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The afternoon sun bathed Fontaine in golden light, shimmering off the crystal-clear lakes and cascading waterfalls. A gentle breeze carried the scent of freshwater and blooming lilies as Furina walked along a forested path, her heels clicking lightly against the stone. Today was hers—a rare day without court duties or public performances.
For once, there was no grand performance to put on, no audience hanging onto her every word—just her, the whisper of the wind, and—
There.
Sitting on a large fallen tree trunk, overlooking the horizon, was Lumine. Her golden hair swayed gently with the wind, her posture relaxed as she gazed at the vast expanse of Fontaine’s lakes and rivers. She looked completely at ease, lost in thought.
Furina crossed her arms, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Honestly, must you always look so effortlessly composed? It’s terribly unfair to the rest of us."
Lumine turned slightly, amber eyes meeting Furina’s with an unreadable glint. "You say that like it’s something I do on purpose," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Furina gasped, placing a hand on her chest. "Are you implying I overthink things? I, Furina, the most naturally gifted and charming of all?" She flicked her hair with a flourish before settling beside Lumine on the trunk, kicking her legs idly.
Lumine let out a small chuckle, shaking her head before reaching into the small satchel by her side. "If you’re done with your theatrics, I have something to show you.”
Furina arched a delicate brow, watching as Lumine pulled out a small, sleek device. It had a crystal-clear interface and a few intricate Fontaine-style engravings. Attached to it were two delicate earpieces, connected by thin, almost invisible strings of infused hydro energy.
"A new Fontainian invention," Lumine explained, offering one of the earpieces to Furina. "It plays music."
Furina squinted at the device. "Music? From that tiny thing? How utterly unimpressive. Where’s the grandeur? The drama? The excitement?" She waved a dismissive hand. "No, no, if I am to be entertained, I demand something far more thrilling.”
Lumine rolled her eyes but remained patient. "Just try it," she said, holding out the second earpiece again. "I think you’ll like it."
Furina scoffed but hesitated. There was something about the way Lumine said it—not an order, not a challenge, just… an invitation. And, despite herself, Furina found it hard to refuse.
"Fine," she huffed, snatching the earpiece and inserting it with an exaggerated motion. "But if this is boring, I will be making a formal complaint to Fontaine’s inventors."
Lumine pressed a button on the device.
Soft, delicate notes drifted through the earpiece, wrapping around Furina’s senses like a gentle tide. The melody was light, flowing like a quiet stream, each note carrying a warmth that melted into her chest. It wasn’t grand, nor was it extravagant—but it was beautiful. A quiet kind of beautiful.
Furina blinked. The world seemed… different now. Softer.
Lumine glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "See? Not everything needs to be loud to be interesting."
Furina didn’t respond immediately. She just sat there, letting the music seep into her bones, her usual dramatic energy quieting into something more delicate.
After a moment, she exhaled, her posture easing ever so slightly. "Fine," she murmured, her voice gentler than before. "You may have a point."
Lumine smiled. "I knew you’d like it."
Furina turned her gaze back to the waters below, listening as the melody intertwined with the sound of the wind and the gentle crash of Fontaine’s waves.
For once, she didn’t need to be the center of attention. She didn’t need to be Furina, the grand and dazzling Archon.
Right now, she was just a girl, sitting beside someone who understood her, listening to music that made the world look a little bit more colorful.
The melody lingered in the air, wrapping around them like the gentle waves of Fontaine’s lakes. Furina remained still, her usual dramatic flair dimmed to something softer, something quieter.
Lumine sat beside her, gaze fixed on the horizon, letting the music settle between them in a way words couldn’t.
Furina shifted slightly, toying with the hem of her glove. "You know," she started, her voice unusually subdued, "it’s rather strange."
Lumine tilted her head. "What is?"
Furina hesitated, her fingers tightening against the fabric. "This… sitting here, just listening." Her usual confidence wavered, giving way to something more uncertain. "I should be bored out of my mind, and yet…" She let out a breath. "I’m not."
Lumine hummed in understanding. "You don’t always have to be performing, Furina."
Furina scoffed, forcing a smirk. "But where’s the fun in that?"
Lumine turned to her, amber eyes calm, patient. "Is it really fun? Or just exhausting?"
The question hung between them, and for once, Furina had no witty retort. She glanced away, her reflection shimmering in the water below. "I don’t know," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I think… I wouldn’t know what to do if I stopped."
Lumine didn’t press, didn’t pry. She simply let Furina’s words settle, offering a quiet presence beside her.
Furina exhaled, hugging her arms around herself. "Sometimes, it feels like everything would fall apart if I wasn’t… me." She laughed, but there was no real humor in it. "How ridiculous is that?"
Lumine shook her head. "It’s not ridiculous."
Furina turned to her, expecting teasing or amusement, but found none. Lumine was looking at her—really looking at her—with that quiet, unwavering gaze that always made Furina feel oddly exposed.
Her heart stuttered.
She quickly turned away, cheeks warming. "Hmph! What an infuriating thing to say," she muttered, trying to mask her flustered state. "I was expecting at least some mockery!"
Lumine chuckled. "Would it make you feel better?"
Furina pouted. "Maybe."
Silence fell again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The music continued to play, a soft, comforting presence between them. Furina glanced down at her lap, then at Lumine’s hand resting casually on the trunk.
She had never been good at saying what she truly meant, but in this moment, she wished she could.
Instead, she shifted closer, just slightly. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that their shoulders brushed.
Lumine noticed, of course. But she didn’t comment, didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached out, adjusting Furina’s earpiece when it had tilted slightly. The touch was fleeting—barely there—but Furina felt it linger long after Lumine had pulled back.
Her heart was being terribly unreasonable.
Furina huffed, crossing her arms in an exaggerated pout. "Tch. You’re lucky I tolerate your presence."
Lumine smirked, the corner of her lips twitching. "You’re lucky I let you."
Furina gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. "The audacity!"
Lumine just laughed.
Furina smiled, just a little.
And as the music played on, she allowed herself to sink into the warmth of the moment—of Lumine’s presence, of the quiet understanding between them.
Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind this stillness after all.
-
The wind carried a whisper through the streets of Fontaine, weaving between elegant marble structures and the quiet lull of the rivers. The city had not changed, yet to Furina, it felt different.
Or perhaps, she thought bitterly, I am the one who has changed.
It had been a year since Lumine left for Natlan.
Furina had expected it, had prepared for it. The Traveler never stayed in one place for long—she had a brother to find, a journey to fulfill. It was inevitable. And yet, all the preparation in the world hadn’t lessened the ache in Furina’s chest.
A breeze rustled through her terrace, shaking the delicate wind chime that hung from the wooden beam above her. It was a recent addition, something she had hesitated to acquire, but…
She closed her eyes as the soft chime rang, the sound delicate, almost sorrowful.
She never used to understand Inazuman traditions. Their quiet rituals, their belief that wind could carry unspoken words, that emotions could be entrusted to the breeze.
She had always dismissed it as something wistful, something intangible.
But now—now, she understood.
Her fingers brushed against the small paper tag attached to the chime. It was still blank. Furina hadn’t found the words to write.
The memory of their last moment together replayed in her mind.
Lumine stood at the docks, the light of dawn casting a golden hue over her features. She had smiled, as she always did—steady, calm, offering comfort even when it wasn’t hers to give.
And Furina—oh, how she had wanted to say something. Anything.
But what right did she have to ask Lumine to stay? To hold her back, to burden her with feelings that might only serve as shackles?
So she had done what she always did. She had played her part.
"Hah! Well then, Traveler, do try not to get yourself into too much trouble. It would be terribly inconvenient if I had to personally drag you out of some Natlanian mess!"
"I’ll be fine, Furina," Lumine had said with that knowing look, as if she could see past the bravado.
"Of course you will! Fontaine’s influence is not so easily forgotten, after all!"
She had laughed. She had smiled. She had waved.
And then, when Lumine turned away, when she boarded that ship—Furina’s hand had trembled at her side, fingers curled as if trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away.
Why didn’t I say it?
Furina squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the paper tag between her fingers.
Her heart ached. It had been aching for an entire year.
She had tried to ignore it, to drown herself in the noise of courtly matters, in the grand performances, in the world that demanded her presence. But no matter how much she distracted herself, the silence of her private chambers always brought her back to this feeling.
A feeling she had once been too afraid to name.
A gust of wind passed through, setting the chime in motion again. The sound rang through the empty space around her, filling the silence she could no longer bear.
Her throat tightened.
Furina exhaled shakily. And then, finally— finally —she reached for a pen.
"I can write it now, wishing upon the swaying wind bell."
With careful strokes, she wrote the words she had held back for far too long.
The ink dried. The wind swayed the paper.
Furina lifted her head, watching as the words danced in the breeze, carried away to wherever the wind would take them.
Her heart still ached. But for the first time in a year, she let it.
She leaned back against the terrace railing, closing her eyes as the chime rang again.
“Farewell, my dearly beloved—may you stay forever happy.”
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