Chapter Text
The day you meet Barbatos, you learn that freedom comes at a heavy price. You break your promises to your father to never wander Wuwang Hill, even more so when you meddle with a god. After all, Qingce Village is so quaint with its mountain terraces of crop and bloom, that one should never have to think about what may lie beyond the stars.
The archons and the adepti have always worked hard to ensure that you had a good, peaceful life, and for that, you are grateful. Harvest season in the mountains always came on time, and always on the same event of every year: on the cool evening of the midsummer festival in Qingce Village. The festival was a worship to express gratitude to the divine for the bountiful harvest that sold well among merchants across Teyvat.
So today, while the village buzzes in anticipation, your father calls your name, knocking on your bedroom door one morning, and you know at once that your elder brother, Shang, is looking for you. Merchants have come from the harbor before the harvest season, and your siblings think it is time for you to take part in the trade as well.
You are quiet as a mouse, careful not to make a noise so your father would think that you are not there, but your elder brother knows your tricks better and enters your room anyway, where you had been longingly looking at the mountains beyond Qingce from your window.
“Little sibling,” says Shang, and you nearly jump. “This may be good for you to start learning our trade. You’re of age already.”
You hated hearing those words and he knew it, but Shang never bothered to observe you further, so you say, “I am busy.”
“Busy?” A snarky female voice asks from outside your room, and you know at once that it is your elder sister, Lian. “Silly child. We can see very clearly that you are not.”
They take you by either side of your arms, and you do not protest as they drag you off to the market, where you are to interact with the merchants and hopefully make connections for your family’s wood carving business. Your father watches you leave from the porch as you go, and he makes sure that you are dressed well.
You know that they are doing this for your sake, trying to get you to fit in with the rest of Qingce Village. But you are infamous for your aloofness, and this does not help you attract friends.
Yet, Shang and Lian do not think much of it, for you are their sibling, and they only see your oddities as a passing phase. They are clever and see where you stand, and when you do, it’s rarely for yourself. Brutally honest and pragmatic—that was how they both managed to be the most popular kids in all of Qingce Village, which is just as well because you were from a good family.
But they can be harsh, and you often hear it too: "Your hair is as unruly as a berry thicket. Your voice is as screechy as a crow. You are lucky that the village thinks you are unlike our mother, who disgraced the family’s name after she left to be an adventurer. It is better for you to be what you are."
As you walk together, they chatter on about the recent happenings in the village — a man and a woman are planning to get married, and they will wed on a summer’s day, but they will wed on the 4th day of the month, and 4 is an unlucky number in Liyue, so surely either their firstborn will be an oaf, or they will separate within four years. The grandmother who cooks tofu will give them out to children for free, but they loathe almonds. A new shipment of tea is expected from Chenyu Vale in a fortnight, the taxes have gone higher but the hot cup is too good to pass up, so you must make sure to run along and get a box for them.
You nod at their words, but they do not even spare you a second glance.
They always do this, they talk about things. Boring things, mundane things. Things that only they care about in their materialistic worlds. Liyue is the land of contracts, so it was only fair that they should listen to what you had to say in exchange for your patience with them. But not all contracts could be honored so rigorously, no matter how rigid, and the way they push you aside is proof.
It is not that you cannot leave. It's just that you have nowhere else to go — not when you resided in a mountainside community that was famous for its nutrient-rich, man-made rice paddies that the village people made good money out of. This is a place where traditional life is easy and slow.
“The Rite of Descension is soon,” says Shang. “Our divine Rex Lapis will bring his predictions.”
“I would love to see Liyue Harbor this year,” you say. “Or any other place in Teyvat.”
“It is not worth going to the rest of Teyvat,” interrupts Lian, wrinkling her nose. When she catches herself doing so, she fixes her expression so as to not ruin her porcelain features. “Natlan with their brutes, Inazuma with their ronins—how much more awful can it get?”
You raise your voice. “Don’t you think that it’s exciting? There are many things to see beyond Qingce.”
“And where would you go?” Shang asks with amusement. “Mondstadt? With their bitter wine and ugly songs? Say, do you think you will find glory there?”
“Better there than rigid Liyue,” you reply bitterly.
The moment the words leave your mouth, instant regret fills you at the sight of their faces. They look at you as though you’d said something outright blasphemous, as if you’d offended Rex Lapis himself. If looks could predict the future, you’d half-expect to be swallowed by a crack in the ground by now.
“Apologize to our Archon!” Lian cries out. “Mondstadt is unlike Liyue, they have no god watching over them. Father says so.”
Shang nods. “Barbatos is so irresponsible for leaving his people to their own devices. Perhaps the Wind God passed away eons ago.”
“And, if you need any sort of reminding,” Lian added haughtily, “We are in Liyue, the land under Morax’s reign, not that joke of a civilization called Mondstadt.”
You feel your face go hot. “I was only jesting.”
“Well, you better work on your jokes, little sibling,” says Shang. “Perhaps it’s best if you listen, not talk.”
Your shoulders tense with embarrassment, and you remain silent for the rest of the walk, even in the village center where your siblings go around all the stalls and swiftly chat up the vendors, talking about investments and property. You have no interest in these things and hold back, only trailing after them because you have to.
Shang nudges you, and tilts his head to a stall that had no buyers, so the vendor was alone. “This is your chance to make connections, you can start small.”
To please your brother, you reluctantly go to the stall while he watches from afar and ask about the product. “Is that a wind glider?”
“Why, yes,” the salesman from Liyue says, pleased with your interest. “Are you interested?”
You examine the gliders on display. They looked like feather wings that had been dyed and embroidered into lovely tapestries. The tags that had been sewn to their sides showed their names, which were poetic and fanciful such Rosehill Gale, Everlasting Dream, or Starcatcher. Perfect for adventurers. You imagined yourself wearing one of these, the wind roping your hair, gliding off to a wondrous and beautiful land teeming with the world’s secrets.
With a strange hope rising in your voice, you say, “They’re beautiful.”
The salesman brightens. “The finest tailoring in all of Teyvat, favored by the four winds of Mondstadt themselves! And at such a reasonable price too—you won’t find a deal as good as this one!”
“How much?” you challenge.
“A thousand Mora.”
Instantly, your blood turns to ice. In terms of savings, you are about nine hundred and eighty-eight Mora short. You release a sigh into the wind, and allow it to carry the soft sound of your hopeless despair in a single breath into the great unknown.
You hastily thank the salesman without successfully making a network out of him and leave promptly, allow Shang and Lian to laugh at your distraught expression, and choose to idle in the corner of a table in the village center instead, resting your face in your arms as evening sets. Shang and Lian continue with their smooth-talking with your family’s potential business partners — they have always been better suited to it anyway.
“Take this,” says Shang, handing you a heavy pouch of Mora before stalking off. “Keep it safe while Lian and I finish the rounds.”
It is why many people say that it’s a relief that Shang is the eldest, Lian is the second-in-command, and you are the youngest expected only to follow their orders. Your head is always in the clouds, feet never on the ground; it would be disastrous for someone as dreamy as you to be in charge of such a prominent family in the village.
You notice something blue and wispy float at the side, far from the tables and unnoticed by the elderly people milling about. Perplexed, you watch as it approaches you. The gale blows stronger as it does, and you realize that what you are looking at is a Seelie.
Seelies are remains of an ancient race, much like angels of the moon. You know this because your mother once told you about them, and they way she used to chase them in the woods as a child. You were a child like that once, too, with your father fretting over you when you’d spend your days in the Qingce woods, but you never got lost because they always guided you home. Seelies only ever showed themselves to people who were worthy.
You reach out to touch it, the strap around Shang’s pouch hanging on your wrist, and when you do, the wind yanks the bag so hard that it falls into the Seelie, and it floats away, tinkling like a bell as though to laugh. Naughty little thing, but although it has been a long time since you were a child, many moons since the last time you saw a Seelie, you knew their antics as though you dreamed of them every night.
Anyway, how could the Seelie have taken the pouch? The Mora within surely should have been too heavy for a wisp to carry. You get up and run after it, ignoring the curious looks from people who, for some reason, only see you and not the Seelie. The wind blows in all directions, shuffling your robes until the Seelie gently flies over the mountain and into Wuwang Hill.
“Why, you little…” you exclaim. “That’s my brother’s Mora!”
You have to think fast. Then, you see the wind glider stall. The vendor had gone, but the gliders were still neatly hung on a rack.
It would be wrong and unbecoming to steal. That is what your siblings would say to you. But you were only borrowing, that is what you tell yourself. You are, after all, going on a hill.
You take one and put it on. Starcatcher. It was the prettiest one and its intricate tapestry caught your eye.
Distraught, you climb the steep mountainside, sandaled feet barely scraping on the narrow ledges. By the time you reach the peak, you are already out of breath. Should you dare to set foot into the terrible, thick woods of Wuwang Hill? It is dark and eerie.
But, what could be the problem? You thought you knew Mount Qingce inside out, yet you had never thought anything of this dark forest that lay gloomily on the border of your village. And Shang would be upset with you if you lost his Mora, and you do not think he would believe you if you told him that it had been the wind and a Seelie that carried it off.
No one in your family liked how adventurous you were as a child, especially when you would tell fantastical tales about treasure and wisps and magic, because it reminded them of your mother. They hated it, feared it, and for a long time you had suppressed it the moment you began to grow up.
You look into the woods, hear the thumping call of the unknown. You draw a massive breath of determination. Your feet rise and fall towards the thick trunks, your figure soon completely swallowed by the darkness of the trees.
It is a dreadful night as the dark leaves clash together with the breeze. Soft sounds that sound like the whispers of ghosts make your hair stand on end. Blue spirits rose and fell into nothing. You’ve heard the tales about Wuwang Hill, and none of them were pretty. It is notorious for the number of people that have died here during a great calamity. Many of them had been foolish and hard-headed, much like you now.
The Seelie waits for you up ahead. You used to love the stories about them. In legends, they were often described as beings once a divine race modified by a great change. Should one approach a seelie, they ought to escort it back to their court.
You hold out your hand, and it obediently comes forward to drop the bag in your palm. Once again, the wind starts up,
You aren’t sure what it is trying to say, so you say, “Let’s guide you home, shall we?”
At your confirmation, the Seelie enthusiastically floats away, with you hurrying behind to catch up. It stops at a spot above a rock and waits for you, and then goes off again. It leads you to the other end of the hill, where an empty court awaits. It promptly settles like a torch. A loud thump sends you jumping before you see a chest.
“Is that for me?” you ask hushedly. You open it to find treasure, and your heart races. There is a bow among the treasures, rightfully yours to use.
You carefully place your gifts in the pockets of your robe. It is late evening now. Your siblings are most likely wondering where you were. Now that it is pitch black, your confidence wavers and fear creeps in. When you hear voices and look back as you walk, not a soul is there. As the path reaches deeper into the woods, you stumble on. The lights of Qingce Village seem to be so far away.
And light does come. In the distance, a torch burns. Relief floods through you and you hurry towards the source, thinking that it is the village, but it is not. Instead, you find a group of banged-up men huddled around a weak fire. At the sound of footsteps, they turn to see you standing, slack and frozen. Wicked malice gleamed in their eyes.
“What do we have here?”
You choke out an apology as you back up a few steps, but when they stand and begin murmuring about easy treasure, you turn to flee. You break past bushes as you run. The sound of a potion glass shattering rings and the ground beside you blazes with fire, almost licking through your sandals. An ache in your lungs burns as the footsteps of your pursuers draw closer.
Up ahead is the Seelie in its court. It glows as though to encourage your escape. You run past it, and realize you feel that feeling again, like being a lost child looking for the way back home. But why is the Seelie's court not on the Qingce Village side this time?
Beyond that is the edge of Wuwang Hill, for which you made a beeline. Though you have grown up into a demure and quiet young adult, you have always been a reckless and fearless kid. Without thinking, you jump off the edge and gasp when you feel nothing but a great height under your feet.
The force of your weight defying gravity as you release your wind glider makes you yelp, but when you hear the furious expletives howling from the top of the hill, the pace of your heart begins to slow. You look over your shoulder to see them retreating back to camp. You face forward again, hardly believing your luck. You were free and unscathed. Soaring through the air, you spread your arms out and began to glide.
Below, fields of grass spread out to Dihua Marsh, and in the distance, the horizon of Dragonspine Mountain and the Sal Terrae comes to view. The winds blow again, and suddenly you are thrown to their strength. You grit your teeth and try to steady yourself, but you falter in the air, feet kicking and arms flailing as the gale dangerously tosses you around.
Ever the devout, you shut your eyes in fear and begin to pray to the wind to spare mercy. Before you hit the ground and welcome death, you flatten against something soft and cold.
“Don’t worry, I got you!”
You open your eyes to see yourself hovering in a wind current. Below, a boy with fair skin and braided hair is looking up at you with a grin on his face. In his right hand holds a lyre.
“Are you alright? You almost plummeted there!”
Your robes and your hair billow out in all directions like waves across the sea. Wide-eyed, you look at the boy to see his arms casually raised in total control of the wind domain carrying you.
“Am I dead?” you stammer out.
“Dead? Hardly, my friend!” he laughs. “You’re with the wind, not the end!”
“My—my glider—” You quickly begin to explain, still afloat, “I’m not used to gliding for too long, and I came from a hill—”
The boy interrupts you. “Hey now, don’t flush! What’s got you in such a rush?”
The boy’s rhyming verses tell you he is a bard. How he could sing so casually at such a daunting moment, you did not know. The wind domain begins to fade, and you slowly descend to the ground, feet touching the grass. You are momentarily at a loss for words.
Remembering your manners, you hastily bow as deep as you can and say, “Kind bard, thank you for saving me!”
“Oh, don’t worry about the formalities. I couldn’t just let you fall now, could I?” he says earnestly. “The winds told me they brought something new to Mondstadt.”
“Mondstadt?” you gasp. “I made it all the way to Mondstadt?”
It is no wonder the wind is so strong. Though you have never been to Mondstadt before, you cannot help but think that it must be strange that the winds are so intense, even for a normal day. As though the wind was no force of nature but rather an entity with its own mind, eager to play and touch whatever came in its wake.
“You’re in Mondstadt,” he confirms, amused. His voice rises again, and he begins to rhyme. “What an unusual stranger by my hands. Are you a traveler from distant lands?”
You take a deep breath to prevent yourself from panicking. You were taught that it was of utmost importance to be the essence of calm at all times, even in the face of adversity.
“No,” you answer. “I’m just a nobody from Liyue.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. Everyone’s got a name,” he says. “It matters not if it brings no fame!”
You figure that the least you could do to thank this boy for saving your life was to give him your identity. You carefully introduce yourself, remembering the etiquette your father ingrained into you since birth. The boy laughs at your nervousness and mindlessly fingers his lyre. It makes a sweet tune, one that was only a few stray notes but reminded you of something beautiful, like flowers blooming in spring.
He is slim with green eyes. Dark blue hair with short twin braids fade into cerulean at the tips of his shoulders. He wears Monstadt clothes and tops off with a beret, and a single Cecelia flower in his hair. An Anemo Vision rests at the belt of his corset. You freeze when you feel the amount of Anemo elemental energy radiating off him.
You recognize him instantly. It is the god whose name your village had slandered, the one the elders have told you and your friends to be wary about, for the people of his land follow no rules and live under freedom.
“Barbatos,” you begin, stammering.
The boy raises his brows in shock. “What?”
You do not look away; you cannot. This, your father has taught you, would be considered as an offense, and you could be smitten, or he could take out his wrath onto the village. You do not shy away from his stare, however, even not knowing if this will displease him or not.
You have the courage and the recklessness of past childhood innocence, the boldness of those who have not yet learnt how to fear, but you have been warned against the Archons, who are born arrogant and have lived for centuries, so you do not defy him.
Barbatos walks up to you. You pray he will mercifully keep the wind soft, as it feels like a protection, and fortunately, he does. He isn’t malicious to the mortals, you have once heard. You just have no clue if it is true or not. But you know that he’d slept for eons and abandoned his nation, something you can’t imagine Rex Lapis doing to Liyue.
“How in Teyvat were you able to recognize me?”
Your brain tells you to kneel, offer all your prayers and kisses, but all that comes out of your mouth is, “You’re the Archon.”
“Well,” says Barbatos, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not the Archon, exactly. There are seven of us in this world. I’m only an archon.”
You don’t know what to say in your shock. That the Anemo Archon was standing before you, and he was in the form of a boy your age. The winds of Dragonspine are cold as they blow down on you from the higher peaks, and it sends a shiver through your spine.
“Barbatos,” you say, hardly believing that you were having a conversation with a god. “I am sorry to disturb you at such an hour.”
“Nonsense,” he says. “I trust what the wind brings me. And it brought you from…?”
“Qingce Village,” you answer hurriedly. “I follow the wind during my wanders.”
“Qingce Village?” Barbatos hums and strokes his chin. “Well, you’re in Windwail Highland, southwest of Mondstadt. Should you venture down this plateau, you will find a vineyard called Dawn Winery.”
You wanted to say you did not know anyone in Mondstadt, but you were afraid and shy of suggesting the need of help, which was funny, because if anything a god should be something that you felt most comfortable asking aid from. Your mouth opened and closed, though, struggling to find the right words to say, but luckily, Barbatos seems to understand your thoughts by the look on your face alone.
As if it didn’t mean anything, he shrugs and says, “But who cares, right? Hehe, the Ragnvindrs can be an intimidating family. And they’re most likely busy with the winery right now, so it would be a waste of your time to implore their aid.”
“I wish I could explain it to them, at least.”
You take a peek at the scenery behind him. In the far distance, you see the outline of a city with windmills. The shock must still show on your expression, because Barbatos chuckles. He gestures to the side, where the vast mountain, engulfed with ancient ruins and snow-capped areas stands proudly. “How did you end up in such a place? Not many people come here.”
“I went to Wuwang Hill and met a Seelie.”
“Ah, so you guided a Seelie?” he asked. "Not because of the treasure they would bring?"
"I have always guided Seelies since I was a child,” you say. And hastily add, “My Lord.”
“Why?”
You know he does not mean say it like a command, but out of instinct, you dare to meet his gaze with intensity. “They have always been my friends.”
Barbatos tilts his head to the side, gazing at you with a look you could not place. It was a cold shock from the playfulness he had shown earlier, as if he was thinking about what to make of you. You are duly reminded of how glorious and divine he truly was deep down.
Finally he said, “You have a good heart. For that, I will guide you where you belong.”
Your heart leaps, albeit confused. “Guide?”
Suddenly, Barbatos holds out a hand. “Do you trust me?”
“What?” you ask, baffled. “Lord Barbatos, of course I have faith in you.”
He shakes head and shakes his hand under your chin again, repeating the question.
“No, not Lord Barbatos. I’m asking if you trust me.”
“You?”
You find it hard to keep hesitation out of your tone. This is an Archon you are speaking to, after all, one of the ancients who have seen history come and go. He has probably met plenty of devout followers, and he has the right to end your life with a snap of his fingers should you say the wrong thing. You were sure that if members of the Church of Favonius could see you speaking to their divine Anemo Archon in such a way, they would cry out in horror and list down all the sins you have committed against their deity. Yet, Barbatos does not call upon the Four Winds to smite you in your place.
He smiles at your hesitance, the trickster little god that he is. And in the ease of his smile, you find a reason to trust. “Of course, me. Is there anyone else?”
You chuckle, and hesitantly allow him to take your hand. His palm is as cold and soft as his wind. “I trust you.”
He seems satisfied with your answer.
“Good.”
Before you could say another word, Barbatos spins and brings his hands down, creating a gust of cold wind that sends you both flying in a strong current of gale. While the winds cause your hair and robes to whirl about, you hardly hide the wonder on your face as you release your wind glider. Upon seeing your reaction, he grins.
“Steady yourself,” Barbatos calls over the gale, and you rise higher until you are well within the part of the sky where the winds blow the hardest. “It’ll be a golden flight with a thousand winds.”
True to his word, the flight is golden though the moon shines its light on you. You are closest to the stars you have ever been. You cannot believe that you are up so high, gazing down at the world below as a god accompanies at your side. The wind is hotter in Liyue as compared to Mondstadt, but it brings the scent of a rich earth.
You have always thought of Liyue as home because you had never known otherwise, but now that you have had a few moments of respite in Mondstadt, with its soft grass and dandelion wishes and the scent of grapes that would ferment into delicious glasses of wine, you cannot believe that you had never had the chance to see the world beyond your provincial prison. The world up here, drifting above the clouds, is one where not even the sky is the limit. Here, you are free.
Like a bird set free, you raise your arms and allow yourself to turn midair. You begin to laugh and you do not know why. A lovely, tumulting emotion bubbled up in your stomach, like the feeling of being a child again. Barbatos observes you, your laughter, and he smiles.
“Fun, right?”
“Of course!” you respond enthusiastically. Your voice has lifted a pitch higher, as though Barbatos had broken a chain in your throat that made your voice low and melancholic when it came to speaking to your family.
When you descend upon Mount Qingce, Barbatos follows you as you land through your bedroom’s window. After taking a look around, glancing at the once-loved knick-knacks that you once collected at a young age till the world told you it was only junk, he idly sits on the windowsill, observing your face as you smile, allowing yourself a few bubbling laughs. You have not felt such happiness in a long time, not since childhood.
“Hehe, did you like that?” he asks, grinning. “Gliding is always a lovely way to travel! And a lot more convenient.”
“You are so kind,” you say. “I cannot thank you enough, Lord Barbatos.”
“Why should you thank me? You are the kind one for helping the Seelie.”
“Perhaps,” you say. “But the wind led me to you.”
You have only just met, yet he easily feels like a friend. Nobody has ever been so kind to you, or had thought of you with reverence. He stands on your windowsill now, arms holding the lyre as he begins to gently strum a song. Barbatos is poised elegantly, like a swallow bird readying itself to take flight. You are enchanted almost immediately, your ears blessed with the melody of a divine being.
You find that you do not want to say goodbye just yet. You gently grab his sleeve, forgetting about how it might be disrespectful to do so. But Barbatos smiles and lets out a gentle, “Hm?”
“Will I ever see you again?”
He blinks, then laughs, a merry sound that was so musical that it could have been written into orchestra notes on parchment.
“Whenever a breeze passes by, speak your wish into the wind. It will carry it to me, and I will be there to receive it.”
The door creaks open downstairs. Your fathers has come home, and he is calling out your name, looking for you. Barbatos puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
“I must go now. Let the wind lead. Regardless of where you journey in this world.”
You stand back as he engulfs himself in a teal glow. You cover your eyes, blinded by his power. When your room turned dark again, he was gone.
Your father opens the door at that very moment.
“Dear child, where were you? Shang and Lian told me that you vanished into thin air earlier.”
You pretend to be surprised. “Father?”
“Archons, you gave me a fright,” he mutters, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Next time, tell me when you come home early.”
“Yes, Father. I apologize. Shang and Lian were busy and I was not feeling well, you see.”
He wrinkles his nose when he sees the state of your tainted robes. “Your clothes are filthy. What happened?”
You turned your head away to hide the guilt on your face. “My shawl flew into the hill and I had to retrieve it there.”
“You should have left it,” your father admonishes. “Your mother used to do that too, running off elsewhere, and look where that led her. You were lucky.”
“Yes,” you reply, and this time you think it, too.
When he leaves, you creep from your bed to peer out the window. You do not see sign of Barbatos. All that is left is the cool breeze of a wind that sounds like a song. Your breath comes out in clouds as you exhale in disbelief in the cold Qingce night. But you look at the moon once more, the way she spun across the sky, and held the song close to your heart.