone else interfering. It was Decarabian’s fault, not yours.” 

Amos sniffles. Diluc isn’t entirely sure of what they’re talking about, but he knows enough to guess – Cecil had died from taking two arrows to the chest, according to him and Venti, and now, he can guess that those arrows came from Amos’ bow. Decarabian, being a storm god, would have had enough control over the winds to change the course of her shots to hit an ally rather than an enemy… and of course, she would have blamed herself, knowing that her own arrows had felled their child comrade. 

Diluc can relate, in a way, to the idea of knowing that it was his own fault one of his loved ones had ended up hurt. That it was his weapon who caused his loved one harm. The difference here is that Amos wasn’t at fault, and Diluc undoubtedly is. 

Glancing past Amos, Ragnvindr focuses on the group behind her, the one consisting entirely of modern folk – in short, the group that Diluc is a part of. “And who is this? Some… descendants, I suppose?” 

“Yes, of yourself and Gunnhildr,” Amos confirms. “The two blonde women are Jean and Barbara, descendants of Gunnhildr – they are sisters, and the acting leaders of the Knights’ organisation and the church. Diluc, the red-haired man, is your descendant, and I’m not sure about Sir Kaeya, but–” 

“Kaeya is my adoptive younger brother,” Diluc pipes up, prompting a wide-eyed look of surprise from the man in question. He’s almost surprised he said that himself, but… he’s not going to take it back. It’s the truth, and it ought to be said. He just hopes that Kaeya won’t be upset by the presumptuous claim. “So, also a descendant of Ragnvindr, albeit not by blood.”

Ragnvindr’s gaze flicks between Diluc and Kaeya as his expression takes on a hint of nostalgia. He brings a hand up to wipe at his eye, and– is he crying?  

“Ah, you two both remind me so much of my own sons,” Ragnvindr tells him. His face of care and longing is far too similar to that of Diluc’s father, and he shifts uncomfortably, unconsciously glancing at Kaeya to see if he’s doing the same. “My Chlothar and Aghi were just like you two. You must be very close.” 

Diluc doesn’t answer. Luckily, Amos interrupts the awkward silence before it can form, turning to Gunnhildr with a snap of her fingers. 

“Ah, Gunnhildr – the bard is inside, isn’t he? We ought to go and see him instead of just standing out here in the street,” she notes. 

Gunnhildr nods. “Good idea. It’s… it’s been a very long time since we’ve all been in one place, hasn’t it?” 

“Oh, Jean, that reminds me,” Diluc says, realising that there is, in fact, one more little detail he forgot to mention. “Venti’s in the bar as well, he’s been keeping Cecil company.” 

“Cecil?” Asks Ragnvindr. 

“Venti?” Asks Amos. 

Gunnhildr seems to be the only one who isn’t confused, turning to Amos to explain. “ Parum ventus, he means. My oldest daughter, Ingrid, she couldn’t pronounce his name when she was young – he shortened it to ‘Venti’ for her. I’m surprised he’s still going by that, though I suppose it’s a better option if he wants to be subtle.” 

“Then, Cecil must be…” 

“The bard,” Diluc confirms. “He picked out that name this morning.” 

Jean’s brow furrows as she seems to process this, and she opens her mouth to ask Diluc a question, but thinks better of it a moment later. He’ll likely have to explain all of this to her once there aren’t any other people around, but Barbara and Kaeya are still here for the moment (regardless of how quiet they both are, and Kaeya being quiet is a novelty he hasn’t experienced in years), and he would rather not reveal Venti’s whole… everything to a bunch of people who didn’t previously know. He had been hoping to keep Venti’s connection to the revived folks quiet a bit longer, but Gunnhildr recognising his nickname had dashed all hopes of that. 

Diluc leads the group into the bar and directs them all to sit wherever they like, leaving Jean to supervise as he heads upstairs to retrieve Venti and Cecil. She gives him a rather pointed look when he does this, but quite frankly, he’d just like to be out of range of Ragnvindr’s uncomfortably parental looks. 

“Cecil, Venti, there are people here to see you both,” Diluc says, knocking on the door to the spare room upstairs. A moment later, the door swings open, revealing Cecil with his cloak and boots already on. Venti is nowhere to be seen, but given that Cecil seems largely unconcerned, Diluc figures he can ask about that later. 

Cecil does look rather confused by Diluc’s words, though. “Here to see us? Who is it?” 

“Seems that you’re not the only one who came back from the past.” 

“Then, when the runner from your winery earlier said…” 

Diluc nods. “That was your Ragnvindr. He’s downstairs now, along with Gunnhildr and Amos, if you’d like to see them. 

Cecil gasps, eyes going wide as he darts past Diluc and practically runs down the stairs to see. He stops short at the bottom of the steps, staring at the three people awaiting him with unmitigated shock. 

“My friends… is it really you?” 

oOoOo

There’s a bit of a commotion going on outside of Cecil’s pocket. Venti, however, is too cozy and happy to care. He’s right back where he belongs after all these centuries, hidden away in the pocket of his bard, and there’s no place he’d rather be. 

Somebody – several somebodies, rather – seem to be having a conversation. It’s hard to hear what they’re saying, muffled by cloth as it is, but Venti also isn’t trying all that hard to figure it out. He simply nestles down further into Cecil’s pocket, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of being safe and tucked away under the care of his bard again at long last. 

“Where is Venti, by the way? Is he still upstairs? I didn’t see him in the room,” comes Diluc’s voice, slightly louder than the others as though he’s hoping that Venti will hear him from afar and appear out of nowhere. Unfortunately for him, Venti has no intentions of leaving this spot any time soon. 

That is, until Cecil’s hand reaches into the pocket and closes around him, careful and gentle as always, and scoops him out of the pocket wriggling and protesting with little bell-like chimes. 

“He’s here,” Cecil states, presenting the rest of the group with the disgruntled little wind sprite. Venti scrunches in on himself and grumbles quietly, blinking as he looks around and tries to identify the faces surrounding him. They’re much larger than he’s used to, given that it’s been so long since he was around humans in his sprite form. “Oh, come now, parum ventus, don’t squirm. Everyone wanted to say hello, see?” 

Venti looks up, finally managing to adjust his vision enough to take in the figures around him (and noting Diluc ushering Kaeya, Jean, and Barbara out of the main room as he does), and if he had a heart anywhere in his little wind sprite body, he knows that it would have just stopped short. 

Gunnhildr. Ragnvindr. Amos. 

“How?” Venti whispers, turning to look back at Cecil before his gaze inevitably returns to the impossible faces before him. They were dead for so long, and yet, so was Cecil and he’s here now, isn’t he? Could… could they all have come back? 

Cecil lifts him up a bit higher and Venti realises that he’s being handed over to Amos, who’s regarding him with a kind smile. “Turns out, they came back just like I did. We were scattered all over Mondstadt, apparently – it’s quite lucky that we all managed to find each other again so quickly. I’m sure we have the Knights to thank for that, at least in part.” 

“The Grandmaster and Sir Kaeya were kind enough to bring me back to Mondstadt, and that’s where I found Gunnhildr,” Amos agrees, bringing Venti up to press her forehead to his in a show of affection. She had always loved to do that, back then. Back before it all went wrong and Venti lost not only his bard, but her as well. “But you’ve been here for longer than all of us, haven’t you, parum ventus? You must have missed us all so much.” 

“I did,” Venti whispers. “I really, really did.”  

Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr are standing on either side of her, looking over her shoulders as they regard Venti with two separate looks. Ragnvindr’s face still has a touch of discomfort to it, but he looks happier than Venti had seen him in the decades before he’d died – Gunnhildr, though, seems just as happy to see him as Amos, and she bows low when she notices that his attention is on her. 

“My lord,” she says teasingly, and Venti puffs up his cheeks, rising up out of Amos’ hand in a whirl of Anemo energy to turn into his human form and stand beside Cecil. 

“Haven’t I asked you not to call me that?” He points out, then frowns as he realises that Gunnhildr looks far, far younger than she had when he had last seen her. In fact, they all seem to be around the ages they were during that fateful battle. “Oh… wait, do you remember? You are much younger than when I last saw you…” 

Gunnhildr chuckles. “Yes, I remember everything. I won’t drop the title, it’s yours and you rightfully earned it.” 

Ragnvindr scoffs. 

Ah. 

Venti was wondering when Ragnvindr was going to remember his grudge. 

“I see you’re still doing that, then,” he sniffs. Venti frowns, but doesn’t say anything, knowing that trying to argue will only make him mad. He was having such a good time – he doesn’t want to ruin it by making anyone upset. 

Amos, though, doesn’t understand. She wouldn’t, not when she was gone before Ragnvindr ever started having a problem with Venti. “Doing what?” 

“That isn’t your face to wear,” scoffs Ragnvindr, regarding Venti with a cold look. “Have you no shame? Do you think the– Cecil wants to see you parading his face around like some sort of mockery? How much more disrespectful can you be?” 

Venti doesn’t respond, and doesn’t meet Ragnvindr’s hardened gaze, either, choosing instead to look at one of the walls off to the side. He can feel his shoulders starting to tense up, but he forces them to relax. There’s no point in getting defensive now, not when this isn’t anything he hasn’t already heard a thousand times. 

He had hoped, foolishly, that Ragnvindr would have gotten over it. That Cecil’s return would have softened his heart and made him less inclined to start fighting the second he saw something he didn’t like, but it seems that Venti’s hope was misplaced. Of course Ragnvindr would still be upset. Why wouldn’t he be? 

“Oh, put a sock in it, Ragnvindr.” Gunnhildr crosses her arms, shooting Ragnvindr an irritated look. “Nearly three thousand years and you still can’t mind your own business? What are you, a child?” 

Ragnvindr glares. “No more than you are. Always following after a god, as if we didn’t spend years trying to get rid of the last one–” 

“And? Decarabian fell, somebody had to step in and look after the people, and I didn’t see you helping!” 

“I’m not going to cave to the whims of some ‘elemental being’, just because he got a power boost and now he thinks he’s better than us! We didn’t take down Decarabian just to fall into line before another tyrant!” 

“Barbatos is not a tyrant–” 

“Now, hold on just a moment,” Amos interrupts, looking between them both. “Ragnvindr, what are you talking about? Why are you so upset? Venti hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

Ragnvindr turns on Amos, that fire in his eyes one directed at her in full force. “As if you would understand. I suppose I shouldn’t expect better from the woman who courted that monster.” 

Amos steps back, blinking as if she’d just been slapped, and Gunnhildr’s jaw drops as she stares at Ragnvindr in sheer shock. 

This is exactly why Venti hadn’t wanted to antagonise him. Arguing back will only make it worse, will only enflame him more, and the angrier he gets, the more he’s likely to say something he’ll later regret. Ragnvindr doesn’t think about the future, only the here and now, and right now, he only wants to upset Amos and Gunnhildr for daring to get in the way of his beration of Venti. 

“Apologise to Amos this instant!” Gunnhildr orders, stepping forwards, and Ragnvindr scowls. 

“For what? Telling the truth?” 

“First you disrespect Barbatos, and now you insult Amos–” 

“That sprite is no god, no matter how much you act like he ought to be exalted! He probably only swooped in to steal Decarabian’s power for himself once the revolution kicked off-” 

Ragnvindr cuts himself off as an apple smacks him right in the nose with an audible thud, doubling over to clutch at his face. He lets out a groan of pain as Venti whips around to see Cecil standing behind him, hand still outstretched, looking absolutely furious.  

“How dare you insult him in such a way!” Cecil snaps. He looks just as incensed as he did during the revolution, whenever he had gotten heated about Decarabian’s mistreatment of the people of Mondstadt. He’s that angry over Venti. “You have no right to tell him what he can and cannot do, and you certainly don’t have the right to condemn him for using my face! It’s my face, I grew it myself, and I say he can do as he pleases with it! Don’t you dare presume to use me to hurt him, Sir Ragnvindr.”  

Cecil whirls around and stalks back up the stairs, and a moment later, Venti hears the door to the spare room slam shut. A few seconds of silence pass as he stares at Amos and Gunnhildr in shock (and as they stare back at him with the same expression), and he hears the door open again, Cecil returning to the main floor once more. 

“I forgot you weren’t in my pocket,” he mutters. He scoops Venti into his arms in one smooth motion, shooting one last glare at Ragnvindr before stomping back up the stairs again and slamming the door shut, locking it behind them for good measure. 

oOoOo

Kaeya is having the worst fucking day of his life. 

Well, no – that’s not entirely true. The actual worst day of his life was, undoubtedly, the day Master Crepus died and Diluc cast him aside. This is more of a close second in the grand scheme of things, if only because of how utterly baffling everything has been so far. 

Ergo, Kaeya is having one of the worst days of his life, and it starts and ends with whatever is going on in the front room of Angel’s Share right now. 

Something deeply odd is going on here, something that’s apparently caused people from two and a half thousand years ago to be revived in the modern day. Amos had been the first, but her two companions, the progenitors of Mondstadt’s main noble houses, had been quick to follow. Gunnhildr had been one thing – she’d only borne a passing resemblance to Jean and Barbara, after all, closer to a distant cousin than anything else, but Ragnvindr… 

He just looks so similar to Kaeya’s– no, to Diluc’s father, and it’s… unnerving, to say the least. He’s so similar, and yet not the same at all – the features are correct, but the expressions are all wrong. He compares Diluc and Kaeya to his own children, but seems to have no idea of what their relationship actually is.  

Then again, after Diluc had outright introduced Kaeya as his adoptive brother earlier, Kaeya isn’t sure he knows what their relationship is anymore, either. First Diluc had disowned him, and now he claims him again like nothing has happened, like he hasn’t spent the past four years pretending Kaeya’s existence was no more than a stain on his. Is Kaeya only his brother when it’s convenient to him, or is this just a clever way to keep up appearances? But then, if it’s only for show, why mention Kaeya at all? Ragnvindr wouldn’t know of their shared background, not unless someone else mentioned it, and everyone in Mondstadt knew by now that Kaeya’s connection to the Ragnvindr clan is not something to be mentioned in polite company. 

And now, here they all are – the last scions of Mondstadt’s two most prominent noble households, clustered in the back room of Diluc’s bar while they all pretend that they aren’t eavesdropping on the conversation going on in the main area.  

Granted, for the most part, they can’t actually hear all that much of whatever’s being said in there. Everyone is speaking quietly enough that their voices don’t carry, and Kaeya’s not exactly straining his ears to listen in on a heartfelt reunion between all of their ancestors… and, allegedly, Venti. 

That’s the other thing that caught Kaeya’s attention: Venti’s involvement in the situation as a whole. There’s some piece here that he’s missing, because there must be an explanation for this that he isn’t seeing. That bard, Cecil, looks identical to Venti – in fact, if not for Diluc outright stating that he wasn’t Venti, Kaeya would think that the bard had simply changed his clothes and dyed his braids. But then, Diluc had asked where Venti was, and the doppelganger had pulled out some sort of sentient handkerchief that Kaeya hadn’t been able to get a good look at before he was being shuffled away into the back room. What had that been all about? 

That little white thing hadn’t been Venti – Venti is a human, just like the rest of them. Kaeya’s seen him. He’s just a bard, albeit a rather strange one, not some sort of odd little spirit creature that lives in a time-traveller’s pocket. This, even more than whatever is going on with Diluc, is baffling Kaeya to no end. That can’t have been Venti, but in that case, why was Diluc acting like it was? Why was Cecil acting like it was? And for that matter, how does Venti even fit into Cecil’s situation in the first place? 

Somehow, though, Kaeya doubts he’s going to get his answers any time soon. 

As he leans against the wall, deep in his own musings, a raised voice from the front room catches his attention. A glance around the room reveals that he’s not the only one to have caught it – even Barbara had paused in her heatedly whispered slew of questions, all directed at an exasperated Jean, to cast a concerned look towards the door to the bar. 

“Do you think everything’s okay in there?” Jean murmurs, and Kaeya frowns. 

“Not sure. Though… I thought they were supposed to be having a heartfelt reunion?” 

“They were,” Diluc confirms. “I doubt Cecil would start an argument. It must be one of the other three.” 

The quartet slowly moves towards the door, leaning in to listen. Hopefully, none of the people in the front room will notice their presence. 

From what Kaeya can hear, Ragnvindr’s tone seems to be the most irritated, while Amos just sounds confused. He can’t entirely make out what they’re saying at first, until Gunnhildr pipes up, sounding just as annoyed as Ragnvindr had been. 

“Oh, put a sock in it, Ragnvindr.” So it had been Ragnvindr who had started the argument, then. “Nearly three thousand years and you still can’t mind your own business? What are you, a child?” 

Ragnvindr starts to respond, but unlike Gunnhildr, he’s just quiet enough that Kaeya can’t tell what he’s saying. He glances at Jean and Diluc, wordlessly asking for their permission as he nods toward the door. Jean seems hesitant, but Diluc nods, carefully cracking the door and allowing some of the sound from the front room to leak in. 

“And?” Gunnhildr says, clearly in response to Ragnvindr’s own retort. “Decarabian fell, somebody had to step in and look after the people, and I didn’t see you helping!” 

“What are they arguing about?” Jean whispers, and Diluc shakes his head. Clearly, he doesn’t know, and doesn’t want to risk speculating in case they’re overheard. They really shouldn't be eavesdropping in the first place, but… well, Kaeya’s curious. 

Ragnvindr snipes back only a moment later, his words overlapping with Jean’s own. “I’m not going to cave to the whims of some ‘elemental being’, just because he got a power boost and now he thinks he’s better than us! We didn’t take down Decarabian just to fall into line before another tyrant!” 

“Barbatos is not a tyrant–” 

Jean and Diluc’s eyes go wide, and a glance at Barbara shows that her face has transformed completely into one of shock. Are they arguing over… Barbatos? But why? What could have prompted this? 

Amos says something, clearly an attempt to diffuse the situation, and Kaeya inches closer to the door, trying to get a look at what’s going on. The quintet is standing in the open space in front of the bar, and Amos and Ragnvindr’s backs are to the counter, meaning Kaeya can’t see their faces. What he can see, though, is Venti, standing right beside Cecil with his shoulders hunched up, looking like he’s about to cry. 

When had he gotten here? And for that matter, what the hell had they said to upset him so badly? Kaeya has never seen Venti so upset – or upset at all, really, now that he thinks about it. Venti just always seems happy and carefree – he surely has bad days just like everyone else, but not like this.  

Amos’ intervention had apparently not helped in the slightest, because now Ragnvindr turns on her, something that she clearly hadn’t anticipated. “As if you would understand. I suppose I shouldn’t expect better from the woman who courted that monster.” 

Kaeya winces. He has little to no context for this situation, but even he can tell that was a low blow. 

Shared features or not, this man is getting further and further from Crepus Ragnvindr with every word that leaves his mouth. Kaeya can’t imagine Master Crepus saying any of what Ragnvindr is saying right now – in fact, he would probably be incensed to hear a relative of his speak in such a way. It’s fascinating, to see how much the line of descendants must have changed over the years. 

Gunnhildr apparently agrees with Kaeya, demanding that Ragnvindr apologise to Amos as soon as she’s managed to pick her jaw up off the ground after gaping at the sheer audacity. It only devolves into further arguing, this time uninterrupted by Amos. Venti is shrinking in on himself even more than before, and Kaeya’s honestly shocked that he hasn’t seen a tear fall yet. He’s never seen Venti look this distressed before. 

And then, he notices Cecil moving to take an apple off of the counter. There’s a small pile on the corner there, likely left as snacks for Venti earlier in the day, and for some reason, Cecil has decided that now is the time for him to take one. Kaeya frowns, confused at first, until he catches sight of Cecil’s face. 

He really does look identical to Venti – or he would, at least, if not for the look of pure fury on his face. 

Kaeya’s… never seen Venti properly angry before. He doesn’t think anyone has, now that he considers it. Seeing that expression on Cecil’s face is… unnerving, to say the least. 

That’s nothing, though, compared to a moment later when Cecil draws back his arm and throws the apple at Ragnvindr’s head. 

Kaeya flinches in surprise, and he feels Jean, Barbara, and Diluc do the same around him as the apple collides with Ragnvindr’s nose, cutting the man off and making him curl in on himself as he clutches the site of the impact. Cecil steps forward to stand over him, looking like the very picture of righteous fury. 

(Would Venti look like that, if someone ever gave him a reason to be that angry?) 

“How dare you insult him in such a way! You have no right to tell him what he can and cannot do, and you certainly don’t have the right to condemn him for using my face!” Cecil spits. “It’s my face, I grew it myself, and I say he can do as he pleases with it! Don’t you dare presume to use me to hurt him, Sir Ragnvindr.”  

Wait, what?  

Using his face– what the fuck?! 

Kaeya’s mind is reeling as he watches Cecil storm upstairs, only to return a moment later and retrieve Venti before storming back upstairs for a second time, stating that he forgot Venti wasn’t in his pocket. That little handkerchief creature earlier… was that really Venti? But how? It must have something to do with how Cecil said that Venti was ‘using his face’, which would explain their identical appearances, but… does that mean that Venti isn’t a human? If that’s the case, then what is he? 

With both Venti and Cecil gone, the three remaining people end up sitting in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, all regarding each other with wary looks – especially Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr. The former keeps glancing over at Amos as well, clearly wondering what to say to make her feel better, because while Kaeya can’t see her face, he can’t imagine she’s feeling good after what Ragnvindr had said to her. 

…Fuck. He’s going to have to be the one to diffuse this situation, isn’t he? Somebody has to fix this tension and get them all out of the backroom before Kaeya decides that the best course of action is to start drinking half of Diluc’s stock, and clearly, no one else is going to do it. 

Besides, he’s got a few choice words of his own to say to Ragnvindr after hearing all of that. 

Chapter Text

Venti’s never been carried like this before. 

Oh, he’s certainly been carried many times in his life. He’s been cradled in Cecil’s palms or tucked into his pocket as a little wisp. He’s been hauled off the battlefield with his arm slung over a comrade’s shoulder. He’s been tossed over plenty of people’s shoulders and lifted up under their arms when he was being too stubborn to move on his own. 

Never, though, has he been scooped up and carried off like a princess, with one arm supporting his torso and the other under his knees. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and so unexpected that it momentarily shocks him out of the distressed haze he’d slowly been sinking deeper and deeper into. 

It’s easier to just stay quiet, to withdraw and let the others shout at each other (and at him , sometimes) than to get in the middle and risk making it worse. 

But then, it’s rare for someone to intervene on his behalf without making it worse. Gunnhildr had always defended him, but in the end, she’d only gotten drawn into Ragnvindr’s arguments, and then they had only ended up yelling at each other while Venti had to sit there and listen. Cecil had made them stop, he’d made it quiet again, and then when he had stormed off, he had come back for Venti. That’s certainly never happened before, either. 

Cecil brings him into the upstairs room of the tavern, maneuvering one hand with some difficulty to yank the door shut behind them and then lock it from the inside – likely to make sure that no one can follow them and interrupt.. or worse, try and continue the argument. Venti is deposited on the bed a moment later with surprising carefulness, only for Cecil to climb right up after him and shove him over so there’s room for them both to curl up atop the blankets. 

“You picked me up,” Venti notes quietly. He’s looking down at his hands like they’ll give him some context, some answer for the situation he’s found himself in, but if they can tell him anything, they’re staying stubbornly silent. “I’m not sprite-shaped now. I… didn’t think you’d still do that.” 

“Of course I would,” says Cecil. “You’re so light, you’re no burden at all. Why shouldn’t I carry you?” 

Venti doesn’t want to turn back into his sprite form and lose access to his hands, but he does want to feel small and tucked away right now, so he wriggles down a bit and wraps himself around Cecil, letting his bard pull him close and start to run his fingers through Venti’s hair. Cecil is quiet for a few minutes, and Venti takes solace in the comfortable silence between them, but eventually, his bard speaks up again. 

“Why was he so upset?” Cecil murmurs, and though Venti can’t see his expression with the way he’s tucked his own face against Cecil’s torso, he can hear the disappointment in his bard’s voice. “He was blaming you for things that weren’t actually bad, or that weren’t your fault. What made him act so…” 

“Irritated?” Venti suggests. 

Cecil shakes his head. The motion shifts his torso ever so slightly, but Venti doesn’t bother to readjust, only squeezing his bard a little bit tighter. “Unreasonable. He was… none of what he said made any sense.”  

“Ragnvindr was grieving,” Venti says after a long pause. “You and Amos were gone. I don’t think… none of us ever really got over it. I know I didn’t. I… don’t think he did, either. He seemed– he seemed to think that it was an insult to you. Me wearing this face, I mean.” 

“It’s no insult. I’m… honoured, honestly. Even thousands of years later, you cared about me enough to still want to remember my face.” 

“Of course. I’d sooner fade into oblivion than forget you, my bard.” 

Cecil’s quiet for a moment. Venti moves his head up a bit, just enough to hear his heartbeat through the layers of his shirt and vest. If he could stay right here for the rest of eternity, he’s pretty sure he’d be content for every moment of it. 

The hand in his hair stills briefly before shifting, moving to the end of his left braid to tug the hair tie off and begin unraveling the strands. Venti doesn’t stop him. If Cecil wants to play with his hair, he’s welcome to. 

He’s welcome to do whatever he wants, really. Venti’s not sure if he’s even capable of saying no to him. 

“Was he upset that you became an Archon,” Cecil begins, “because of Decarabian?” 

Venti nods slightly. “I think he feared having another tyrant, especially after all we went through to get rid of the last one.” 

“But you helped us do that. Did he forget all of that? Or… was he just ignoring it?” 

“...I don’t know. He… it was like, after I got that gnosis, he simply forgot who I used to be. He remembered the sprite, but he never treated me the same.” 

“And would it have been different, do you think,” Cecil asks, “if I had survived?” 

Venti turns his head, burying his face further in the soft green fabric. He had always tried to get the shade of his own clothes as close to this as possible, but faced with the real thing, he can’t really say if he’s ever truly succeeded. 

Cecil takes his silence as an answer, abandoning his now-undone braids in favour of pulling Venti into a proper hug, so tight that he feels his synthesized bones creak. “I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry our friend became so cruel to you, even if he was grieving. You were grieving too, and he refused to see it. I promise you, parum ventus, I’ll never leave you alone like that again.”  

The thin arms around him are a comforting pressure, and for the first time in a long, long while, Venti will indulge himself by leaning into it as much as he possibly can. This is exactly what he’s wanted for so many years. He’s waited so long for this, and now, he can bask in the comfort as much as he wants. Cecil won’t let go of him, and Venti doesn’t want him to. He’d stay right here in Cecil’s arms (half in his lap, if he’s being honest) for eternity if he could. 

But… if he can’t stay here for eternity, he can at least stay here for as long as Cecil will let him. 

(Something tells him that, if it really were up to Cecil, rather than depending on external circumstance, he’d be here for eternity either way.) 

oOoOo

“It’s funny, you know. At first, I thought you were going to turn out to be quite similar to Crepus Ragnvindr.” 

Oh, no. 

Jean was hoping that he wasn’t going to jump in and reveal that they were all listening, but it seems that her hope was for naught. Ragnvindr, Gunnhildr, and Amos have already noticed his presence. 

“Our father, I mean,” Kaeya continues. “By all accounts, one of the best men I’ve ever met. But, you know, I simply can’t imagine Father ever being so cruel to someone – especially not someone who was so happy to see him after such a long separation. He was glad to be reunited, and you repaid him – and Lady Amos, apparently, I really don’t mean to eavesdrop but you were quite loud – with naught but petty insults?” 

Ragnvindr scoffs. “Cruel? Really? You can’t honestly say that you would be fine with a betrayal of that measure.” 

“All right, then. What did he do wrong?” 

“What didn’t he do?” Ragnvindr glances up the stairs, rolling his eyes before his gaze returns to Kaeya. “Taking the role of a god, taking the face of the bard–” 

“Yes, I’d gathered all of that,” interrupts Kaeya, “but what did he actually do wrong?”  

Ragnvindr goes quiet. He’s staring at Kaeya with an odd look, like he’s hearing the words, but still can’t quite understand what Kaeya is trying to say to him. 

“You seem quite convinced that Venti betrayed you in some way, but none of what you’ve said seems particularly traitorous,” Kaeya continues. “It isn’t even personal. How is his appearance any of your business, especially when it seemed that Cecil – the person whose business it is, given that they’re practically identical – had absolutely no issues with it at all?” 

“I have been telling him that for years. It’s useless to try and get him to listen to reason, he’s far too much of a hot-headed moron.” Gunnhildr glares at Ragnvindr, though the anger quickly leaves her face as she turns back to Amos. The latter had been silent ever since Ragnvindr had made that rather pointed jab about… one of her past partners, Jean thinks? It had been a little unclear without the context, but Gunnhildr clearly understood the significance of the insult, and is now sitting beside Amos with one arm around her shoulder for comfort. 

Barbara steps into view on Jean’s left, looking a bit unsure, but raising a hand to get the group’s attention regardless of her nerves. Given everything that the original revolutionaries of Mondstadt had inadvertently revealed today, Jean has a feeling that she knows exactly what her little sister is about to interject with. 

She shakes her head slightly, catching Barbara’s eye, but the younger girl quickly looks away, refusing to be deterred. 

“I have a question,” Barbara states. Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr both turn to her, as does Kaeya, and even Amos glances in her direction. Diluc is still behind Jean, looming ominously in the doorway as far as she knows, but she’s sure that he’s watching to see where this is going as well. “You said– you said that Venti was, was a god. I thought it was… Cecil, when he first appeared, because he looks so much like the statue in front of the church, but… that statue isn’t of Cecil, is it?” 

Gunnhildr nods. “The pose is oddly reminiscent of him, which makes me wonder if Venti actually had a hand in choosing the appearance, but… no, I don’t think it’s mean to be the bard. The statue was created after my time, but I’m quite certain that it depicts the Archon of Mondstadt, Lord Barbatos – and that is parum ventus. Venti, not Cecil.” 

Barbara falls silent for a moment, chewing on her lip as she thinks something over. Jean waits, ready to interject if needed, but she won’t steal her sister’s spotlight if she’s got something to say – and it seems that she does. 

“And did… did Venti become an Archon to protect Mondstadt?” 

“Yes, he did,” Amos confirms quietly. “He must have, because I cannot imagine him doing anything else. And… the Mondstadt here is so different from how it was under his rule, despite having been under the eye of a god for far longer.” 

Gunnhildr nods along in agreement. Ragnvindr only scoffs, shooting yet another dirty look at the second level of the tavern where Venti and Cecil have hidden themselves away. 

Jean, however, has another perspective to offer regarding this situation – one that supports Amos’ point, but with a bit more added context. “You should know that Barbatos doesn’t rule us like the other Archons do. The people hold the power in Mondstadt – Venti will protect us when needed, but for the most part, he seems perfectly content to stay anonymous amongst the citizens and allow us to govern ourselves.” 

“She’s right,” Kaeya agrees. Coming from him, especially with his well-hidden discomfort around all things theological, and with how quickly he’s already had to adjust to the idea of Venti being a god during the course of this conversation… that means a lot. “The tales I’ve heard of this storm god are the furthest thing from Venti that I can possibly imagine. I think he’d sooner let Rex Lapis bury him under Dragonspine than do something like that to Mondstadt.” 

(Jean is going to have to check on Kaeya later and make sure that he’s actually adjusted to the idea of Venti as Barbatos, and that he hasn’t just shoved it all down to process later – which, for Kaeya, would be never. That will have to wait, though, because there is no way that Jean is bringing that up with an audience.) 

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Ragnvindr declares, whirling around and heading for the door. “I don’t have to stand here and put up with this! I’m leaving!” 

And with that, he storms out of the bar, leaving nothing but an empty silence in his wake. 

For a moment, the quiet persists as they all share a series of looks, both disappointed and exasperated. Gunnhildr seems largely unsurprised by the man’s dramatics, whereas Amos just seems… tired. Though, considering how long Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr had outlived her by, it stands to reason that Amos wouldn’t know of all the arguments they’d apparently had after her death, and so wouldn’t have expected her old friend to act in such a petty, childish way. 

“I wonder where he’s going,” Barbara murmurs, casting a somewhat worried look in Jean’s direction. “He doesn’t know the landscape, does he? Won’t he get lost out there without a map or a guide?” 

Jean starts to nod, but then shakes her head. “He’s unfamiliar with the town, but… I have a feeling that trying to go after him may only make things worse. He doesn’t seem to want to listen to what we have to say right now.” 

Behind her, she hears movement, and Jean turns to see Diluc finally removing himself from the doorway as he heads for the bar’s exit. She furrows her brow, trying to figure out what he’s doing, only for her confusion to grow as she realises he’s going to head after Ragnvindr. 

“Master Diluc, you do realise that Jean just said it would be a poor idea to follow him, don’t you?” Kaeya points out. 

Diluc huffs. “You all had something to say already. I didn’t. I’m going to go find him, and this time, he’s going to listen to me whether he likes it or not.” 

He steps out of the bar and closes the door behind himself, once again plunging the room into silence, though this time it’s quickly broken by Kaeya’s heavy sigh. “What a dramatic man. He always has to have the last word, doesn’t he?” 

There’s a quiet note of bitterness under his tone, just small enough that not even Barbara would notice it, but Jean is practically an expert at reading Kaeya by now. His annoyance with Diluc’s impulsiveness, coupled with the stress of everything else that had happened today, is clearly getting to him. Jean had better intervene now before he decides to run off and bottle everything up for the next few years. 

“Well, clearly those two won’t be our problem for an hour or two,” Jean says with a sigh. “Barbara, could I trouble you to take Gunnhildr and Amos to Lisa at the Knights’ Headquarters? She’s already briefed on the situation, so she should be able to answer any questions you may have until we can talk later tonight.” 

Barbara nods, though she looks a bit unsure. “Of course, but… what are you going to be doing in the meantime, then?” 

Jean points upwards, in the vague direction of the spare room on the second floor, and Barbara’s eyes go wide. She nods in acknowledgement before politely ushering Amos and Gunnhildr out of the building, leaving Jean and Kaeya as the last two left. 

“I ought to head upstairs and check on Cecil and Venti, then,” Kaeya says, already turning away from her to head up the stairs, but Jean grabs his sleeve to stop him before he can get too far. 

“Actually,” she begins, “Cecil and Venti can wait. They have each other, and Cecil doesn’t seem like the type to let Venti wallow in misery, so they’ll be fine for a few more minutes. I wanted to talk to you first.” 

“Oh? And what is there to talk about?” 

Jean gives him a flat look. 

“You know, I really think we ought to check on those two, Ragnvindr was quite rude to Venti and–” 

“Sit down, Kaeya.” 

Kaeya, looking as though he’d rather swallow a geo slime, sits down. 

“You have clearly been having an exceptionally strange day, and I wouldn’t expect anyone, including you, to handle any of this well,” Jean begins. “You’re not getting out of this conversation, so we’ll start with one thing and work our way down the list.” 

“...List of what?” 

“We’ll start with Diluc, then. Unless you’d rather start with Venti?” 

Kaeya’s face pinches, and he shakes his head. “I’d rather not talk about any of it, to be frank, but… fine.” 

“I heard, earlier, that he referred to you as his brother. That was how he introduced you to Ragnvindr, wasn’t it? As an adoptive brother.” 

For a long moment, Kaeya is silent, but Jean has the patience of a saint (even moreso than Barbara does, some days) and is more than willing to wait. “...I don’t know what he wants from me.” 

Jean waits for a moment, wondering if he’ll continue. He didn’t sound like he was finished speaking, and sure enough, he wasn’t. 

“He says one thing, and does another,” Kaeya mutters. “Claims I’m no family of his, leaves his damn Vision behind to go Fatui hunting for four years, acts like he doesn’t even know me when he finally does come back, and now… I can’t tell if he actually wants me to be his brother again, or if he’s just… putting on a show for the man that looks like ou– his father.” 

That is… more than Jean was expecting him to actually reveal. She really thought she’d have to drag more of that out of him – seems he’s feeling particularly talkative today. “If you want to know what Diluc wants, you need to ask him. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a moron. He’s not going to get his shit together unless he absolutely has to, and with Ragnvindr’s whole… thing, he’s already pretty close to the edge. Push a little more, and I think you’ll find out exactly what he really wants.” 

“...And if I don’t know that I want to hear the answer?” 

“Then you’ll sit there wondering whether you have a brother or not until the day you die,” Jean shrugs. “Either you’re going to find out, or you’ll just keep thinking about it. We both know you’re not going to let it go.” 

Kaeya frowns, leaning back in his seat as he stares at some smudge on the wall, likely in an effort to avoid Jean’s eyes. “You know, I’m really beginning to hate when you act reasonable. Can’t you be a dramatic disaster like the rest of us?” 

“Of course not. Mondstadt would crumble in days if we all acted like you two.” 

A few beats of silence pass before Kaeya speaks again, and this time his tone is low. “Did… did Diluc know? About Venti?” 

Jean, for just a moment, doesn’t respond. 

Diluc had known about Venti’s second identity as an Archon, and Jean had, too. On the one hand, she can’t help but feel guilty for keeping such a vital secret from Kaeya, but on the other, it wasn’t her secret to tell. She couldn’t betray Venti’s trust like that, regardless of his status as her god – first and foremost, Venti is her friend, and Jean wouldn’t snitch on a friend. 

When Jean doesn’t answer, though, Kaeya continues. “Did you know, Jean?” 

“...Yes. I did.” Her response is quiet, but Kaeya hears it nonetheless. “I didn’t want to keep it from you, but it wasn’t my secret to share. Had Venti been cruel or callous, someone that we would need to worry about, then I may have shared, but… as it stands now, he’s my friend. I didn’t want to do that to him.” 

“I see,” Kaeya murmurs. “And… Diluc?” 

“I assume it’s the same for him, but you’d have to ask.” 

“How… how did you two find out, then? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Jean shakes her head. “No, it’s no trouble. It was actually during the Stormterror Incident – I don’t think he wanted to reveal himself, but he didn’t really have any other options at the time, and he was trusting us to keep it to ourselves after the fact. Though… given the current situation with the people from Old Mondstadt, I’m not sure that he’ll try and continue to keep himself concealed.” 

“He didn’t tell me,” Kaeya says. “I… for a moment, I wondered if he simply didn’t trust me enough, but if he didn’t even want to tell you…”  

“I can tell you now that it was never a matter of trust, or else you and Rosaria would have been the first to know. It’s… Venti seems to value anonymity. He doesn’t like being exalted or worshipped – he wants to live amongst his people as a mostly normal citizen, not be treated any differently just because of his status.” 

“He was… he had been worried that we would treat him differently, and that’s why he hid it?” 

Jean nods. “That’s my assumption, at least. He doesn’t exactly talk about this sort of thing.” 

“I’m going to have to talk to him too, aren’t I?” Kaeya sighs. 

“...Most likely. If he gets cagey and evasive, though, just know that he does that for all of us. He’s remarkably good at dodging questions.” 

Kaeya grimaces. “I was worried you’d say that.” 

oOoOo

Diluc walks down the familiar streets of Mondstadt today with one goal in mind: to find his ancestor and figure out what the fuck his problem is. 

He had thought, at first, that Ragnvindr would be… well, more like his father. Kaeya had been right about that, at least – despite their shared appearance (as well as a few other details – Diluc hadn’t forgotten Ragnvindr’s comment about Diluc and Kaeya reminding him of his own two sons), this Ragnvindr’s behaviour has been nothing like Crepus Ragnvindr’s. 

Diluc’s father would never insult Venti like that. Diluc’s father would never be so callous and cruel. Diluc’s father wouldn’t say such biting things to his own friends, and then storm off when things didn’t go his way. 

Diluc himself, though… even if Ragnvindr isn’t anything like Crepus, Diluc can’t deny that there apparently is one remaining member of the bloodline that had inherited the original Ragnvindr’s worst traits. 

Crepus would never act the way that Ragnvindr had, but Diluc has already done so. 

It had quickly become obvious back in the bar that Ragnvindr wouldn’t be listening to anyone else’s criticisms, no matter how reasonable or how calmly they were presented. He didn’t want to listen, so he wouldn’t. Diluc knows this because he’s done the exact same thing himself, and though he’d realised afterwards just how unhelpful it was, it’s a different thing altogether to see somebody else behaving so stupidly with no regard for others. 

God. Is this how Kaeya feels all the time? Like he’s watching a carriage crash in motion, knowing that it would be so easy to just grab the reins and steer it to safety, if only he could get up onto the driver’s seat to reach them? He must, if he’s truly paid that much attention to Diluc’s own actions. 

Kaeya really had been the only one trying to reconnect, hadn’t he? And Diluc, too caught up in his own problems, had simply brushed him off over and over until their relationship had been reduced to nothing more than petty snipes and Death After Noons slid across the counter for a few mora. They were supposed to be brothers, and yet, Diluc doesn’t think he’s been acting brotherly at all. 

Crepus would be so disappointed if he could see Diluc now. 

The thought hits him with all the force of a swinging claymore as he realises that, for all that Kaeya had done, he likely couldn’t say that Crepus would truly be disappointed in him. He had, after all, achieved everything that Crepus had wanted for his sons – a high position in the Knights, a powerful Vision, a city’s worth of friends and allies, and what had Diluc done? He’d quit his job as Cavalry Captain to go and commit murders in some foreign country, he’d thrown away his Vision after the ambition had drained from his soul, and he’d driven away the one who was meant to be his closest friend, the brother who would always stay by his side. 

“Master Diluc?” A voice from behind interrupts his thoughts and he turns around, finding himself face to face with a patrolling knight. “Didn’t you just come through here? Where were you rushing off to?” 

Diluc frowns. “I haven’t been this way at all today.” 

“Really? But I could have swore I just saw you…” 

…Adelinde had mistaken Ragnvindr for Crepus, as had most of the others at the Winery when he had first appeared. Could this knight have mistaken him for Diluc? “Where did you say you saw this man?” 

“Oh, uh, he went towards the bridge. I assumed it was you heading to the Winery. Is… is there an issue, or–?” 

“Nothing the knights need to concern themselves with. Good day.” 

Diluc hurries away before the man can respond, heading towards the city’s main gate. Hopefully, Ragnvindr hasn’t gotten too far beyond the outskirts of Mondstadt. If he has, then he could have gone anywhere by now – this may be one of the smaller nations, but it’s still quite easy to lose someone amongst the cliffs and mountains. 

Thankfully, he can see a head of familiar red hair as he approaches the bridge, although Ragnvindr is nearly out of sight amongst the trees past Mondstadt’s main road by now. Diluc runs to catch up, just barely managing to reach the other man before he disappears from view. 

“Ragnvindr,” Diluc calls, causing the man to stop in his tracks. It feels so odd to call someone else by his own name, but Ragnvindr did have it first. It can’t be helped. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to go wandering off in the woods alone?” 

Ragnvindr halts, but doesn’t turn around. “I think you’ll find I’m plenty old enough to traverse the wilds on my own.” 

“Really? From where I see it, you’ve been acting like quite a child.” 

That gets Ragnvindr’s attention. He whips around with a scowl, but the harsh expression falters as he sees Diluc’s face. 

(Clearly, Diluc isn’t the only one seeing someone else here.) 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Ragnvindr says stiffly, turning his head away again. “You should return to… Mondstadt. There was no need for you to follow me.” 

“If you have nothing to say, then you have time to listen,” Diluc states. 

Ragnvindr scoffs. 

“What’s your problem with Venti?” 

“My problem? Didn’t your brother already ask me that?” 

“He did, and I heard your answer. I think there’s more to it. Well?” 

For a moment, Ragnvindr is silent. He doesn’t seem inclined to respond, but that’s fine – he doesn’t need to. Diluc already knows the answer. 

“You’re holding a grudge because you feel that he betrayed you,” Diluc says. “And I doubt it helps that it happened right after Cecil’s death. You had nothing to do with everything you were feeling, so you took it all out on an easy target, and just… never stopped.” 

Ragnvindr turns further away from him, but Diluc can see the way his face twists at the accusations. He knows that Diluc is right, even if he won’t admit it. 

“Venti shouldn’t be the scapegoat for your problems. You were grieving, but… so was he. You’re mad that he took the bard’s face, but his intent was to make sure that Cecil wouldn’t be forgotten, not to try and replace him. You didn’t like that he became an Archon, but what choice did he have in the matter? Mondstadt likely would have been destroyed without a god to keep back the storms.” 

“He still–“ Ragnvindr starts, but then he falls silent again. After a moment of quiet, he continues, voice so low that Diluc can barely hear it. “Right after the bard and Amos had died. The disrespect–“ 

“Cecil clearly doesn’t have a problem with it. It isn’t about you, Ragnvindr – it’s about Cecil and Venti, and they need to sort that out for themselves.” 

“The bard was dead.”  

“And you’re acting like Venti was the one who killed him.” 

Ragnvindr fully turns away from him, starting to stalk off, but Diluc isn’t finished. He grabs the back of Ragnvindr’s coat, intent on preventing him from trying to run away again, and Ragnvindr whirls around to face him with a furious look. 

“Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do?” Ragnvindr snaps, yanking his coat away. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see that sprite–“ 

But then, he cuts himself off, fury melting away into something more similar to an empty horror as he stares at Diluc’s face. Ragnvindr almost seems to be looking through him, seeing someone else in place of the man he’s speaking to. Diluc waits for a moment to see if he’ll continue, but his mouth is firmly shut. 

“You don’t seem to understand just how long Venti has been around,” Diluc says quietly. He doesn’t break eye contact, counting on those ghosts that Ragnvindr is seeing to keep him from trying to run. “Can you really blame him for wanting his friend to be immortalised in the only way he knew how to? Your face was forgotten, Gunnhildr and Amos’ faces were forgotten. Cecil’s never was.” 

Ragnvindr falters, face falling as it finally clicks. “But then…” 

“Venti isn’t the same as us,” Diluc reiterates. “Think about it from his perspective. He took on Cecil’s face, and now look. Statues, carvings, every single piece of history depicting Barbatos will now depict Cecil as well. He made sure that the bard could never be forgotten for as long as Venti himself wasn’t forgotten.” 

For a moment, Ragnvindr stared at him, until he slowly backs away and turns to walk into the woods, his face never losing that expression of muted horror. This time, Diluc doesn’t stop him. 

oOoOo

Kaeya stands in the hallway of the second floor of Angel’s Share, staring at the closed door in front of him. If he goes back down without even knocking, Jean is going to drag him back up here herself and make him do it, but… he really doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. Or ever, but especially not right now. It’s all too fresh, too sharp, and maybe it will only get worse later, but right now, it’s as bad as he’s ever known. 

On the one hand, he could talk with one of the gods that destroyed his homeland and was pretending to be a human and his best friend (and was that all an act as well, or did Venti genuinely care about him?). On the other, he could go back downstairs and face the wrath of Jean Gunnhildr. 

…Well. That’s no question at all, is it? 

Kaeya raises a tightly clenched fist and knocks on the door exactly three times, pressing his nails into his palms as he waits for an answer. After a few moments, he hears footsteps, and the door swings open a second later. 

At first, he thinks that it’s Venti standing in front of him, but he quickly realises it isn’t as soon as he catches sight of the downright mutinous expression. 

“ What do you want?” Cecil snaps, standing in the doorway and looking very much as though it would take the entire force of the Knights of Favonius, including Grandmaster Varka’s expedition contingent, to move him. It's a shocking expression to see on a face such as Venti’s. “If you’re here to bother Venti, you had better come back later, or better, don’t come back at all.” 

“…I wanted to speak with him,” Kaeya says slowly, trying to get a glimpse into the room. Cecil notices his attempts, though, and shifts to block his view of the bed – though, not before Kaeya catches sight of the green fabric of Venti’s cloak. 

“Then you can wait,” Cecil decides, and he moves to shut the door. 

He doesn’t get very far, though, before a small voice mumbles something behind him, and he stops short. Cecil pauses to listen, irritation smoothing out into something far less jarring, and he turns back to Kaeya with far more ease than he had before. 

“Venti has no qualms with your presence,” he says primly, stepping aside to allow him entry. “But I will find a way to remove you if you upset him further. Mark my words.” 

“Consider them marked,” Kaeya replies, coming into the room and hearing Cecil shut the door behind him. 

Sure enough, Venti is curled up on the bed, wrapped in his green cloak as well as something brown that he recognises as the cloak Cecil had been wearing earlier in the bar. Kaeya hadn’t even realised that Cecil wasn’t wearing it when he’d answered the door. He sits up as Kaeya enters, pulling the back cloak tighter around himself as Cecil moves to sit beside him. 

“You have questions,” Venti states, and Kaeya nods. “Alright. Ask whatever you want, then.” 

Kaeya hesitates, trying to get his words together. It’s a bit difficult to, when the bard is still watching him. “Jean told me that she and Diluc already knew about… well. About you being Barbatos, I suppose.” 

Venti frowns. “They did. You… want to know why I didn’t tell you.” 

Kaeya nods. 

“It wasn’t– it sounds bad to say it this way, but it wasn’t about you. I like fitting amongst the normal folk without them knowing, because no one ever really treats me the same after they know. I mean, you… you heard what Ragnvindr said. You liked me as Venti. I don’t like to risk people thinking differently of Barbatos.” 

That makes a startling amount of sense, actually, now that Kaeya thinks about it. Venti seems to revel in being amongst the common folk, amongst his people. And while some of them wouldn’t really care if he was or wasn’t an Archon, others might never look at him the same way again. 

…Although, this also makes Kaeya think back to all of the downright blasphemous jokes that he, Venti, and Rosaria had often made. No wonder Venti had laughed so hard when Rosaria forgot Barbatos’ name. 

“In that case, I can see why you’d keep it to yourself,” Kaeya says slowly. “But you know, now that Mondstadt knows you as Venti, I can’t imagine they’ll be all that unpleasant if they knew you were also Barbatos.” 

At this, Venti shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t really mind people knowing. I don’t make a habit of shouting it from the rooftops, but if someone finds out, it’s not that big of a deal. And… anyways, if I don’t say something now, everyone is going to think that Cecil is a god, not me.” 

Ah, Kaeya had almost forgotten about all of that. Cecil had appeared right in front of the church beneath the statue, and according to the onlookers, it had been quite the show. He’s not surprised that they all mistook him for a deity, but he can also understand how that might be something that Cecil is rather opposed to. At least if Venti doesn’t mind revealing himself, Cecil won’t have to spend his life denying that he’s Mondstadt’s long-lost Archon. 

Cecil, however, seems unconcerned. “If they think I’m a god, then that will be their own problem. I’m sure they’ll figure out their mistake eventually, anyways, especially if word gets around that Venti and I are identical.” 

“I’m sure the people of Mondstadt will eventually sort things out, even if neither of you choose to say anything,” says Kaeya. 

“You speak of the people of Mondstadt as though you aren’t one,” Cecil notes, shaking his head. “Technically, haven’t at least a few of the ‘people of Mondstadt’ already figured it out, since you know and you are one of them?” 

“Ah, I was making a generalisation, but I suppose so, yes.” 

Venti, apparently uncaring of Kaeya’s desire to ignore the actual question implied, decides to jump in. “Kaeya is most certainly one of my people. He was adopted by a Mondstadtan family, he grew up in Mondstadt, and I say he’s one of mine. It doesn’t matter if someone was born here or if they came in later – Mondstadt keeps its own.” 

“Hm, but what about–” 

“It does not matter where one came from,” Venti repeats. “If you are Mondstadtan, then you are Mondstadtan. That’s all there is to it.” 

He gives Kaeya a rather pointed look, and the thought of a nation long gone flashes through Kaeya’s head. Venti clearly knows about his… unsavoury heritage, and doesn’t seem to care one bit. It’s just like he said – Kaeya is Mondstadtan, and that means he’s one of Venti’s. He won’t have to worry about being smote any time soon, it seems. 

Ah, Jean is going to be so proud of him for having such an emotionally open conversation. He is not looking forward to when she forces him into the next one. 

Chapter Text

Ragnvindr has a lot to think about. 

After what the bard, Cecil, had said – after what his own descendants had said, rather – he had found himself adrift in the woods surrounding Mondstadt, walking beneath unfamiliar trees as he attempts to clear his mind and get his thoughts in order. 

Had his anger towards the sprite really been so… unjustified? It had seemed so rational, so righteous, at the time. And yet, Cecil had attacked him over it. Kaeya and Diluc had lectured him like a child, and Ragnvindr should feel like he’s in the right here, like these three children are simply spouting nonsense, but… it makes a surprising amount of sense.  

Gunnhildr had never said anything like that. Would Ragnvindr have even listened if she had? Maybe he would have realised sooner that he was wrong, that he was only dragging out his grief and subjecting the sprite to all of the anger that came with being unable to save Amos and Cecil. But no, he can’t blame Gunnhildr for not telling him sooner. She tried to convince him he was wrong for decades, even if it only devolved into pointless, petty arguments in the end. No, Ragnvindr should have been able to see for himself that his anger was unjustified and misplaced. 

The only true villain here was Decarabian, and he had died by their hands in the name of freedom. Diluc had been right – Ragnvindr truly was treating Venti like a scapegoat when he found no other outlet for his anger. 

He… should probably apologise, shouldn’t he? But it has been thousands of years, from what his descendants and the sprite had said, and Ragnvindr had already said more than enough today when he’d snapped at Venti and Amos in the bar. He’ll need to apologise to her, too, but would either of them even want to hear it? 

The sun hits his eyes, bright enough to feel blinding, as he walks out from under the cover of the trees. Ragnvindr frowns, squinting up at the sky, but it’s such a beautiful day that he can’t even be that upset. The sky is awash with the pinks and golds of sunset, without a cloud in sight, and only the gentlest of breezes whisk through the grasses around him. He wonders if this is Venti’s doing – if he had calmed even the wild winds of the highlands for them. 

It must have been Venti who cleared the sky of clouds, at least, knowing that the bard would want to see the sky after having been denied it for so many years. It’s only fitting that Cecil’s first view of it would be perfectly pristine. 

Ragnvindr looks away from the sky and sighs, shaking his head as he continues to walk forwards. He’ll wait until tomorrow morning to go back, and perhaps then everyone will have calmed down a bit. He’s… hoping to avoid another apple to the face. The bard had been incensed over his treatment of the sprite. 

There’s supposed to be a temple up ahead, isn’t there? Perhaps he can slip inside and rest there for the night. Even if it’s been centuries, stone holds up fairly well over time. There ought to be at least a few intact rooms that he can hole up in until the sun rises again. 

With that destination in mind, he hurries along, heading up the hills until he starts to see the weathered white stone of the temple come into view. It’s eroded quite a bit over time, but it’s still recognisable, and it seems that most of the main architecture is intact. 

Ragnvindr approaches the temple, picking his way over the ridge as he heads for where the main entrance used to be. He’ll just find same place inside to rest for the night, and then in the morning– 

Before he can even finish his thought, Ragnvindr feels a rush of heat go past his face as a projectile slams into the ground beside him, exploding on impact and throwing him backwards. He manages to land on his feet after a few stumbles, but the initial strike had left him reeling – what the fuck was that? The temple doesn’t usually attack its visitors, to his knowledge! 

Ragnvindr whips around, looking in the direction of the projectile, only to pale as he sees some sort of rusted metal monstrosity rising from behind the barrier of worn temple columns, with long segmented limbs and one glowing orange eye right in the center of its makeshift head. It’s a fearsome contraption, the likes of which he’s never seen before, and it’s coming right towards him.  

He doesn’t have a weapon. 

When he had woken up above that winery, Ragnvindr’s claymore had not been with him. He is, effectively, utterly defenseless against the flying explosives that this cobbled-together monster seems to employ. 

Ragnvindr’s eyes flick from side to side as he searches for an escape route, but the metal beast’s limbs are too long – any attempt to bolt would be cut off instantly by a strike from one of those piecemeal talons, and just as he thinks this, the monster brings one of its arms down in an earthshaking hit. Ragnvindr barely manages to dart to the side in time to dodge, but he still feels the wind on his cheek from the near-miss. 

Fuck, he’s not going to last long at all if he can’t find some sort of weapon to fend this thing off, but where the hell is he supposed to get a claymore in the middle of a dilapidated ruin in the middle of the highlands?! 

Ragnvindr is never going to get a chance to apologise, because he’s going to die here. 

oOoOo

Venti goes still when he hears the chimes of his siblings outside the window. 

He had just been talking to both Kaeya and Cecil, but whatever was being said, he can’t remember it now. His siblings – and quite a few of them, at that – sound worried, and they’re calling him to follow. Something near the Thousand Winds Temple… with Ragnvindr?  

“I have to go,” Venti says abruptly, standing up and heading for the window. “I won’t be long, I’ll be right back. I have to go make sure Ragnvindr doesn’t get exploded by a Ruin Guard.” 

“You have to what?” Cecil asks, but all Venti can offer him is a sheepish wave as he leaps out of the window, dissolving into a wisp of wind as soon as his feet leave the floor. Behind him, he can practically feel the bafflement oozing from the room he’d just vacated, but hopefully, Kaeya will be able to explain things to Cecil until Venti comes back. 

And he will be coming back, as quickly as possible. Venti refuses to leave Cecil for any longer than necessary, but bringing him to a fight with a Ruin Guard would be… extremely inadvisable, especially since he doesn’t have a weapon right now. 

‘Where is he?’ He asks his siblings, the wind leading him up to the temple faster than any bird can fly. ‘Please, take me to him.’  

Because even if Ragnvindr hates him, even if he continues to spit insults and start arguments, he’s still one of Venti’s people. Venti wouldn’t leave anyone to die, no matter what they think of him. Ragnvindr isn’t quite one of his children, not when he had been a leader of Mondstadt’s people before Venti had even taken a human form, but he is one of Venti’s nonetheless. He cares about Ragnvindr, just like he cares about Amos and Gunnhildr. He won’t leave him here to die. 

He reaches the temple in moments, and it’s immediately obvious where Ragnvindr is, given that only one spot near the temple is currently going up in flames. There’s a dilapidated Field Tiller stomping around as Ragnvindr struggles to evade – all Venti can see of him is a head of red hair, darting back and forth in a series of attempts to avoid the automaton’s various strikes. 

Taking down a half-broken robot like this is nothing for Venti. He appears in the sky and drops down in a plunging attack, the force of his heel knocking the Ruin Guard’s head sideways as Venti bounces off of it and lands on his feet. His bow has already manifested, and he knocks an arrow of pure Anemo as he takes aim at the creature’s eye, counting on the swirl reaction from the flames surrounding it to be the last push needed to take the monstrosity down for good. 

His arrow strikes true, right in the center of the Ruin Guard’s eye, and the resulting burst of Anemo draws in the surrounding flames in a Pyro swirl reaction. The automaton collapses with a metallic screech, its artificial lights slowly fading into darkness as its body begins to crumble and dissolve. 

Venti holds his bow at the ready for another moment or two as he watches the thing vanish, just in case it tries to get back up again (or in case it had a friend hiding somewhere, though he hadn’t seen anything when he’d arrived), but it stays firmly dead. He returns his bow to its intangible subspace with a soft sigh, turning away from the Ruin Guard’s body to give a shellshocked Ragnvindr a cursory once-over. 

“You’re not injured, are you?” Venti asks, and Ragnvindr shakes his head. His jaw has fallen slightly, giving him a look of numb shock. “Oh, good. Gunnhildr would be very worried if you’d gotten hurt.” 

Venti pointedly doesn’t mention just how worried he would be if Ragnvindr got hurt – regardless of how true it is, he surely wouldn’t want to hear it. 

“Do you know how to get back to Mondstadt from here? It isn’t really safe to stay out in the countryside if you don’t know the land,” Venti continues. 

Ragnvindr clears his throat, finally closing his mouth as he hesitates and tries to figure out how to respond. “I… have a vague idea. It’s that way, right?” 

He points in what he assumes is the direction of Mondstadt, which is… fairly close, but would probably lead him closer to Dawn Winery. The upper levels of the city can’t be seen from below the trees here, so Venti supposes it’s only fair that Ragnvindr is taking his best (if incorrect) guess. 

“Closer to that way, actually,” Venti corrects, nudging his hand to the side with a brush of Anemo. 

Ragnvindr stares off into the distance for a moment, and Venti wonders if he’s supposed to leave now. He did what he came here to do, didn’t he? Is he… done here? Should he leave now? 

He shifts, ready to disappear into the trees and return to Cecil, but Ragnvindr mumbles something, causing him to stop. “Hm?” 

“I– erm. Walk with me?” Ragnvindr says stiltedly, and Venti cocks his head, confused. “I, ah. Don’t want to get lost. On the way back, I mean.” 

“Oh. Alright.” 

Venti moves forward and Ragnvindr falls into step beside him, heading back to the main path that will return them to Mondstadt’s capital. An awkward silence falls between them, but Venti isn’t eager to break it, not if it will only cause another argument. 

“I’m sorry,” Ragnvindr says suddenly. 

Venti stops. 

There’s no way he just heard that, right? Ragnvindr wouldn’t just… apologise out of nowhere. He wouldn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “For being so cruel to you back then.” 

Venti turns, meeting his eyes and seeing nothing but sincerity there. “...What?” 

“I shouldn’t have… blamed you for everything. I was grieving for the bard, but… well, so were you. None of what I got mad over was actually your fault, and I– I didn’t think about that until later. I wouldn’t think about it.” 

“Are you dying again?” Venti asks, brow furrowed in concern. That would be the only logical reason for this sudden emotional epiphany. 

Ragnvindr scowls. “I’m not dying, you dolt, I’m trying to be nice. You deserve an apology after all– stop that, I just said I'm not dying!” 

He waves off Venti’s attempts to check his pulse, but doesn’t manage to dodge in time to avoid Venti grabbing his face and bringing it down to where he can see it, giving him the chance to check Ragnvindr’s temperature and pupils. He could have floated up to Ragnvindr’s height, but why would he do that when he could bring Ragnvindr down to his level? 

“You might be concussed,” Venti notes, tilting his face from side to side. “Did any of the debris hit you in the head? You’re not seeing double, are you?” 

“How are you this strong when you barely weigh anything?” Ragnvindr mutters with a frown. “I’m not concussed. I’m legitimately trying to apologise.” 

“Well, that makes no sense at all.” 

Ragnvindr sighs, finally managing to pull his face away as his expression takes on a note of guilt. “I’m… I’m aware that I’ve been callous in the past, but my descendants both said some things to me that made me reconsider. I hadn’t realised how unfair I was being to you– and to Amos too, honestly. I shouldn’t have brought up her ex.” 

“That was a bit uncalled for,” Venti agrees. “...I’m sorry, did you say your descendants spoke with you?” 

“Kaeya and Diluc, yes. They were both rather upset on your behalf.” 

Venti grimaces. He had kind of been hoping that no one had overheard Ragnvindr’s comments, but clearly that had been a pipe dream from the start. Cecil’s protectiveness had been bad enough (although, he can’t really be upset when it led to him being carried off like a maiden), but Diluc and Kaeya together is going to be a mess and a half to handle. 

He would be hoping for Jean to keep them in check, but honestly, he’s just surprised that Jean didn’t chew Ragnvindr out, too. She may seem nice and calm on the surface, but she can be quite fierce when she’s angry, just like her ancestor. 

“You don’t have to forgive me, and I don’t expect you to,” Ragnvindr continues. He’s looking straight ahead, not meeting Venti’s searching eyes as they walk. “Just… know that I am sorry, and I won’t insult you like that again. It was wrong of me, and I shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” 

Venti… doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. He simply keeps walking beside Ragnvindr, letting the silence fall between them again. 

oOoOo

Venti is gone. 

His sprite has simply vanished into thin air. This isn’t the first time he’s done this, but it’s the first time he’s done it since Cecil had come back to life, and it’s also the first time he’s done it after saying something as concerning as that. 

For a moment, Cecil simply stares at the open window as though Venti will reappear any minute now. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t. 

Cecil jumps up from where he’d been sitting on the bed and darts out the door, followed closely by a concerned Kaeya as he heads down to the first level of the tavern. Gunnhildr’s descendant, Jean, is still waiting there, and she looks up as she hears them coming down the stairs, though her face twists into a frown when she realises that Venti isn’t with them. 

“Where’s Venti? Is he in your cloak?” She asks, looking to Cecil. 

Cecil shakes his head. “He disappeared. He said–” 

Before he can finish, though, the door to the bar swings open, revealing an exasperated Diluc. He steps inside and shuts the door behind himself, collapsing into the nearest chair with a sigh. “Well, hopefully that will have gotten some sense into him.” 

“You spoke with Ragnvindr?” Jean asks, and Diluc nods. 

“Yeah. Might’ve chewed him out a bit, but… well, he had it coming. If he didn’t want to get lectured, he should have been nicer to Venti.” 

“Did Ragnvindr look exploded at all when you saw him?” Kaeya questions. 

Diluc turns to him, giving him a weird look. “...No?” 

“Why would he look exploded?” Jean’s brow furrows. “You didn’t send Klee after him, did you? I don’t know when you would have found the time to do that, but…” 

“Is Klee a Ruin Guard?” Cecil asks. “Because that’s what Venti was worried about when he just up and vanished a minute ago. He said that Ragnvindr was about to get himself exploded, and then he went out the window and disappeared.” 

Jean and Diluc both pale, sharing a look before the former responds. “No, Klee isn’t a Ruin Guard. She’s– you’ll meet her at some point, I’m sure. You’ll understand then. But more to the point, did Venti go to rescue Ragnvindr from a Ruin Guard?”  

“I don’t know what that is,” Cecil reminds her, “but presumably, yes.” 

Jean turns to Diluc with an accusatory look. “Did you just leave him out there in the wilderness to find his own way back?” 

“He seemed like he could handle himself, I thought–” 

“He doesn’t have a weapon, Diluc!” 

Diluc opens his mouth, then pauses, considering this. “Fuck, I forgot that he wouldn’t have been keeping one in his Vision. Everyone else who traipses around at night always has a weapon on them, and he seemed competent enough, so I just thought that… I don’t know, I figured he could take care of himself.” 

“Clearly not,” Kaeya responds. “We don’t need to be worried about Venti, do we?” 

Jean shakes her head. “No, Venti will be fine. We should head to the Knights’ Headquarters and meet up with the rest of the group so we can inform them of what’s going on – I had Lisa and Barbara keeping an eye on them, but Barbara is probably getting tired now, and if I make Lisa babysit for too long, she’ll start hiding my pens out of spite.” 

Cecil frowns, wondering who this ‘Lisa’ is and why that would be such a problem, but he elects to ask about that later. Right now, he has bigger issues – namely, reuniting with Venti again. “Will Venti know where we are if we go somewhere else?” 

“He should,” Jean muses, “but just in case, I’ll send him a message. Diluc, do you have any paper?” 

Diluc nods, retrieving her a sheet from behind the bar. Strange place to keep it, but who is Cecil to judge? Jean pens a short note, then folds the paper up into an odd sort of triangular shape before taking it to the open window and tossing it out. The winds catch the folded shape’s wings, carrying it up into the darkened sky until it vanishes amongst the shadows, presumably to be brought to wherever Venti is. It’s a clever way to carry messages – relying on the winds to take them where they need to go. It never would have worked under Decarabian’s rule, but here and now, the winds are governed not by a dictator, but by his sprite (and his sprite’s siblings, of course). 

“There, now Venti should be able to find us at the Knights’ Headquarters. Does anyone need to grab anything before we leave?” 

“Oh, my cloak,” Cecil realises, just as Diluc says something about a coat and disappears into the back of the tavern. Kaeya takes a seat and motions for Cecil to go on, obviously ready to wait, so Cecil runs back upstairs and grabs his cloak, pulling it around himself before returning to the main room. 

Jean leads the quartet out of the bar and through the darkened streets of the city, nodding politely to the patrolling knights that they pass. Few people are out at this hour, but even now, nearly every building has a handful of open windows that allow the lights and sounds from within to stream out into the air. A soft breeze blows through, rustling past Cecil’s braids and causing a ripple to go through his cloak. 

They reach the Knights’ Headquarters quickly enough, heading up a few flights of stone stairs before reaching a tall, angular building with two knights guarding the entrance. Both nod to Jean as she approaches the doors, although they do share a significant glance as they spot Diluc and Cecil. Cecil can understand why his own presence would cause some confusion, whether they’ve mistaken him for Venti as a bard or as a god, but he’s not sure why Diluc would spark the same reaction. Is there some sort of strife between him and the knights? Why else would they be so surprised and confused to see him enter their headquarters? 

Once inside, Jean ushers them into an empty room that she identifies only as ‘her office’ before briefly vanishing through another door, returning a few moments later with Amos and Gunnhildr. Barbara appears briefly as well, mumbling something to Jean that Cecil can’t hear before departing with a wave. 

He still hasn’t seen this mysterious pen-stealing ‘Lisa’ that Jean had mentioned, but Cecil is sure he’ll have plenty of time to meet her later. 

Cecil takes a seat on one of the plush couches off to the side, joined shortly by Amos on one side and Kaeya on the other. Gunnhildr takes the armchair a few feet away, and Diluc opts to stand, which earns him a tired look from Jean. As they wait for Venti and Ragnvindr to arrive, Cecil examines his surroundings – Jean’s office is nicely decorated, with dozens of bookshelves, a hand-drawn map hung in front of one of the walls over a table of notes and diagrams, and plenty of comfortable furniture. The floor is mostly covered by a pretty red rug, and the entire back wall of the office is nothing but ornate glass windows. 

He looks up at the ceiling, taking in the artistic pattern, only to find that there seems to be a sword embedded in those wooden tiles, right above the door. How long has that been there? Does Jean… know that there’s a sword in her ceiling? 

Cecil glances over at her, trying to figure out if she’s seen it or not, but she’s already sitting at her desk with her nose down in a stack of papers. He’ll save that question for later, then. 

oOoOo

Jean will forever be grateful for the amount of seating in her office, because while most of the time it’s wildly impractical to have so many couches and chairs, sometimes it really comes in handy. For instance, it’s coming in handy right now, given that she has a total of eight people in her office, counting the two that just entered. 

“Venti, you’re back!” Cecil perks up as his lookalike enters the room, and Venti in turn makes a beeline for him without a second thought. Venti pauses once he reaches the couch, finding that all three seats are already taken, but instead of being reasonable and pulling up another chair, he decides instead that the best course of action here is to shove himself between Cecil and Kaeya, mushing the poor Cavalry Captain against the sofa’s arm. 

Now nestled into his newly claimed seat, Venti presses up against Cecil’s side, looking startlingly content. “I said I’d come back, didn’t I? And I made sure Ragnvindr didn’t get blown up, either, so now he can say what he needs to say to Amos.” 

Ragnvindr, still standing in the doorway, clears his throat as his expression turns sheepish. “I, ah. Amos, I apologise for… bringing up your ex like that. It was rude and uncalled for, and I won’t do it again.” 

On Cecil’s other side, Jean watches as Amos’ brows vanish beneath her bangs, surprise overtaking her face. She glances at Venti, who gives her a subtle nod, before looking back to Ragnvindr. “...Apology accepted?” 

“Since when do you do apologies?” Gunnhildr asks bluntly, and Ragnvindr grimaces, jerking his head towards Diluc. 

“He said a few things that made me reconsider.” 

“Didn’t Kaeya speak with you first?” Diluc points out, raising one very judgemental eyebrow. 

“...Yes. Him, too.” 

Jean ignores the look Kaeya is giving Diluc in favour of turning to Ragnvindr, and tipping her head towards one of the empty chairs. “Have a seat, if you’re done with your apologies. We have things to discuss.” 

“Right, right.” Ragnvindr sits in one of the armchairs near Gunnhildr, leaning against the armrest in the exact same way that Diluc does when he’s trying to be dramatic. 

“Before we get into that, I’d like to know why Venti thought you were going to be exploded,” Cecil pipes up. “What exactly were you doing out there?” 

Ragnvindr grimaces. “Found some horrible automaton thing near the Thousand Winds Temple. Oh, the Temple’s still there, by the way – it’s a bit run-down, but mostly intact. Anyways, the automaton kept trying to shoot explosives at me, and I didn’t have a weapon, so…” 

“I… forgot you wouldn’t have a Vision to keep your weapon in,” Diluc coughs, looking a tad guilty. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have left you in the woods.” 

Cecil frowns, raising his hand. “What’s a Vision?” 

“Oh, right!” Venti interrupts, closing his hands for a moment before opening them again with a soft burst of Anemo-teal light. In his palms sits a Mondstadtan Anemo Vision, its glass aglow with the light of its element. “Here, this is for you!” 

And he hands it to Cecil. 

For a moment, the room is completely and utterly silent. Cecil looks down at the newly bestowed Vision in his hands as Jean mentally recalibrates her entire worldview to fit the fact that the Anemo Archon does, in fact, personally bestow Anemo Visions. 

“Thank you,” Cecil says, almost reflexively. “What is it?” 

“It’s a Vision! It lets you use an element – in this case, Anemo. Diluc, Jean, and Kaeya all have them, too, and so does Barbara – the girl from earlier.” 

Cecil nods in understanding, turning the Anemo Vision over to inspect it. “You have one of these, too?” 

“Oh, no, mine is just for show. Keeps people from questioning why I’m using Anemo, y’know?” 

“So… it’s not matching jewelry?” 

“It… can be?” 

“Good.” Cecil nods, looking pleased. 

“I’m sorry,” Kaeya interrupts, “are we just going to brush past the fact that Venti pulled that thing out of nowhere?” 

Jean would very much like to brush past that, in fact. She’s still hoping that she can live under the illusion that maybe Venti doesn’t hand out every Anemo Vision personally. Maybe this was a special case, since he’s already right here. Maybe her Vision wasn’t personally bestowed unto her by God himself. 

“Well, it’s an Anemo Vision,” Amos points out. “Wouldn’t the Anemo Archon be giving those out?” 

“Well, he doesn’t usually do it personally!”  

“What? Yes, I do,” Venti corrects with a frown. “Just because you didn’t see me do it doesn’t mean I didn’t. I was still handing out Anemo Visions while I was dormant, wasn’t I?” 

“Did you give me my Vision?” Jean asks, since she’s apparently feeling like putting herself in distress today. If he says yes– 

“Of course I did. It’s an Anemo Vision, and I’m the Anemo Archon. I remember your ambition, just like with every Anemo Vision I bestow.” 

Jean pales. That’s so embarrassing. God himself had to approve her ambition to give her a Vision. She’s not going to think about that any longer, or she just may pass out right here. 

“Anyways,” Diluc says, quite loudly and pointedly, casting Jean a slightly concerned glance, “didn’t we convene here to have an actual conversation about something important?” 

“Right, yes, we did,” Jean agrees, taking the offered out and changing the subject immediately. “It’s regarding the official story of how exactly you all came to be here – essentially, whether we’re going to tell the truth, and let people know that the founders of Mondstadt have somehow returned to life, or if we’re going to think up a plausible lie to tell instead.” 

Gunnhildr is the first to respond, shaking her head. “I’d prefer honesty, all things considered. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t really care all that much if people know I helped found this city. They knew in the past, and it was fine then.” 

“I’m in favour of honesty as well,” Amos agrees. “I don’t think we could stick to a story well enough to hide the truth, and I don’t think it would actually help anything, either. I mean, what reason would we have to lie?” 

“It could help you blend in better, if you don’t want people asking you questions or treating you strangely,” Venti points out, shrugging his shoulders. “Although, I don’t know that we’d actually be able to hide it. If I reveal that I’m Barbatos to get people to stop thinking Cecil is Barbatos, then that’s only going to raise the question of who Cecil really is. It’s not very common for random teenagers to be identical to gods.” 

Cecil nods. “He’s got a point. It’s not like people aren’t going to notice that I’m identical to Venti, regardless of whether we tell the truth or not – they’ll see it either way.” 

“If you’re all in favour, then I am as well,” Ragnvindr decides. “No reason to hide, and I’m sure Mondstadt will adapt. We’re a resilient people.” 

“Alright, then it’s settled,” Jean says. “We’ll tell them the truth.” 

oOoOo

Diluc’s not particularly interested in all of the paperwork Jean is discussing with the newly revived folks from Old Mondstadt. Sure, he understands why they need a paper trail to prove that they’re legal citizens of Mondstadt, but that doesn’t mean he wants to stand here and listen to them talk about it. 

Instead, he’s filling his time with watching Kaeya, Venti, and Cecil on the couch across the room. He’s trying to keep an eye on Kaeya and make sure he doesn’t manage to disappear before Diluc can talk to him, but… he’s also kind of intrigued by whatever Venti and Cecil are doing to amuse themselves. It seems like Venti is trying to teach Cecil to use his new Vision, but it doesn’t look like they’re doing a very good job of it. Venti has never used a Vision before, and it really shows, because he seems to have no idea how to tell Cecil what to do with his. 

Venti seems to be trying to get Cecil to summon a little ball of wind, based on what he’s demonstrating (and the wild hand motions that have been going along with it), but Cecil is obviously not having any luck. The space between his palms stays stubbornly empty, despite his best efforts. 

Eventually, Venti decides that the best course of action here is to summon a wind ball of his own, and deposit it into Cecil’s waiting hands, which… does not go well at all. 

Cecil yelps, yanking his hands away from the vortex he had just been handed, and in an instant, the wind rushes throughout Jean’s office, blowing paperwork everywhere as the stormeye expands. Luckily, Venti manages to grab it before it gets too big, quashing it in his hands and effectively removing the wild winds that had just spawned, but not before all of the adults in the room are looking at the pair with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. 

“Can you two do that somewhere else?” Jean sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she looks at the paperwork strewn all over the floor. “Perhaps not in my office?” 

Venti lets out a sheepish laugh that’s echoed a moment later by Cecil. Truly, they are a matched set. 

“I would take that as our sign to save the rest of this paperwork for later,” Amos suggests. “Was there anything else we needed to establish, just while we’re all in the same place?” 

“Actually, yes.” Diluc crosses his arms, leaning back against the bookshelf he’s claimed as his spot. “What I’d like to know is how exactly these four got here in the first place. To my knowledge, we’ve never had any time-travel in Mondstadt, and we certainly don’t get dead people reviving themselves on a regular basis. This is… unusual, to say the least, if not downright strange.” 

“Well…” Venti pipes up, “the more I think about all of this, the more I think that this whole situation has my mother's fingerprints all over it.” 

“You have a mother?!”

“What the hell is that even supposed to mean?” 

The room explodes into chaos as the news sinks in, everyone talking over each other as they struggle to process what Venti had just inadvertently revealed. Notably, though, Amos makes a noise of understanding somewhere in the back of the commotion. After a few seconds, Venti holds up his hands for quiet and continues. 

“Yes, I have a mother – as much as any elemental being with a feminine-presenting creator has a mother, I suppose.” Venti smiles. “I think Amos has figured it out, though. Tell me, Amos, what were the Thousand Winds called in those books of yours?” 

“The Winds of Time, or the Children of Istaroth,” Amos says without hesitation. “Though, information about Istaroth was rare, even in the library I had access to.” 

“Who the hell is Istaroth?” Diluc mutters, shooting Jean an inquisitive glance. She shrugs in response, just as lost as he is. 

Kaeya tuts. “His mother, obviously. Keep up, won’t you?” 

“She’s my mother, the Goddess of Time, and one of the four Shades of Celestia,” Venti explains. “She made the Thousand Winds, and I am one of those. All of the others – all nine hundred and ninety-nine of them – are my siblings.” 

“You have siblings?!”  

Cecil sighs. “Didn’t we just go through this already?” 

“Well, forgive me for being a little surprised,” Kaeya sniffs. 

“ Anyways,” Venti interrupts, “am I correct in assuming that all of you came back from the moment of your deaths?” 

He points to the revived quartet, and they all nod. 

“Right. And you’re all young again, yes? Those of you who had gotten to old age, at least. Everyone seems to be around the age that they were during the initial battle, from what I can see.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Gunnhildr agrees. “Ragnvindr and I certainly didn’t look like this before we ended up here and now.” 

“In that case, my suspicions are confirmed!” Venti chirps. “The only domain being messed with here is that of time, which belongs solely to my mother. She’s the only one who could’ve done this, and I’m her favourite, so there shouldn’t be a catch or anything. You’re all here to stay!” 

“You’re… her favourite?” Jean says weakly, and Venti nods, looking quite pleased. 

“It’s more by process of elimination than anything else. I do love my siblings, but the wind sprites function as something of a hivemind, on principle. Since I split off from that, I am the only one who’s unique, and as such, I am the favourite.” 

Cecil nods, apparently taking this as completely normal and not at all bizarre. “That makes sense. I always wondered why you were the only sprite that could talk.” 

“I’m also the favourite of my siblings, so it’s only fair,” Venti shrugs. 

Diluc squints, resisting the urge to glance at Kaeya. “I… don’t think that’s how that works.” 

“Well, how would you know?” 

This time, he really does look at Kaeya, only to find that Kaeya is pointedly looking away from him. How rude. 

oOoOo

As soon as the conversation has ended (by which he means, everyone finally calmed down about Venti’s baffling family tree), Kaeya is on his feet and heading right out the door. If he’s the first one out, then hopefully– 

He shouldn’t have hoped. Diluc is already there, lying in wait like some kind of ambush predator, and he grabs Kaeya by the back of the cape before he can get past the threshold, yanking him back. 

“I wanted to talk to you before you went anywhere,” Diluc says stiffly. 

Kaeya tugs at his cape, trying to wrestle it out of the other’s tight grip, but to no avail. He feels like a kitten that’s been scruffed – is this what Diluc is always doing to Venti? “Consider that I would rather not.” 

“I’ve considered, and I reject this. We need to talk, Kaeya.” 

Behind him, he can feel Jean practically burning a hole in the back of his head from how hard she’s glaring at him. She’s going to toss him out her window if he tries to get out of this conversation – he can just feel it. 

Kaeya sighs, ceasing his struggles and allowing Diluc to hold him by the back of the cape, deciding that it simply isn’t worth the effort to try and pull away. Diluc wields a claymore, after all, there’s no way Kaeya is breaking his grip. “Fine. We’ll talk. Where are we going?” 

“Library?” Diluc suggests. “It’s late in the evening, so Lisa will have already gone home by now. Nobody should be in there.” 

“Alright, then. Lead the way.” 

Kaeya follows closely behind Diluc as he steps out of Jean’s office, heading across the hall to the vast library that Lisa has curated over the years. The door shuts behind them as they both head inside, effectively cutting them off from any eavesdroppers that might be wandering the halls at this late hour. Diluc takes a seat at one of the tables, motioning for Kaeya to join him, so he does. 

For a moment, an awkward silence descends over the pair as Kaeya does his best to look anywhere but Diluc – the stairs, the floor, the bookshelves surrounding them. Eventually, though, the familiar sound of Diluc clearing his throat draws his attention back. 

“I need to apologise,” Diluc starts quietly, “for a lot of things, actually. I’ve… had a lot of time to think. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did on that night, I shouldn’t have left Mondstadt without a word for all those years, and I shouldn’t have waited so long to apologise, either.” 

What. 

Diluc is… apologising? To him?  

“Is Jean forcing you to do this?” Kaeya asks. “Because she’s kind of forcing me to do this. I think she’d throw me out of a window if I tried to get out of having this conversation.” 

Diluc’s brow furrows. “No, Jean’s not… you think she’d throw you out of a window?”  

Kaeya shrugs. 

“I’m not being forced to say this,” Diluc reiterates. “I should have said this a long time ago, but I didn’t, and now I’m saying it properly. I’m sorry, Kaeya. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I left, and I’m sorry it took me this long to say it. You don’t have to forgive me, but–” 

“You don’t have to force yourself to do this just because you think you have to,” Kaeya interrupts. “It’s– fine. We’ve got a good equilibrium–” 

“I don’t want an equilibrium, I want my brother back.” 

Kaeya stops short. 

“Wait– I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Diluc trails off, face twisting in displeasure. “You don’t have to–” 

I didn’t mean it, is what he means to say. You don’t have to be my brother.  

For a moment there, Kaeya had hoped– but no. Diluc made his feelings clear a long, long time ago. 

“It’s fine, Diluc,” Kaeya repeats. “Just– leave it, okay? There’s no need to pretend–” 

“I’m not pretending.” 

“Sure, you aren’t.” 

“I’m not.”  

Kaeya tuts. “You made your opinion of me quite clear. There’s no need to go back on that now – if you’re trying to make a nice facade for that ancestor of yours, then you don’t need to worry about me. I won’t get in your way.” 

“That is not the point,” Diluc insists. “I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, he was doing the same thing to Venti that I’ve been doing to you, I don’t–” 

He cuts himself off, but the damage is already done. Kaeya had heard perfectly well what he’d just said – that to Diluc, the situation with Ragnvindr and Venti is, somehow, comparable to that of himself and Kaeya. And yet, he’d been so furious with Ragnvindr, to the point that he’d somehow chewed him out enough to get Ragnvindr to apologise – so how could he possibly see those two situations in the same light? 

“You were angry with Ragnvindr,” Kaeya points out. 

Diluc nods. “I’m aware.” 

“So then…” 

“He was doing exactly what I’d been doing for years,” Diluc mutters. “Taking his grief out on the most convenient target. He grieved the bard, so he took it out on Venti. I was… still am grieving m–our father, and–” 

“That’s different. Venti never– he wasn’t a traitor. ” 

“And? Neither are you.” 

“That’s not what you thought back then.” 

“Back then, when I was eighteen and I’d just had to kill our father?” Diluc hisses. “Is it any wonder I wasn’t thinking straight? You were a child, Kaeya, you couldn’t have been a traitor if you wanted to, and I know you didn’t want to. No kid is that good of an actor, not even you.” 

“Please, like you would have known either way,” Kaeya scoffs. “You were far more of a child than I ever was. You still act like one, even now.” 

“And you don’t? You’re the one who’s resorted to being petty here, not me.” 

“As if you care about being petty. You drag me into this conversation, and for what? What do you even want from me?” 

“I want you to be my brother again!” Diluc snaps, and in an instant, all of that furious energy seems to drain out of him. “But… I don’t want you to feel obligated. I’m not going to force you if… if you really don’t want to.” 

Kaeya goes quiet. “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do,” he murmurs. “But I should have known that, after everything I’ve done, you would never believe me.” 

He stands up, heading towards the door, and Kaeya is moving before he knows it. He wraps a hand around Diluc’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks as they both stare at each other in surprised silence. 

If Diluc didn’t mean it– 

If he didn’t mean it, then he would have stayed to argue. If he was only here to fight, he would have fought, but he didn’t. He was going to leave, leave Kaeya alone again, and Kaeya… 

“I believe you.” 

It’s barely more than a whisper, but he knows Diluc will hear it. Diluc has always heard him when it mattered. 

“And,” Kaeya adds, voice growing in strength, “I’m sorry, too.” 

oOoOo

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of this,” Cecil states, grinning at the little whirlwind he’s managed to summon in his hands. It’s nowhere near as impressive as Venti’s vortex, but after a few hours of practice, he can at least get it to stay in his hands and not try to escape into the air. 

Venti laughs, holding out a hand to take the miniature twister from him. “Pretty soon, you’ll be summoning stormeyes, too. Just you wait!” 

“You know, I might leave the stormeyes to you. I’ve got a few other ideas for what I could do with this.” A curl of Anemo twists around his fingers, and he lets it dissipate into wind, glancing over at Venti for a moment before turning his head towards the sky. “I’ve never seen the stars like this before. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” 

“You can see them better out in the wild, where the light from the town doesn’t dim them. I’ll take you there someday, if you like – I know the perfect peak to watch the stars from.” 

“What about down there, where the sky’s turning orange?” Cecil points to the horizon. “Is that from a town as well?” 

“Hm? Oh, it’s already starting!” 

Venti hops up, pulling Cecil to his feet as he climbs up to a higher vantage point, scaling the stone walls until both he and Cecil are perched in the tower below the odd structure that Venti had called a ‘waypoint’ earlier. He can see the glow much better from here, even if he still can’t see its source. 

“It’s the sunrise,” Venti murmurs, nodding towards the line of colour slowly bleeding into the black. “Before the sun appears, you can see the colours it brings with it. It’s usually orange, pink, and gold, but sometimes there are others.” 

“I’ve never seen a sunrise before,” Cecil whispers. “I bet it’s going to be pretty.” 

Venti smiles fondly leaning against Cecil’s shoulder. “Yeah. It will be.”