Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Although Jean is no longer a little girl, she still remembers the first time she had joined the Ragnvindrs on one of their hunting trips.

Her own parents had never quite been ones for hunting, but the late Master Crepus had enjoyed it, and had brought the boys with him often. On that particular trip, Master Crepus had taught her many things. He had taught her to identify animals from tracks in the mud, from teeth marks in foliage, or claw marks on trees. He had taught her how to track and find prey, and to recognise predators from their kill sites.

It is that memory that comes to her now as she stands over the carcass hauled back by the Springvale hunters.

In front of her, Kaeya crouches to examine the claw marks rent down the side of the deer’s trunk, from back to belly. Even to Jean’s less experienced eye, she can already tell that the predator that had left those marks is no normal beast.

No normal beast could have left claw marks that large.

“Kaeya?” Jean finally prompts.

“Large four-legged predator,” he says, without looking up. “Roughly the height of three men, on all fours.”

A chill goes down Jean’s spine.

“The wounds are oozing blood that has gone black,” Kaeya continues. “Cause is uncertain, probably some kind of poison.”

“Some kind of large, venomous beast?” Jean asks, bewildered. “I've never heard of such an animal. Do you know of any?”

“It's possible that the poison entered the deer’s system before its encounter with the predator,” Kaeya remarks noncommittally, pulling the tarp back over the carcass.

While he straightens from his crouch, Jean turns to Draff.

“Thanks for calling us in,” she says.

“I was only doing my part,” Draff assures her, and hesitates. “Do the knights know of any beast that could have done this?”

“This is the first carcass we've found,” Allan adds uneasily, “but prey grows scarce in this area. I'm not sure it's safe to travel the merchant routes.”

“We’ll increase patrols,” Jean promises.

Some fifteen minutes later, they bid the villagers farewell. Stopping by the waters of Cider Lake, Jean folds her arms, rubbing at her brow as she considers the situation.

“Should we issue a travel warning?” Huffman asks. 

Jean closes her eyes, thinking on it longer, but—

“I don't think we've reached that stage yet,” Kaeya cuts in. “The Stormterror Incident has barely passed, and with the Geo Archon’s killer still at large, everyone is on edge.”

“I agree,” Jean concurs. “We should exercise caution before making any public statements.”

“That's a good point,” Huffman admits. “I'll keep the intel under wraps on my end.”

“We should probably let the rest of the knights know to keep it quiet as well,” Kaeya adds.

“I'll draft an executive order,” Jean says.

Upon returning to her office, Jean sits heavily in the Grandmaster's seat. Her breath comes out of her in a whoosh, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. For a moment, she just stares at her desk blankly, before finally, she puts herself back together, picks up her quill, and begins drafting the missive.

They'll need one squadron patrolling Springvale, just to ensure the safety of the settlement in case of an attack.

The carcass had been found nearer to Galesong Hill, however, so it might be wise to send another squadron to scope out the area.

To cover the swath of land between Galesong Hill and Springvale would require another two squadrons, and as for the merchant route leading south into Liyue—

She pauses in her writing.

For a long moment, she just stares at the parchment, before finally, she sets her quill down, and buries her face in her hands.

It pains her to admit, but moments like this only remind her of just how vulnerable Mondstadt has become. The knights have been short-staffed since Grandmaster Varka left. She knows they've left on an important mission, but in times of trouble, she can't help but wish he hadn't taken four out of every five knights with him.

She sighs again, and is just about to pick her quill back up, when she hears the whispering sound of the wind, accompanied by the gentle flap of heavy velvet curtains. A moment later, there comes the distinctive sound of teeth, crunching into something juicy.

When she turns, a familiar figure is curled up in the cradle of her windowsill, an apple in hand.

“Venti,” Jean says, surprised, rising instinctively to greet him.

Venti stays her movement with an upheld palm, before gesturing for her to remain seated. After a moment, Jean sits back down, a little abashed. In the short time they've known each other, she's come to see that Venti prefers for others not to stand on ceremony around him, but it's sometimes hard to forget who he is— to forget what he is.

With teal eyes lazily lidded, Venti tilts his head in greeting, before taking another languid bite out of his apple.

“Hello, Acting Grandmaster,” he greets casually through his mouthful. “Mora for your thoughts?” 

When Jean doesn't immediately reply, he smiles, the expression strangely knowing.

“The wind carried the sounds of your lamentable sighing to mine ears,” he explains. “Pray tell, what has our unflappable Acting Grandmaster in such a state?”

“We've come across intel that a large, unknown beast may be roaming Mondstadt,” Jean explains, after a moment. “Would you… happen to know of any existing in the vicinity of Springvale?”

“Maybe Andrius and his pack have been hunting again?” Venti ventures with a laugh, but Jean just shakes her head solemnly.

“I don't think so,” she says. “The wounds were oozing black blood, as if due to some poison. Kaeya estimated from the injuries… that the beast is likely as tall as three grown men.”

Venti raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like rifthound corrosion,” he says, “but this might be a particularly large one.” 

“That sounds plausible,” Jean says, perking in interest. “There've been riftwolves sighted in Wolvendom before.” She pauses. “But this carcass was discovered near Galesong Hill.”

Concern begins to grow within her.

“Are there riftwolves in other parts of Mondstadt now?” she murmurs, mostly to herself. “And such large ones at that?”

Venti doesn't answer the question, but she doesn’t need him to. “Will the knights put out a warning?” he asks instead.

“Not yet,” Jean says. “The people of Mondstadt are still recovering emotionally from the Stormterror Incident, and with the Geo Archon’s murderer still at large, we fear a public announcement may cause speculation and panic.”

Suddenly, she remembers herself. Mustering a more sympathetic expression, she turns to Venti again.

“My condolences,” she quietly offers. “I know that Rex Lapis was your friend. It came as a great shock to hear that he had been assassinated.”

Venti blinks, looking surprised, and then, after a moment, he just sighs.

“Right,” he says flatly. “Assassinated.”

He sighs again, the sound oddly exasperated. Before Jean can wonder further at his reaction, however, he clears his throat.

“In any case,” he continues, “I'll keep an ear out and let you know if I hear any howls carried on the winds. Though I must admit, riftwolves are always tricky to track down— even for me. You hear them one moment, and the next, they've gone disappearing into one of those pesky little rifts!”

He laughs as Jean blinks, taken aback by the notion that the wind may, in fact, carry sounds to Venti that are much further away than the human ear can hear. Then again, he had said he'd heard her sighing from afar. It's slightly creepy to think about, but at the same time, she can't help the sense of almost child-like wonderment that arises in her.

The wind is the eyes and ears of our Lord, her father used to preach when she had still been a little girl, long before the divorce had torn her family asunder. Everywhere the wind blows— is within His reach.

How far exactly can a god hear? Does he hear all things said where the wind blows? Do the wishes made on dandelions reach him in the breeze? Does he listen to the prayers of his people?

Has he heard hers?

Quickly, she pushes those thoughts aside. They aren't relevant to the current situation, and… she doesn't want to make things awkward by asking.

“Actually,” she blurts out instead, “could you perhaps—”

She stops herself as she realizes what she's doing.

“Could I…?” Venti prompts.

“No, nothing,” Jean says, embarrassed. “I don't want to bother you.”

“It's not a bother, Acting Grandmaster,” Venti insists, and his eyes soften. “You've helped me greatly throughout the course of things with Dvalin. Please let me know if there's any way I can help you in return.”

Under his warm, gentle gaze, Jean finds herself easing.

“Well, if that's really the case…” she begins, unable to keep a hint of shyness from her voice, before she clears her throat, bringing a mask of professionalism back onto her face. “Thank you, Venti. The knights will patrol the trade routes. I'll also assign several squadrons to scout for riftwolves between Galesong Hill and Springvale. As for you…”

She pauses.

“If it won't be too much trouble,” she continues, a little more delicately, “could you keep an ear out for those venturing off the roads? Our young allogenes, in particular, can be… a handful. They are free-willed, adventurous, and independent, always heading out into the wilderness alone. With visions, they are used to being able to take care of themselves, but with this beast at large, I worry. The knights can't watch everyone . We’re much too…”

She trails off in helpless frustration.

Short-staffed, she does not say.

There's a moment of silence, before Venti exhales.

The curtains framing him billow briefly as a breeze sings through the window, setting the hanging adornments on the overhead chandelier a-tinkling. The gentle gust almost seems to circle her, a playful caress over her cheek, through her hair, before it exits again out the window, tinkling through the chandelier like peals of soft laughter.

It had lasted only a moment, but Jean finds herself easing with the instinctive comfort, the sense of safety it had brought her.

“It is within my power,” Venti answers, before his expression turns mischievous. “I'm being put on babysitting duty then?”

At Jean's sheepish expression, he laughs, but sobers again quickly. His eyes gentle, softening at the corners with fondness, and something almost like pride.

“Truly children of freedom to the end, aren’t they?” he muses, and nods solemnly. “Worry not, I will watch over them.”

Chapter Text

Although Noelle has not yet passed the selection trials for knighthood, she takes her chivalric training as a maid of the Knight of Favonius seriously. She likes to see it like a probationary trial. Or an internship!

In other words, although she is seldom assigned the kind of missions given to full knights of the order, she tries her best to help out where she can. And so, she had thought it best, when encountering Sister Barbara coming down the stairs of the cathedral, to escort the Deaconess into the wilderness for herbs.

“Birch sap can be applied topically for sores, and can be added to tonics too, of course,” Barbara explains absently as they pass a grove of birch trees, heading towards a small cropping of dandelions. “But we’re here for the dandelions. The leaves, roots, and flowers can all be used for healing.”

She turns, after a moment, to smile at Noelle. “Let me know if you have any questions!” she adds chirpily. “I’m always glad to assist anyone who wants to learn more about healing.”

Noelle just wishes she was a little better at lying.

“Your assistance to my chivalric training is greatly appreciated, Sister Barbara,” she whispers, ducking her head to hide a wince.

Since Acting Grandmaster Jean had stressed in her missive that the rifthound sightings should be kept within the knights, when Barbara had expressed surprise at Noelle’s desire to accompany her, Noelle had— simply put it, panicked.

Foraging, healing, and first-aid are important topics covered in the Knights of Favonius selection exam! she had blurted out in a rush, before bowing low. Please allow me to learn from you!

Well, she can't help but remind herself, as they bend to pick dandelions, it is true that foraging and first-aid will eventually be important to her work. She should take this as learning on the job!

“Be careful as you dig up the plant,” Barbara instructs. “We don't want to damage the roots. The roots are best harvested in early spring to late fall when they are hefty with starch. The flowers aren’t ready yet. They are picked in mid-spring to summer. Luckily, we can still use the leaves.”

“Yes, Sister Barbara,” Noelle says.

They are still crouched there, hands covered in soil, when a third voice calls out to them from behind.

“Greetings, dear friends!” a melodic voice greets cheerfully. “Is that the gentle Sister Barbara and the brave Noelle of the order that I see?”

When Noelle turns her head, Venti is seated on the bough of a nearby birch, one leg tucked to his chest, with his lyre in his arms. She— somehow had not spotted him before this.

“Good morning to you too, Venti the Bard,” Barbara greets, straightening a little from her crouch.

After a moment, Venti hops lightly down from the branch, approaching with a smile. “I happened to be out on a walk for musical inspiration,” he says, and sighs. “It just feels like my latest song is lacking a little something!” he laments, before turning back to them. “What brings the two of you so far out into the wilderness?”

“We’re picking herbs,” Barbara explains. “You're a talented bard, Venti. I look forward to hearing your next song, should you perform it at the cathedral plaza anytime soon.”

“One of my favourite places to sing!” Venti cries. “Gentle winds, golden sun, and blue skies— the archway circling the plaza certainly helps with the acoustics despite the open location. And of course, when I'm lucky, I get to hear you and the rest of the choir perform as well! Alas, truly one of the fairest sounds in all of Mondstadt!”

“You flatter us,” Barbara says, with a pleased giggle.

As they strike up a round of friendly chatter, Noelle bites her lip. In light of the current situation, she can't help but worry about the bard wandering by himself in the wilderness. They are far too close to Wolvendom for comfort. The Acting Grandmaster had emphasized the need for discretion, however, so how should she…?

“A lovely day in the early spring blessed with lovely company, the sounds of nature, and a bird’s eye view of the entirety of Mondstadt!” Venti sighs. “This is truly all a bard needs to loosen the heart and tongue for a rhyme or two. If neither of you shall resent my company, I would dearly love to accompany you both on your walk!”

“I certainly shan't resent your company!” Barbara quickly says, sounding pleasantly surprised, before she turns to Noelle.

“Neither will I!” Noelle adds, just as quickly, trying hard to hide her relief.

Thank Barbatos! It looks like she won't have to convince Venti to return to the city after all!

“What kind of herbs are the two of you looking for?” Venti finally asks, crouching to help them harvest the dandelions.

“Dandelion root and leaf, horsetail, and violetgrass,” Barbara answers. “We’ll have enough dandelions after this, but we still need the horsetails and violetgrass.”

Venti hesitates for a brief moment then, a strange look crossing his face.

“Horsetails and violetgrass, huh?” he muses. “We’ll have to cross the Liyuen border for that.”

After a moment, however, he just sighs.

“Alas!” he continues in a dramatic tone of voice. “The art of medicine is a noble profession, and if one must walk a thousand miles in its pursuit, then it would be a thousand miles well-travelled!”

When they are done with the dandelions, they make use of their gliders to descend the cliffside flanking Stone Gate. Crossing the border, they soon reach the marshes where the horsetails grow.

“Don't you worry,” Noelle immediately assures them. “Let me retrieve the horsetails. You two wait on the bank where it's dry.”

“No worries, brave knight!” Venti cries. “Allow me to assist!”

“I was the one who needed these ingredients to begin with, so please do allow me to help,” Barbara agrees, slightly flustered.

Noelle hesitates.

“But…” she begins doubtfully, “the two of you are wearing stockings, and wet stockings are never pleasant…”

The both of them look down, as if remembering that for the first time. 

“But Noelle!” Barbara finally cries. “Aren't you also wearing stockings?” 

With a smile, Noelle knocks briefly on her knee plates.

“Don’t worry, these only look like stockings from afar!” she chirps. “They are actually standard-issue Knights of Favonius armour! Wait right there, I will retrieve the horsetails.”

Looking down again, the two seem to realize that she is indeed wearing armour and not stockings, because after a moment, they sit down on a log to wait, looking chastised.

With a final wave, Noelle begins to wade into the marsh, keeping an eye out for the distinctive purple stalks. After a moment, however, she slows, the back of her neck prickling.

It somehow feels… like they are being watched.

She looks up to see a flock of birds standing in the swallow waters ahead. Nearest to her are a pair of cranes, distinct in color. One is a pure gleaming white with glowing blue markings, and the other is black with orange and brown patterning. They are both looking right at her, with narrowed beady eyes, an air of strange intelligence about them.

Noelle instinctively puts a hand on the hilt of her blade, taking a startled step back.

After a moment, she turns to look back at Barbara and Venti, who are still chatting on the shore— safe. When she turns back to the flock, however, the pair of cranes are gone.

What—?

She stares at the flock for a moment longer, disconcerted, but finally dismisses her lingering apprehension as paranoia. They had probably flown off, spooked by the proximity of a human.

Yet, at the same time, a part of her nags, they had been oddly silent for such large fowl. She had not heard them taking flight.

Once she has collected a good pouchful of fresh horsetails, they continue into the vicinity of Wuwang at Venti’s suggestion.

“I've been told that the violetgrass of Jueyun Karst tastes better,” he informs them cheerily, “but the ones growing on Wuwang Hill will probably work just as well for medicine, and they are far closer to the border.”

Wuwang Hill is certainly… a rather eerie place. The moment they step into the dense forest, the sky seems to go dark overhead, their route lit only by floating blue wisps.

“What are those?” Noelle asks in a small, timid voice.

Venti just laughs. “Nothing to concern yourself with,” he dismisses. “They hold no ill intent.”

Why is he talking about them like they are conscious?

Barbara has likely been here before, if she's regularly picking violetgrass, but even she looks a little nervous now. The back of Noelle’s neck continues to prickle as they head deeper into the woods, the sensation growing and growing until— unable to help herself, she turns to peer into the trees.

Standing within the foliage, a stag is watching them through the tree trunks. Its fur is a strange mossy kind of green, melding backwards into a rich set of reds, oranges, and browns. She's never seen a stag quite like that before, and is unable to stop herself from taking a few steps back in surprise.

Venti halts in his tracks.

“Noelle?” he calls, turning around. “What's wrong?”

Noelle bites her lip, before looking back into the trees.

The stag is gone.

A chill goes down her spine. She draws herself closer to the other two, both to comfort herself, and also in case they should require protection.

“I think we're being watched,” she admits.

“I think so too,” Barbara immediately adds, nervous. “I've been getting this weird feeling since we entered Liyue.”

Venti blinks once, his large green eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“By what?” he asks, somehow not sounding nervous in the slightest.

Noelle swallows.

“Strange creatures,” she says.

But Venti just laughs.

“I think the two of you have been on your feet too long,” he dismisses, and looks around him. “Why don't we sit down and have some water? You two have been in the sun all day.”

He locates a log, and beckons them over to sit. After a moment, they take a seat. A strange apprehension continues to haunt Noelle, however, and even Barbara looks on guard, her eyes flickering warily around the trees. Venti, on the other hand, just chatters on obliviously.

Suddenly, Barbara cries out.

Noelle whips around. Barbara is looking up into the canopy of a nearby tree, her eyes wide with horror. Tracing her line of sight, Noelle catches sight of a person, standing in the branches of that tree. The figure wears a frightful mask, obscuring his eyes, yet it’s obvious that he is watching them.

Noelle blinks, and when she next opens her eyes, the person is gone, leaving only shadowy tendrils of ominous smoke in his wake.

Screaming, the two of them jump to their feet, spooked and clutching nervously at each other. After a moment, Venti stands as well, but he just seems confused.

“There was someone watching us!” Barbara shrieks.

“He was standing in the tree!” Noelle agrees frantically.

“I didn't see anyone though?” Venti says, confused.

“Are you sure?” Barbara demands.

“Positive,” Venti insists. “I turned when the two of you screamed, but I didn't see anything.”

Once is a mistake, twice is coincidence, but thrice is a pattern. 

“I saw strange beasts watching us earlier as well,” Noelle finally confides. “Two strangely-coloured birds and one other odd beast.” She bites her lip. “There was definitely someone watching us. This time, it was a humanoid figure, a young man in white and purple clothing, wearing a frightening mask.”

“That's exactly what I saw too!” Barbara agrees vehemently.

Venti opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say more, there's a strange sound— a sound almost like the rush of wind.

A dark figure manifests before them, wreathed in black smoke.

“Declare your purpose,” he states tonelessly, amidst more screams.

“What are you?!” Barbara shrieks.

“What do you want?!” Noelle demands shrilly.

Barbara looks, suddenly, like she's about to faint.

“Oh, dear Lord Barbatos,” she whimpers. “Are you— Are you a ghost, come to spirit us away?!”

Venti winces, putting a soothing hand on her back as she puts her hands together and begins to pray.

The masked figure sighs, but after a moment, reaches up and removes his mask. Underneath, he is fair of face, pale, but seemingly human save for the golden eyes with slitted pupils.

“Cease your fruitless panicking,” he intones. “I am merely an adeptus of Liyue.”

He folds his arms then, narrowing his eyes. 

“In light of our lord's recent passing,” he continues, “and the fact that his murderer is still at large, the adepti have rights to be wary of… powerful foreign presences, passing over our border.” He sighs. “And so… kindly state your purpose for crossing into Liyue.”

Immediately recalling her lessons on diplomacy, particularly on the noble adepti of Liyue, Noelle bows deeply.

“We are just everyday allogenes!” she frantically assures the adeptus. “We assure you that we aren't spies or foreign soldiers. Sister Barbara is a healer of the church looking for medicinal ingredients, and I am a trainee of the knights, escorting her.” Straightening, she turns to gesture at Venti. “This is Venti, a humble bard of Mondstadt, who happened to fall into our company on the way.”

“A humble bard,” the adeptus says flatly. “Indeed.”

Noelle is… unable to discern what is meant by that remark, but after a moment, the adeptus just sighs again.

“What ingredients do you seek?” he asks curtly.

Noelle and Barbara trade looks.

“We crossed the border looking for horsetails and violetgrass,” Barbara offers timidly after a moment. “We’ve gathered the horsetails, but the violetgrass are rather more challenging to find.”

“Wait here,” the adeptus says. 

Without further preamble, he vanishes again, dissolving once more into dark miasma. Barbara screams in alarm, jumping back from the smoke. After a moment, she turns to look at them.

“What just happened?!” she hisses. “Who was that?!”

Venti sighs, looks behind him, and then sits back down on the log.

“An adeptus of Liyue, as he said,” he says, sounding quite exasperated at this turn of events. “We should sit and wait for his return, or he will surely be quite displeased with us.”

Patting the log beside him, he smiles. “You packed lunch, am I right?” he asks, and then grins, clapping his hands excitedly. “We can have ourselves a picnic!”

When they hesitate, Barbara still clutching at the frills over her chest, lips pale and looking like she might be sick from anxiety, Venti's eyes finally gentle.

He exhales, quiet as a whisper, and a moment later, a breeze rustles through the trees. It is warm, and gentle, just like the winds back home in the rolling meadows of Mondstadt. It tousles their hair almost playfully, caressing their shoulders like a touch of reassuring fingers. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it seems to scatter back off through the trees, rustling through the leaves like a tender, whispered farewell.

Immediately, Barbara’s shoulders relax, a smile gracing her lips. Noelle finds herself easing as well— soothed by the wind, as every citizen of Mondstadt is instinctively soothed by a gentle breeze.

“Barbatos be with us,” Barbara whispers — a quiet, fond prayer — before she looks back up with a smile. “I brought some jam, pastries, and biscuits.”

“I have a tea flask and some matches,” Noelle adds. “How do you like your tea? Do you take it with sugar?”

And so, they settle down quite cheerily for tea and snacks. They are chatting amicably some ten minutes later, when the adeptus returns with a small sack in hand, handing it off wordlessly.

“Violetgrass,” he explains, as Barbara opens it to look inside, before he pauses. “And qingxin. They are well-sought after for medicinal purposes, but I've heard that mortals find them difficult to acquire as they grow only at the highest altitudes of Jueyun Karst.”

“Qingxin!” Barbara cries, sounding very excited, and begins to dig more eagerly through the sack. “Oh, wow, this is— these are quite a lot of herbs.”

“I've… also collected a number of other ingredients that may have healing properties,” the adeptus says, a little awkwardly now. “And now… you must leave this land. I'm sorry.”

Noelle and Barbara trade looks, before looking back at him, apologetic, but also a little bewildered.

“Right,” Barbara says in a small voice, “our apologies for trespassing.”

At that, the adeptus just sighs, looking a little frustrated, but also troubled.

“It is a complicated situation,” he says. “Until matters regarding our lord and his unexpected passing are cleared up, please do not come back. Especially…” He gestures in the general direction of Venti’s person. “...this individual.”

Venti lets out an indignant squawk at that.

“My name is Venti,” he cries. “Venti, the Bard! A good bard of Mondstadt, who has only ever come in peace and song!”

“Yes, Venti the Bard,” the adeptus says, without intonation, and without looking at him. “Venti the Bard, who knows well that he's not allowed back here without the prior permission of…” He gives another vague wave of his hand. “Someone no longer around to give it. Those were the terms of the contract that you agreed upon, many years ago.”

And with that, he finally turns away.

“Now go,” he commands. “Take the herbs with you and depart this land.” 

He vanishes once more.

There's a moment of silence, neither Noelle or Barbara knowing quite what to say, before Venti scoffs, loudly, into the quiet.

“Wow,” he says. “Wow.”

After a moment, he begins to pack up the tins and flasks, visibly disgruntled. “So this is the welcome I receive these days, I see,” he grouses. “Fine! Let's go before more of them show up.”

Without a word, the other two begin to assist, folding up the picnic blanket Barbara had laid out and putting out the fire Noelle had started for the tea.

“What did the adeptus mean,” Barbara finally asks, a little hesitantly, ‘by you not being allowed in Liyue without prior permission?”

Venti groans. “It’s a long story,” he says, and offers a sheepish grin. “I may have… inadvertently started a riot when I was singing in the harbor, many years ago.”

“A riot?!” Noelle repeats incredulously.

“It was an accident!” Venti yelps defensively. “I'm not officially sanctioned by the Qixing, but the adepti got real tetchy about it. In any case, it was a long time ago.”

Finally, with all their things gathered back up, they leave the clearing, heading back towards the marsh. As they go, Noelle turns one last time to look over her shoulder at the tree she had first seen the adeptus in.

“Were those strange creatures I saw adepti as well?” she asks absently, and then, with more worry— “Do you think… we offended them?”

“Liyue has all sorts of strange creatures,” Venti immediately dismisses, before turning to smile reassuringly over his shoulder. “I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you, dear Noelle.”

Chapter Text

As a warm breeze sweeps down through the canyon, Mona tips the brim of her hat a little lower, turning to look back over her shoulder. For a moment there, she had thought she sensed eyes on them, a searching gaze—

“Hark how the wind whispers,” Fischl sighs breathily. “Indeed, it is an omen of good fortune, a boon to mine familiar. Perhaps with this gentle breeze, he may be borne more swiftly back to our side.”

Despite her leisurely tone, her foot is tapping very quietly in the grass. She is likely growing impatient.

“Has Oz spotted anything suspicious so far?” Mona asks.

“Alas, that which we seek dances in shadow, evading even my all-seeing Auge der Verurteilung.”

So that's a no.

“If Sir Kaeya’s intel can be trusted, it's possible the beast is no longer in the area,” Mona muses. “Riftwolves seldom stay in one place for long, after all.”

Fischl exhales quietly, but does not say anything else in response.

Although she would probably not admit to it if asked, Mona knows that Fischl is rather fond of the captain, and takes great pride in being entrusted with his commissions.

I trust no other than the Prinzessin der Verurteilung to achieve this mission, his handwritten letter had read, in a loopy, grandiose cursive. The beast is dangerous and elusive. Your familiar is our best hope of locating it. If found, I entreat the Prinzessin not to engage. Bring someone you trust as part of your retinue in case you are attacked.

Stay safe, my dear Prinzessin.

She's likely not looking forward to returning with no new intel for him.

The silence between them is soon broken by the rustle of footfall in the grass, accompanied by the sounds of gentle humming. It's definitely not Oz, and so with a silent glance traded between them, they head towards the source of the voice.

The humming coalesces into quiet singing as they approach.

“Oh, is it not sweet to hear the breeze singing,” a familiar voice croons. “As lightly it comes o'er the deep rolling sea?”

“It's the bard,” Mona whispers.

“What is he doing here?” Fischl whispers back.

The singing dissolves back into wordless humming as, beyond the opening of the canyon, the bard bends in the middle of the clearing, plucking a sweet flower and bringing it to his nose.

“Stopping to smell the flowers, it seems,” Mona whispers, a little wryly.

“So it seems,” Fischl whispers, before she pauses, frowning. “But why are we whispering?”

Clearing their throats loudly to announce their presence, they straighten so that they are no longer hiding suspiciously in the bushes. Venti turns at the sound, brightening as he recognizes them.

“Greetings!” he calls cheerily. “Is that not the great astrologist, Mona Megistus, as well as the fair Princess Fischl?”

Well, someone certainly knows how to sidle into one’s good graces.

“The good bard has an excellent eye!” Fischl cries, clearly pleased. “Indeed, it is I, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, and the great astrologist, Mona Megistus, who is here as a treasured member of my retinue!”

“Venti the Bard,” Venti introduces in return, dropping into a low, sweeping bow. “It's indeed a humble bard’s fortune to run into such esteemed personages on an otherwise uneventful walk.”

“A walk?” Mona asks, and raises an eyebrow. “So close to Dadaupa Gorge? It's a rather dangerous place to be walking alone.”

Venti laughs. “A bard’s adventure is always good inspiration for a song,” he explains jovially, before offering a wink. “And besides, the knights routinely patrol this area. It's usually safe to wander so long as you don't enter the gorge itself.”

At that moment, they are interrupted by the sound of wings cutting sharply through the air. Oz swoops down over the canopy of the surrounding trees, alighting before them in a majestic flutter of wings.

“Mein Fraulein, I have returned,” Oz announces. “Unfortunately, there've been no signs of the fell beast, but I do believe—”

“Ahem!” Mona quickly interrupts. “A-A-hem!”

At the meaningful and somewhat frantic gesturing of Fischl’s hands, Oz finally seems to notice Venti's presence, because he immediately cuts himself off.

“Apologies!” he cries. “I did not notice that the Prinzessin had company!”

“Please excuse my familiar,” Fischl says uneasily. “We are— fulfilling a commission.”

A rather confidential one at that, but Venti doesn't need to know.

“One of the Prinzessin’s many royal engagements, of course,” Oz adds hastily. “We endeavour, always, to give aid to the honest citizenry.”

There's a moment of silence.

“And a noble engagement that is indeed!” Venti cries, skillfully picking the conversation back up. “Yes, there are many fell beasts here in Mondstadt that plague the citizenry. It heartens me to hear that the Prinzessin and her esteemed retinue are making Mondstadt a safer place.”

He pauses.

“That said, on the topic of fell beasts,” he begins, and clears his throat, offering them a somewhat sheepish grin. “I hope, if there are indeed dangerous creatures roaming the area of late, you would not resent the company of a humble bard such as myself?”

He puffs himself up a little. “Surely, a royal retinue is never complete without a bard to sing of its heroic achievements!” he cries. “A clever bard and a fabled magician! Certainly, every princess must have one of each in her retinue!”

Mona meets Fischl’s eye briefly. After a moment, they gather closer together, turning so that they are faced away from the bard.

“It might be safer for him to travel with us,” Mona murmurs out the corner of her mouth.

“I concur,” Fischl whispers back. “The lands between Springvale and Dadaupa Gorge are no longer safe.”

With a final nod of agreement, they turn back around.

“Indeed, no royal retinue is complete without a bard!” Fischl declares.

“You may join us,” Mona translates.

With Venti now in their company, they continue scouting the canyons of Windwail Highlands. Oz is, of course, a great help, offering a bird's-eye view over the dips and rises of the many canyons and plateaus, which Captain Kaeya had likely foreseen when approaching Fischl for this commission.

While Oz flies ahead, Venti keeps pace with them on foot, regaling them with a short tale or two whenever inspiration seems to strike, his recitations accompanied by the strumming of his lyre. It is perhaps the sound of his instrument and his clear singing that draws the attention of the young man running towards them.

“Help!” he shouts. “We are being attacked by hilichurls! Help!”

Immediately, Fischl and Mona spring into action.

“Foul denizens of darkness!” Fischl shouts. “Lead the way, good citizen of Mondstadt! These cursed creatures shall know the lightning of my retribution!”

“Ahh,” Venti yelps, quailing behind them as they rush towards the opening of the gorge, led by the frantic stranger. “It seems like the two of you have things well in hand! So this humble bard shall allow those better versed in the art of combat to take the front!”

Ahead, they catch sight of several grim-faced men, fending off arrows and thrown stones as they are pursued out of the gorge.

Summoning her catalyst, Mona manifests a taunt, drawing the attention of the hilichurls away from the fleeing men. A moment later, the phantom explodes in a burst of hydro, sending the hilichurls flying backwards with a cry.

“Fischl!” she shouts.

“By royal decree!” Fischl hollers. “Wings of Darkness, come, sever the night from day!”

At her cry, Oz manifests on the field, likely drawn from wherever he had been scouting by her summons. Swooping low, lightning thunders down in his wake, sizzling loudly between the drenched hilichurls. 

Startled by the electrical charge caused by their combined attacks, the hilichurls begin to chitter frantically amongst themselves. They seem to reach some sort of agreement, because a moment later, they drop whatever sticks and stones they are still holding, and begin to scatter back into the gorge in a clear panic. They do not so much as glance backwards.

Confused, Fischl and Mona trade a glance.

“It's not normal for them to be so startled by a bit of electricity,” Mona notes.

“Indeed, that was a rather strange response,” Oz agrees, sounding equally puzzled.

Before they can muse further on the matter, however, the young man from before comes jogging over, clearly relieved.

“Is anyone hurt?” he asks his companions frantically.

“No,” an older man says, before turning to Fischl and Mona. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”

“What were you doing in the gorge?” Mona asks.

“Hunting,” the man answers. “We are hunters from Springvale.”

There's a crack of a branch breaking underfoot, and they turn to see Venti approaching from wherever he'd been hiding. He has an apple in hand, likely picked from a nearby tree.

“Hunting in the gorge?” he asks, tossing and catching the apple deftly. “Don't you usually hunt in the vicinity of Springvale instead?’

“Prey has been scarce around Springvale for some time,” the hunter says. “Lately, even the highlands between Springvale and Galesong Hill have seen less prey roaming. That's how we ended up in Dadaupa Gorge.”

Mona rubs at her chin.

“Scarce prey, huh?” she murmurs, more to herself than anything. “I wonder why.”

At that, the hunters trade some meaningful looks, before turning back to face them.

“We are unsure,” they say, before offering a final nod of thanks. “Thank you again for your aid. We’d best be on our way.”

With some more muttered thanks, the hunters depart in the general direction of Springvale. Mona waits for them to disappear back within the canyons, before she clears her throat, giving Fischl a meaningful look.

When Fischl just looks confused, Mona clears her throat again, and then looks in Venti's direction. The bard is shining the apple against his shirt. As he finally raises the apple to his mouth, however, he pauses for a moment, seeming to notice Mona’s gaze on him.

Mona looks back at Fischl meaningfully, before catching Oz’ eye as well, raising her eyebrows slightly.

For a moment, the raven and the two humans just stare back at her blankly, and then— Venti’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says, and drops the apple.

It hits the ground and rolls down the slope they are standing on, stopping a fair distance away.

“I should probably go pick that up,” Venti says.

While he putters quietly off, Mona sighs, and pulls Fischl further out of earshot, beckoning Oz along.

“The hunters probably know, or at least suspect the reason why prey is scarce,” she murmurs, once they are safely out of Venti’s earshot. “They were just unwilling to talk about it.”

Fischl’s eyes widen. She looks back in Venti's direction, seeming to finally realize why Mona had been trying to draw her away.

“I must concur, my dear Lady Megistus,” she agrees quietly. “Based on the brief we received from the good Sir Kaeya, the Springvale hunters were the ones to report the first carcass.”

“They probably suspect the lack of prey to be due to the beast,” Mona whispers, “but were asked by the Knights to keep the news to themselves. If prey has been scarce in this area, however, that means if we continue looking, we’ll likely find what we're looking for.”

“That's an excellent point, Lady Megistus,” Oz says, nodding. “I will perform another sweep of the area.”

“Wait,” Fischl blurts out, before he can disappear to do just that.

When they both turn to look at her, she pauses for a moment, before she sighs dramatically, drawing one hand over her eyepatch as she affects a more mysterious tone of voice.

“I hear the silver thread of fate whispering in my ears,” she murmurs breathily. “The voice of destiny is bidding us toward a greater destination.”

“You want to leave this area?” Mona says, surprised.

“The Auge der Verurteilung sees all that its gaze is cast upon,” Fischl declares, and then pauses again— “Yet signs of that dark creature has evaded me thus far.” She closes her eyes with another sigh. “Hark how the whispers of eternal night beckons us eastward. Our foe lies to the east.”

“Dadaupa Gorge?” Mona guesses. “You think we should scout Dadaupa Gorge instead?”

“That seems to be what mein Fräulein is suggesting,” Oz says.

Mona hesitates for a moment longer. Silently, however, she can't help but admit that while Fischl’s proclamations sometimes seem to be issued at random, or to be the result of strange and illogical leaps of faith or guesswork, her sense of intuition has always been uncanny. Trusting in Fischl’s instincts has never led them astray on their expeditions.

“A quick sweep of the gorge, then?” Oz asks, and Mona nods.

“Ozvaldo von Hrafnavins, your sovereign commands you!” Fischl cries. “Fly!”

Venti returns at a slow amble as Oz disappears in a sizzle of lightning, half-eaten apple now in hand.

“So what's the plan?” he asks, crunching loudly on his mouthful of fruit.

“Oz has gone to scout the gorge,” Mona says and looks up into the sky. “It's just past noon. Perhaps we can settle down to eat while we wait.”

They find an outcropping of rock, shaded by a nearby tree, and sit down to rest. Fischl has packed sliced sandwiches for their lunch, courtesy of her dear mother, who Mona knows to make a mean ham sandwich, but Venti turns one down when offered, seemingly satisfied with his apple.

Oz returns just as they are finishing up their lunches.

“There's something in the gorge I think you should see, mein Fräulein,” he says, his voice gone serious.

Just inside the gorge, they find a group of hilichurls lying on the bank of the central lake. There are seven shooters, two samachurls, three mitachurls, and a lawachurl, all lying dead with their weapons fallen in the grass, evidently killed in battle. Some of them are half-eaten.

“Sweet Barbatos,” Fischl breathes, taken aback by the grisly sight.

“Whatever killed them is no longer around,” Oz says. “It’s safe to approach.”

Trading a look between them, Fischl and Mona stride forward, crouching carefully by the bodies. Fischl’s eyes narrow, and Mona knows that she has probably noticed the fractal webbing on the corpses as well, concentrated around deep gauges that look inflicted by claws.

“Injuries caused by electro,” Mona murmurs, pausing as she notices something else. “There's some kind of ichor oozing from the wounds.”

Looking around her, Mona picks up a nearby branch, intending to scrape off some of the strange liquid for a closer look, but before she can touch it to the wounds, Venti appears suddenly by her side, gripping her wrist.

“Don't,” he says.

Mona startles, taken aback by how quickly and soundlessly he had appeared.

“What’s the black stuff?” Fischl asks, and then, seeming to catch herself, clears her throat. “These foul markings whisper of a strange and ominous taint. Alas, as one hailing from a distant land, I'm unable to recognize this dark material.”

After a moment, Venti loosens his grip on Mona’s wrist, offering her a sheepish and somewhat apologetic smile.

“It’s blood that's been tainted by rifthound corrosion,” he explains to them both. “Touching it, even with the aid of a tool, can run the risk of inflicting the corrosion upon your own body. It will sicken you gradually until removed by a healer.”

“It might be best for us to move away from the bodies,” Oz says hastily.

Taking his advice, they reconvene a short distance away.

“The wolves that killed those hilichurls look to be the size of the average mature adult, rather than whelps, and they were travelling in an uncommonly large pack,” Venti muses thoughtfully. “There were probably at least six to eight adults.”

“So many?!” Fischl squawks, alarmed. “Mondstadt hasn't had a rifthound problem before, so where did they even come from?!”

“They’ve probably moved into Mondstadt recently from elsewhere,” Venti answers.

“I’ve not heard of rifthounds in Liyue either,” Mona says, a little doubtfully, and Venti sighs.

“They haven't come here from Liyue,” he corrects. “If there are that many mature adults hunting together all of a sudden, they probably came from beyond the rift.”

“Beyond the what?” Fischl yelps.

After a moment, Venti sighs again, gesturing them away from the kill site with one hand.

“Let's walk and talk,” he says. “We shouldn’t linger here. The corpses are fresh, which means the pack might still be hunting in the area.”

“Let's head to the Dragonspine adventurer camp,” Oz suggests quickly. “The knights patrolling this area have set up a temporary rest stop there.”

“A sound plan,” Fischl agrees uneasily.

And so, with a final backward glance towards the hilichurl corpses, they turn, and begin to beat a hasty retreat from the gorge.

When they reach the base camp, Harris is spooning out large bowls of stew for the knights coming off their patrol shift for lunch. The tables by his station are all occupied, so they settle instead on a log, a short distance from the camp.

“Riftwolves are not commonly spotted here in Mondstadt,” Mona points out suspiciously. “So how do you know what rifthound corrosion looks like?”

Venti looks surprised for a moment, then he laughs.

“One hears many tales and songs as a bard!” he says cheerily. “Never underestimate a bard’s propensity for knowing many obscure things.”

“A song,” Mona says, a little dubiously. “About riftwolves.”

“Shall I recite the tale for you?” Venti asks jovially, and without waiting for an answer, summons his lyre with a flourish.

With a gentle strum, he begins the tale in a low, almost confessional tone. 

“This tale begins in a time long ago,” he murmurs. “In a land far below the sunlit surface, where plants seldom grow, and where there is little to sustain life— there, the people of that land stumbled upon a forbidden art, the art of creating artificial life.”

The story is not set to rhyme nor song, but the bard’s fingers continue to drift deftly up and down the strings as he speaks, almost as if in absent habit.

“Amongst those who practiced this art,” he continues quietly, “there was one above all who sought perfection. In her pursuit of creation, she created many life-forms out of the void — but in turn, the void left its stain on those creatures.”

The grass rustles quietly around them, a breeze stirring the fallen leaves as he closes his eyes.

“Fell beasts soon poured out of that realm,” he relays, “but corrupted by the void, their very being corroded life in the sunlit world. All things touched by them withered and died, and wounds inflicted by them would fester and putrefy with black ichor.”

Ever transfixed by grandiose tales, Fischl is listening with wide, interested eyes. As the wind picks up, however, Mona finds her gaze drawn instead by the gently spinning leaves, rising slowly off the ground in strange, moving shapes.

“The sun was blotted out by the swarms of dark beasts,” Venti continues. “Wolves, dragons, and other monstrous beings.”

Disbelievingly, Mona watches as those spinning leaves begin to take the form of pouncing, rolling creatures.

“But in that time of darkness, the Four Winds assembled,” Venti declares, and smiles fondly as, under Mona’s wide-eyed gaze, four larger forms coalesce out of the dancing leaves. “The dark dragon was felled upon the mountain, while the Wolf of the North led his pack to chase the abyssal wolves from the land.”

Rearing up, the larger forms charge and bound into the other shapes, dispersing them. Fischl’s breath catches at last, attention finally caught by the strange sight.

“They fled back into the rift,” Venti finishes, dismissing his lyre as the leaves flutter back down to the ground, the breeze dying as quickly as it had come. “Where they have dwelled ever since.”

There's a moment of silence, before Fischl begins to applaud, looking quite delighted by it all. Mona just stares for a moment longer, before finally shooting to her feet.

“What the hell was that?!” she demands.

The other two turn to look at her, eyes wide at her sudden outburst.

“That thing you did!” Mona cries, pointing a finger at the leaves, now lying inert on the ground. “With the leaves and the wind!”

“What thing?” Venti asks blankly.

With a frustrated groan, Mona turns to Fischl.

“Indeed, there were wondrous shapes in the leaves,” Fischl confirms. “Did you do that, Venti? It was quite amazing.”

“Ah,” Venti says.  “Indeed, it was probably me using my vision unconsciously.” He clears his throat. “Anemo visions, you know! Sometimes they almost seem to have a mind of their own!”

“That was not—” Mona splutters.

Not a normal level of elemental mastery, she wants to say, but they are interrupted by some kind of commotion at the camp. They turn to see a group of adventurers pouring into the camp, disheveled and panting. One of them is limping, being supported by two other adventurers.

“At least as tall as three grown men!” someone shouts. “It attacked us in the middle of the snowstorm!”

“Spoon them a few bowls of goulash, Harris, and heat up a few hot water bottles!” Iris shouts over her shoulder, before turning back to the adventurers disapprovingly. “Did you not bring sufficient supplies up into the mountains?! You're all freezing!”

Indeed, the ones that have settled down around the fire are all shivering, and the one who was limping looks almost blue from the cold. 

“We packed!” defends the one who had been shouting. “We just ditched the extra weight while fleeing in favor of preserving our lives! Massive, I'm telling you, that thing was, and incredibly fast!”

Trading a look, Fischl and Mona quickly approach the adventurers.

“Can you describe the beast?” Mona asks urgently. “What did it look like?”

“We couldn't see through the snowstorm,” the limping adventurer admits. “Visibility was poor. That's how I ended up spraining my ankle on the way down.”

“But it was a large beast!” another adventurer cries. “A very large beast, larger than any beast we’ve encountered before — not in the fair and peaceful lands of Mondstadt, at least.”

“As tall as three grown men you say?” Fischl prods, unable to keep a small tinge of excitement from her voice.

“Yes,” the adventurer confirms.

“Are you sure it wasn't a lawachurl?” Iris asks, unimpressed.

“It ran on four legs!” the shouty adventurer says defensively. “It was definitely not a lawachurl!”

At that, Fischl tugs discreetly at Mona’s cape, shooting her a meaningful look, and Mona nods in return.

The wolf pack might have moved up into Dragonspine after hunting in the nearby gorge. Either that, or they may have set up in the mountains, coming down into nearby areas to hunt. The latter would certainly explain why the knights have not found them in all their patrols, and why Oz had not been able to locate them either.

Behind them, the knights who had been seated at the tables have approached, and are trading meaningful glances as well.

“Good heavens,” Venti finally says, as Iris bends to help splint the adventurer’s leg. “Aside from the ankle, I hope no one else was seriously hurt?”

“No one was hurt this time,” the shouty adventurer mutters ominously, evidently still disgruntled at being chided, “but if no one goes to sort out that foul beast, it's only a matter of time before lives are lost.”

“The hot water bottles are ready!” Harris calls from his station.

“After you are all warmed up, would you be willing to give a witness account?” a knight asks.

“Of course,” one of the adventurers agrees.

Leaving the adventurers to the care of the camp and the knights, they move away from the others.

“I suppose we have our intel,” Fischl says, still sounding relieved. No doubt, she's glad at not having to return empty-handed.

Venti hesitates for a moment, before slowing to a halt, turning to them with a sheepish smile.

“We should return to the city now that you have the information Captain Kaeya asked for,” he says. “It's getting dark, and it's probably wise not to travel in the shadows, especially with abyssal creatures at large.”

“Of course!” Fischl says hastily, and clears her throat. “Don't worry, dear bard! My familiar, Ozvaldo von Hrafnavins, is quite capable of protecting us en-route!”

“Indeed,” Oz says. “I am happy to serve.”

“Then, this humble bard will leave himself to your care,” Venti says, before puffing himself up. “And of course, as a bard of your esteemed court, I will be glad to recite any requested songs or tales on the homeward journey!”

“Oh, but would you really?” Fischl says, perking in interest. “That does sound quite fun.”

Feeling strangely perturbed, Mona lets Fischl, Oz, and Venti carry the conversation for the rest of the journey home. It's only after they part at the entrance of the city, and she's lifting the seal over her own abode, that she finally realises what is disturbing her.

When had Venti found out that the commission was issued by Captain Kaeya?! She and Fischl were supposed to keep that confidential!

Closing the door behind her, she puts the kettle on for some tea, and sits down to wait for the water to boil. She thinks on it for a long while, but can't remember if they'd mentioned Kaeya at all while Venti was with them. At the same time, she wouldn't be surprised if either of them had slipped up at some point. They'd spent the whole day with Venti after all.

After a moment, the water begins to boil, and with a sigh, she goes to take the kettle off the stove.

Either way, the cat is out of the bag now, and there's nothing she or Fischl can do about it. She trusts that Venti has caught on that the commission was confidential. He probably has the common sense to keep it to himself.

Steam rises slowly out of the cup as she pours the tea, curling upon itself like the rolling shapes that had formed out of the dancing leaves. She stares in the smoke for a long moment, before finally lowering her face into one hand.

She's probably overthinking things again.

Chapter Text

For as long as Eula Lawrence can remember, she has always worked alone. That's the way things have been for a long time, at least.

Eula is under no illusions that she's easy to work with. To begin with, no one ever wants to work with a Lawrence, and she’s never liked working with anyone who would only jeer and sneer the whole time either. On her own part, however, she has also never liked working with those who would hold her back, and does not care enough for false flattery when she finds someone lacking.

In other words, there are few people that Eula Lawrence is willing to work with, and there are few people willing to work with Eula Lawrence in return.

“Hello, brave knight!” a cheerful voice chirps. “Where are you headed to on this fine evening?”

And that's why she's surprised when, on her way up into the mountains for her latest mission, she is stopped by a somewhat unlikely individual.

Venti the Bard sits cross-legged on an abandoned wagon by the side of the road, his chin cradled in one hand,  an apple core in the other. They are some distance from the base camp, and a light dusting of snow frosts the ground. He's rather far from any of his usual audience.

“Up into Dragonspine,” is all Eula says, before she continues to walk.

“Oh,” Venti says.

There's a creak and a thump as he hops down from the wagon. A moment later, she hears the sound of little feet in the snow as he hurries to catch up with her.

“I see,” he says. “Well, that's a rather fine coincidence! I was planning on a long walk up onto Dragonspine myself. Musical inspiration is hard to come by, you see, and seeing new places is always good inspiration for a tale or two!” He clears his throat. “I hope you will not resent the company of a mere bard like myself!”

She pauses to look over her shoulder at him.

“Dragonspine is a dangerous place to be,” she says curtly. “You'd be best off returning to somewhere safer.”

Venti blinks as she turns away again, continuing up the snowy path towards Dragonspine.

“Wait,” he cries. “Wait!”

He scrambles after her, half-jogging to keep up with her longer strides.

“Dragonspine is a dangerous place to be,” he agrees. “Are you sure you don't need an escort, my dear lady? It's always safest to travel with company!”

At that, Eula actually stops, turning to look at him somewhat disbelievingly.

“I'm on a mission as a Captain of the Knights of Favonius,” she finally says. “I will not be bringing a civilian along with me, let alone a… mere bard, in your own words, with no combat experience.”

Venti's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He blinks once, and then twice. He seems unfairly surprised at being turned away.

“Are you not merely a bard?” Eula questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Why, yes!” Venti immediately replies. “I am, indeed, merely a bard, but— but!”

He pauses for a moment, before he clears his throat, expression turning a little sheepish.

“Well, the truth is— and this is rather embarrassing—” He clears his throat again. “The truth is that I need an escort. I would dearly love to be escorted by a brave knight such as yourself, and that's why—”

“Okay,” Eula says, folding her arms as she turns to face him fully. “I'll escort you back to Mondstadt City then. My mission can wait until you're safely back within the city walls.”

"No, no, I can't return to the city!” Venti blurts out.

Eula narrows her eyes.

“And why is that?” she asks.

"There's—” Venti begins, and coughs. “There’s no real reason why."

Narrowing her eyes further, Eula just stares him down, not saying anything.

“Well, the truth is,” Venti tries again, when he seems to realize that she is awaiting further explanation. “The truth is… err…”

But Eula's patience is running low. If the bard refuses to return to the city, then there's nothing else she can do for him. She needs to complete her mission before sundown. Dragonspine only grows colder in the dark.

“I don't have time for this,” she says.

“Wait!” he calls out, as she continues her trek up the snowy path. “Wait!” 

Ignoring him, she just keeps walking.

There is smoke rising from Albedo’s camp as she approaches from afar, telling her that the Chief Alchemist is indeed present, as promised. He's faced away when she turns the corner into his camp, looking over the experimental notes pinned to the wooden board further in.

“Kindly stomp the snow off your boots before coming closer,” he says, without turning around. “I'll need the floorspace for an experiment later. I don't want any ice or melted water affecting the results.”

Stomping a few times at the entrance, Eula makes sure that her boots are clean of any excess snow, before stepping gingerly into the cave.

“Do you have the intel I asked for?” she asks, and Albedo hums.

“There's a map on the desk by the alchemy bench,” he says. “The location is marked.”

“Right,” she says.

After a moment, Albedo finally turns away from his notes, retrieving the map from the desk and handing it to her.

“You're welcome to warm up here before going,” he says, and peers up out of the cave. “Didn’t you come with someone?”

She frowns. “No,” she says.

Albedo pauses for a moment.

“Oh,” he says. “Alright then.”

He turns away, picking a test tube up from the rack on the desk, and taking it towards the brazier on the desk on the other side of the cave. There's a clink as he begins to decant it into a beaker.

“What do you mean?” Eula prompts, when it becomes clear that he won't offer further explanation. “What's going on? Why did you ask that?”

“It's no matter,” Albedo says. “You should get going before it gets too dark. It's very cold on the mountain at night, and I must return to my experiments.”

He sets the beaker down, before turning around to return the empty test tube to the rack. As he comes face to face with her again, however, Eula narrows her eyes at him, but Albedo’s expression remains even, face carrying no tells at all.

“Alright,” she finally says.

Rolling the map up, she heads back out into the snow.

Truthfully, she's always found Albedo a little eerie. With those eyes of his that seem to glow when the light hits them funny, she's always had the creepy feeling he can see her in the dark, like a cat, even when she can't see him in return. Sometimes, she thinks he hears things the rest of them can't either.

She turns the corner away from his camp, continuing back down the way she came. The snow is heavier over the tree-lined slope, heavy enough to hide any prints if she were being followed, and after a moment, on a strange sort of hunch, she stops in her tracks.

Looking around, she squints suspiciously into the storm.

“Alright, you sneaky no-good bard!” she calls out crankily. “Come out where I can see you!”

There's a moment’s pause, and then Venti manifests out of the blizzard, stepping out from behind the ruins of some ancient wall.

“Ehe?” he offers, a little sheepishly. “Hello, brave knight! Fancy seeing you here again— uua aaah!”

“Talk!” Eula roars, lifting him into the air by his frilly white collar. “Why are you following me?!”

“I wasn't following you, my good knight, I was merely on a walk for musical inspiration!” Venti protests in a single rushed breath, distressed.

“Lies!” Eula snarls. “Musical inspiration?! Up here in Dragonspine?!”

“It's a song about dragons and snow!” Venti wails.

“ Lies!”

Feet kicking a little, Venti hastily grabs the wrist that is holding him above ground. His frightened grip seems to coincidentally pinch a nerve in Eula's arm, because her entire forearm goes briefly numb. 

Cursing, she instinctively drops him, and he lands in the snow with a loud ack! He lays flat on his back for a moment, before rolling over with a groan. As she reaches out for him again, however, he jumps to his feet, and backs very quickly away.

He stands a safe distance from her, dusting the snow off his clothes. For a long moment, he does not speak, just continues to dust himself off, as if stealing some time to think. Eula watches him carefully with narrowed eyes the whole time.

"I—” he finally begins. “The thing is, err— the truth is that, you see—"

He takes a deep breath, before turning around.

"Eula! I deeply admire you!” he cries. “Please allow me to accompany you on this fine night— Ow!” He clutches at his cheek for a moment, then turns to look at her disbelievingly. “Why did you slap me?!"

He yelps, jumping backwards as Eula jabs a finger fiercely at him.

“I'm warning you,” she growls. “I won't allow any person in Mondstadt to take liberties with me!”

Venti blinks a few times, before his surprise morphs quickly into horrified realization.

"No, that's—” he splutters. “That's not what I meant! I wasn't making a move on you!”

“Then what did you mean?” Eula snaps.

“I just meant that— I admire your resolve! And your integrity!” Venti defends. “And your bravery as a knight, especially one who— who had to go against family to serve and to do what was right! I wasn't— I'm not—”

He puts his face in his hands, shoulders slumping in a posture of utter defeat. After a moment, he breathes out, and then finally looks back up with a placating smile.

"Eula, please,” he says, holding out a beseeching hand. “Just— let me accompany you. Don’t ask so many questions. I'm begging you.”

Eula takes a step back, pulling herself out of his reach, and then, with a narrowing of her eyes, she puts a hand on her sword hilt. 

“Ah, ah, ah— please, my dear lady, my brave knight, violence is never the answer!” Venti cries, waving his arms frantically and backing away. “I'm— I'm an innocent citizen of Mondstadt, a good bard! You can't strike me down— not without due process— ” 

He trips backwards over a log. Eula reaches out automatically to grab him by the collar, and then, using her new grip on him, lifts him back upright to face her.

“Alright, I admit it!” Venti wails.

Raising an eyebrow, Eula gives him a small shake.

“Admit what?” she demands.

“You—” Venti begins. “You put me down first!”

When Eula hesitates, Venti grabs her wrist again. She feels the pinching of that same nerve from before, the same zap like lightning up her arm, but this time— she's no longer sure that it's accidental.

Her grip opens without her consent, and Venti drops back down, this time onto his feet, rather than onto his bottom. He backs away very quickly. Narrowing her eyes, Eula advances after him, making a grab for his collar again, but he leaps back out of her reach with a yelp.

“Jean sent me!” he bellows.

At that, Eula finally pauses.

“What?” she says.

Licking his lips, Venti hesitates for a moment longer, but when Eula makes a grab for him again, he yelps, and swats at her with one hand.

“Ouch!” Eula cries. Drawing her hand back, she looks down, disbelieving, to see a red mark already beginning to bloom on her wrist. “You—”

“Jean asked me to watch you!” Venti hollers, jumping further backward from her reach. “Because she's really worried about the riftwolves!”

“… What?” Eula just says again.

“Don't— don't touch me!” Venti warns, pointing a finger accusingly at her. “I'll scream!”

“Scream for who to hear?” Eula questions exasperatedly. “There's no one here!”

Immediately, she winces as she registers her own words.

“Okay, that's— that's not what I meant,” she quickly says. “Calm down.”

“You're the one who needs to calm down here!” Venti says incredulously.

“Okay! Okay!” Eula says, backing away with her hands held up where he can see them. “I'm sorry!”

They settle in place, a safe distance between them. After a moment, Venti puts a hand on his forehead, sighing heavily.

“Jean asked you to watch me,” Eula finally says.

“Yes,” Venti confirms.

Narrowing her eyes, Eula folds her arms across her chest, unimpressed.

“Why would Jean ask you to watch me?” she asks, a little rudely, she knows, but she was also quite rudely followed.

Venti looks back up, glaring at her, and then, after a moment, he sighs, and puts his face back in his hand, now rubbing tiredly at his brow.

“Bard,” Eula growls. “I'm warning you—”

Venti holds out a palm, in clear indication to wait, and scowling, Eula steps back a little, but obediently waits in silence. Venti rubs at his brow for a moment longer, before looking up again.

“Okay, fine, I admit it,” he finally says, with a strained smile. “I'm decent with a bow.”

“You're decent with a bow,” Eula repeats, flatly.

“Yes,” Venti sighs, “and Jean thought that since you're a melee fighter, you might need ranged support with the riftwolves, since they fly around a lot.”

Eula squints at him, skeptical, but then again, the knights have been keeping the intel about the riftwolves quiet. If he knows about the riftwolves, then perhaps…

Finally, she sighs.

“And she couldn't have assigned Amber?” she grumbles.

“Amber’s busy!” Venti defends. “And she's currently the only allogene left in the Knights that wields a bow!”

Eula stops at that, blinking, but realizes it’s true. The rest of the order’s bow-wielding allogenes had all left with Varka.

“And so Jean assigned you?” she asks incredulously.

“I'm— I'm good with a bow!” Venti defends.

“I don't believe you,” Eula says frankly.

Venti groans, and summons his weapon. Alarmed, Eula immediately steps back, but he just turns, aiming at something in the distance. The bow, a strange but undeniably beautiful thing of white wood and pale gold, has four bowstrings. His arrow is set loose with a sharp, but oddly musical twang .

Eula turns her head sharply to follow the path of the arrow, but is only quick enough to see it hitting something in a pine tree some distance away, before dropping flat down into the snow.

With a scoff, she turns, and begins to stride decisively towards it.

“Good with a bow?” she grouses. “You didn't even hit any fucking—”

She falters, however, as she finally reaches the fallen arrow.

At the tip, it has pierced solidly through a single pine cone.

Bending down, she picks the arrow up, very slowly, before turning to look back in the direction she came. Venti is trailing after her with large, innocent eyes, but from the imprint of their footsteps… he had shot that pinecone down from twenty yards away.

She looks back down at the arrow, shot with enough precision that it had hit dead center of the pinecone, and yet with enough force that the tip has gone through and protrudes from the other side. It’s blizzarding hard enough that the winds should have blown any arrow astray.

How had he even…?

“Alright,” she finally says, slow and cautious. “You can accompany me.” 

Venti lets out a long breath, putting his face back in his hand.

“Oh, thank fucking Barbatos,” he mutters.

“But!” Eula snarls. “I'll be checking with Jean when we get back! If you're lying about her sending you here, I will have vengeance!”

“Yes, yes,” Venti sighs. “Of course.”

The marked map leads them to a slope a short glide down from the Statue of the Seven. For his part, Venti seems to handle his glider well, navigating the snowstorm with an ease that even Amber would envy. As he gracefully alights upon the slope, he raises a hand absently, and a gentle updraft eases Eula’s landing, allowing her to land without any fumbling from the strong winds.

She narrows her eyes, briefly eyeing the anemo vision hanging from the back of his cloak.

“Thanks,” she says shortly, and then strides past him, heading up the slope.

There are strange lumps of ice on either side of the path, and as she passes one of them, she realizes that there is something frozen within the ice.

Boars.

“Hey,” Venti calls from some distance behind. “Are— Are you sure that what you're looking for is here?”

She turns to see Venti still standing where he had first landed, looking around.

“Yes,” Eula says, and continues walking.

After a moment, she hears the sound of Venti scurrying towards her through the snow, hurrying to catch up.

“Err, what was it you said your mission was again?” he asks.

Eula whips around disbelievingly.

“You said Jean asked you to come on this mission!” she cries.

Venti raises both hands, backing away warily.

“Hey, hey, hands off the merchandise!” he squawks.

“I didn't even grab at you this time!” Eula says indignantly.

Venti looks around again.

“Okay, no, but seriously,” he says. “What are we here for again?”

“We’re tracking down reports of the large rifthounds that have been roaming Mondstadt!” Eula snaps, and Venti blinks.

“On this particular slope?” he asks.

With an exasperated groan, Eula turns, and continues marching up the slope with long, forceful strides. The storm seems to worsen on this section of the slope. The snow is nearly up to her thighs, and Venti is faring poorly with his shorter legs.

“Wait,” Venti yelps.

She can hear him wading through the snow behind her. Up ahead, Eula can see a cave in the cliffside, and picks up her pace. This snow is getting too thick for Venti to navigate comfortably. They should be able to shelter in there for a bit while—

“Eula, wait!” Venti cries, his tone urgent. “I think there's been a misunderstanding! The beast on this slope isn't—”

Suddenly, there comes a deafening roar from ahead. The sound echoes, as if against stone, and Eula stumbles backward, alarmed.

A moment of silence.

Then, with another enraged bellow, a large creature comes barrelling out of the cavern.

“Whoa!” Eula yells, reaching for her blade.

Before she can draw it, however, she feels a firm grip on her elbow, and then— there's a whoosh, a strange rush of what sounds like wind, and she realizes that Venti has somehow yanked her backward out of range of the creature.

For a moment, she's confused. She hadn't felt her feet leave the ground, nor had she felt any backward pull. It's almost like they had just manifested down the slope from the creature, which from a quick glance, isn't a rifthound at all.

It's some kind of… boar?

“This isn't the beast we’re looking for,” Venti begins urgently. “It’s not the one that's been leaving carcasses all over Mondstadt. It's been here for centuries and has never left the mountains. Surely you've heard of the Great Snowboar King?”

Eula double-takes.

“Wait,” she blurts out. “This is—?”

The Snowboar King lets out another deafening roar, and then, it begins to charge down the slope towards them.

Venti grips her arm. His braids seem to glow briefly, and then, suddenly, a wind current is blowing beneath them. 

“Quickly!” he urges, engaging his glider. “Quickly!”

She engages her glider as well. The updraft immediately catches under her, and they ascend smoothly up the side of a nearby cliff. There's a loud crash, and startled, Eula looks down to see that the boar is charging repeatedly against the side of the peak. It rams itself into the stone once, and then twice, before it backs away, seeming to give up with a final, frustrated roar. 

She stumbles slightly, still looking down the cliff over her shoulder, as they land on a snowy slope above the one they'd been on, and then—

“Oh—” Venti hisses, “fuck—” 

She turns around at the indelicate curse, to see that Venti has apparently landed them in the midst of a hilichurl camp . The hilichurls around the fire jump up with furious cries as, slightly further away, a mitachurl hefts its axe with a roar.

Reacting swiftly, she draws her blade, and rushes forward between them and her smaller companion.

“Behind me!” she shouts, and Venti gladly jumps back to shelter behind the wide sweep of her claymore.

Moving away from the edge of the cliff, she quickly scans her surroundings. In front of her are two mitachurls and a bunch of smaller hilichurls, but she's concerned to note at least five other hilichurl shooters standing on peaks further up the slope, taking aim.

A moment later, however, a number of rapidly fired shots take out the two on peaks nearest to her, then the other three further away.

Venti.

“I'll take care of the archers!” he shouts. “Focus on the others!”

With a final nod over her shoulder, Eula steps forward, swinging her claymore up above her in a wide arc, bringing it down into the ground before her with force. The impact, accompanied with a blast of frost from her vision, easily sends the smaller hilichurls flying back, leaving her space to deal with the two mitachurls.

The mitachurls charge forward with loud cries, raising their axes. As she deals with them, parrying their hefty strikes with her own claymore, she hears the grunts and cries of the smaller hilichurls, along with the whistle pitch of arrows moving rapidly through the air.

She brings the mitachurls down in record time, but as she straightens from her last lunge, hefting her claymore back up into a ready position, she sees the smaller hilichurls already lying scattered around the slope, downed by arrows.

“More incoming on your left!” Venti shouts, and Eula turns to see more hillichurls rushing down a nearby slope, chittering fiercely. This time, they are armed with ice shields, and Eula grits her teeth, ready to break through those shields with sheer force.

As they rush her, however, a circle of glowing teal lights up beneath them. They are tossed up in a swirl of anemo, and as they fall slowly back down, flailing, Eula seizes the opportunity. With her own burst of elemental energy, she swings her blade forward with a loud cry.

“Flood of frost!” she roars.

The resulting blast cuts them all neatly down.

Panting, she finally turns around. Venti is lowering his bow from several yards behind her, smiling faintly. There's a fond look in his eye, gentle, almost proud, and for the first time since they had embarked on this long trip together, Eula finds herself returning his smile, grinning back at him, wild and fierce.

“Sharp shooting there!” she cries, lowering her blade as she strides forward to meet him. “Thank you, dear bard. I must admit—”

They are interrupted by a thunderous roar.

It seems to happen almost in slow motion. From behind the tall peak on Venti's left, where she had not been able to spot it, a lawachurl leaps forward, fists raised above its head.

At the sound, Venti turns, his eyes widening. His bow is lowered at his side. There’s no way, Eula knows instinctively, that he'll be able to nock an arrow in time, but even then, she can tell that no arrow will arrest the descent of a pouncing lawachurl. 

Panicked, she lunges forward, but he's too far away — there's no way she'll reach him in time—

The lawachurl descends.

Venti takes a step back, bringing his free hand reflexively up to meet it, and then—

A sharp crack , before the lawachurl, landing with fists poised to smash down upon Venti's frail frame— staggers. It stumbles back onto its behind with a surprised grunt, and then shakes its head, as if confused. 

“Woah!” Venti shouts, jumping away. 

Acting purely on instinct, Eula flings herself forward with a scream of fury, of vengeance. Her single slice, fueled by so much adrenaline, by so much fear, cracks right through the side of the lawachurl’s neck.

The creature falls without even a cry, and she knows without having to look that it's already dead. She turns, instead, to Venti.

“Are you alright?!” she demands.

It takes her a moment to realize they had spoken simultaneously.

“Am I alright?” she repeats incredulously. “Am I alright?! Venti, you just—”

She pauses there, still a little shell-shocked, still shaking , shaking from the adrenaline, and from how close she had been to losing a comrade in battle. The last few seconds of battle are still replaying, over and over, in her head, and—

She turns back to the lawachurl.

Her claymore had struck it through the neck, but the sturdy mask over its face is cracked as well— and cracked badly.

“Venti,” she finally says, “you backhanded a lawachurl.”

Venti blinks.

“What?” he says blankly. “No, I didn't.” 

“You did,” Eula insists, sure of it now. “You—” 

Those last few seconds are still replaying in her head, and she knows what she saw.

“You staggered that lawachurl with your bare hand, Venti!” she snarls, whipping around. “I saw it!”

Venti looks down at his own hand, seeming more surprised and bewildered than anything.

“Are you sure—” he begins.

“Yes!” Eula screams.

The panic in her, muddled with confusion, suddenly ignites into anger. 

“What was that, Venti?!” she demands. “What— how did you—” 

She looks down at her own shaking palms, calloused and strong from years of gripping a blade, and then at his, now held placatingly up before him.

Slim fingers. Small hands.

He does not even have callouses from his own instrument.

The force of that lawachurl’s landing should have shattered every bone in his hand, in his wrist, in his arm— likely in the rest of his body as well.

“I guess I used my vision without thinking,” Venti finally says, dismissing his bow in a small flutter of teal. “Any anemo vision-wielder—”

“That was not something any allogene could just do!” Eula shouts.

She doesn't even know why she's shouting. She grits her teeth, closing her eyes briefly as she composes herself.

“Sorry,” she finally manages. “Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I was just—” 

When she finally looks at Venti again, however, his eyes have gone wide and unseeing. After a moment, he looks back down at his hands.

“I—” he says, and then—

A tear slides down his pale cheek.

And Eula, who has never been good at tears— there's no other word for it— she panics.

“Okay, I'm sorry,” she immediately blurts out, retreating frantically with her hands held up. “I'm really, really sorry.”

“I was scared,” Venti continues, and then, his face crumples, his bottom lip wobbling as more tears begin to streak down his face. “We were being attacked.”

“I'm sorry!” Eula yelps, but Venti just lets out another hiccup, before throwing his head back.

“And you kept asking so many questions!” he wails inconsolably up into the bitter winter sky.

“I won't ask anymore questions!” Eula promises frantically. “No more questions, alright?”

Venti sniffles, and then finally lowers his head, looking at her through red-rimmed eyes.

“You promise?” he asks wobblingly.

“Absolutely,” Eula swears. “Just— just don't cry.”

He blinks, and the tears stop as quickly as they had come. He wipes the tears from his face, dries his hands on the front of his pants, and then dusts his palms off.

“Great!” he says, giving the lawachurl a final glance, before turning back to her. “Anyway, since we've found the alleged beast, and it's clearly not the one we were looking for, shall we get out of this blasted cold?”

For a moment, Eula just stares at him. She blinks once, and then again. She… begins to get a distinct feeling that she's been played. 

“Hey—” she splutters, as he turns, and begins to walk away.

“Hey!” she cries indignantly, running to catch up with him.

With an innocent blink of wide green eyes, he turns to look questioningly at her. 

“Did you—” Eula begins, indignant and incredulous. “Did you just—”

His eyes widen, and then, abruptly, fill again with tears.

Eula recoils.

“You said,” he warbles reproachfully, “that you were done with questions.” 

“I am!” Eula yelps, raising her hands in surrender.

Venti sniffles.

“You promised,” he says accusingly.

“I did!” Eula squawks. “I did, alright?! I promised, so just— stop crying . ” She puts her face in her hands with a groan. “Dear Barbatos, have mercy…”

At that, Venti lets out a sound somewhere between a cough and a huff. When she looks back up, she doesn't know if she's imagining it, but he looks almost… amused.

“Shall we return to Mondstadt City then, dear captain?” he asks, a little more gently, and then, he smiles. “Jean is awaiting our safe return.”

Eula closes her eyes.

She suspects that if she tries to ask more questions, he's just going to break out the waterworks again. Eula Lawrence can deal with anything. She can deal with abyss mages and lawachurls. She can deal with thirteen fucking mitachurls. Heck, she can even deal with snotty Fatui harbingers. She cannot , however, deal with tears.

“Fine,” she grumbles, resigned.

By the time they reach the city again, the sun has long since gone down, but the light is still on inside Jean’s office.

“Acting Grandmaster,” Eula greets upon entry, which immediately draws Jean’s attention.

Jean stands from her desk.

“You're back,” she says, sounding relieved. “Did you find anything? Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine,” Eula says, and then after a moment, adds— “Venti was a great help. He said you sent him.”

At that, Jean finally seems to notice Venti, trotting into the room behind Eula, wearing a somewhat apologetic expression. Her eyes widen.

“Venti,” she says, sounding surprised.

“Hey, Jean,” he greets sheepishly. “Eula caught me following her and wouldn't let me go unless I explained why. I didn't know what else to say.”

“No, thank you for your help, Venti,” Jean immediately says. “I'm— I'm really sorry for troubling you.”

She seems oddly flustered by his appearance.

“Was he telling the truth then?” Eula asks suspiciously. “Did you really send him?”

Jean looks suddenly embarrassed.

“I—” she begins, and then clears her throat. “Yes, I did send him.”

There's a moment of silence, and then Venti coughs.

“Right,” he says, seeming to pick up on some of the awkwardness. “Well, I'll leave you to make your report then.” He performs a sweeping bow. “Adieu, fair Eula! Adieu, fair Jean! I will see you again in the morn!”

Then, he turns, and without further fanfare, makes his exit. The door clicks quietly shut behind him as Eula turns, more slowly, to face Jean. For a moment, neither of them speak.

“Eula,” Jean finally says, still sounding embarrassed. “I apologize that I sent Venti in secret. It's not that I doubt your capabilities. I hope you know that. I just…”

She trails off uncertainly, and finally, Eula just sighs. 

“I know,” she says, and then adds, more grudgingly— “and I ended up needing his help in the end.”

Jean straightens, eyes widening.

“Did you find the beast then?” she asks, sounding both eager, and a little worried.

“I did,” Eula admits, “but it wasn't the one we are looking for. It was a boar, one that's been sighted there many times before, not a wolf.”

Looking faintly disappointed, Jean sags. “I see.”

“What's our next move?” Eula asks.

Jean sighs, and then sits back down in her working chair.

“We've found two kill sites so far,” she says. “The first carcass near Springvale suggested a single, large hound. But some days back, Kaeya engaged Fischl of the Adventurer’s Guild on a personal, unauthorized commission. She found another kill site in Dadaupa Gorge.” Jean pauses for a moment then. “That site suggested a pack of six to eight average-sized adults.”

“There are multiple packs hunting in Mondstadt,” Eula says, with realization.

“Yes,” Jean confirms, and exhales, resting her forehead against her steepled hands, looking tired. “The Springvale hunters report that prey grows scarce in Windwail Highlands, and the Dadaupa Gorge kill site suggests that the wolves are spreading into the rest of Mondstadt.”

Eula steps closer, intending to take the seat opposite Jean. As she does so, however, she realizes that there's a map on Jean’s table, marked with pins indicating the patrol routes. She had likely been poring over it before Eula’s entry.

Eula looks down at it, noticing the different coloured tacks that mark the kill sites, and frowns.

“They are spreading outwards from the direction of Wolvendom,” she murmurs, and Jean finally looks up with surprise.

“There've been rifthounds spotted in Wolvendom before,” Eula reminds her. “Could they be multiplying from there?”

“I considered that too at first,” Jean admits. “But so far, the carcasses have all been found on the other side of Springvale from Wolvendom.”

“That's only because the hunters don't hunt near Wolvendom,” Eula points out. “That's the territory of the Wolf of the North, and the hunters have an unspoken agreement with his pack.”

At that, Jean’s eyes widen.

“You're right,” she says. With slightly more fervent movements, she straightens the map again, as Eula takes a seat in the chair opposite her. They both stare down at the map for a long moment.

“We’re stretched a little thin, aren't we?” Eula admits reluctantly.

Jean sighs, and lowers her head, massaging tiredly at her brow. “Yes,” she says.

With so many knights away on Varka’s expedition, they've been short-handed for a while. That seems clear from the pins scattered across the map. A small jar holds the rest of the pins, and that jar is very nearly empty.

“Wolvendom is treacherous,” Eula says, after a moment. “We need an experienced knight, someone quick, quiet, and who knows how to navigate the wilderness.”

“Yes,” Jean sighs.

“But Varka has taken the best of those who are trained for the wilderness,” Eula guesses, and Jean closes her eyes.

“Yes,” she sighs again.

Eula exhales, and looks down at the map once more. They consider the map together for a moment longer, before suddenly, Jean draws a sharp breath, and looks back up, her blue eyes brightening.

“Amber,” she breathes. “Amber could do it.”

“Not alone,” Eula says, a little alarmed. “She needs a partner, preferably someone who knows the woods and can serve as a guide.”

Jean looks back down at the map.

“Sucrose,” she says, after a moment. “She’s conducted several studies in Wolvendom. I believe she's scheduled to return for a routine check of her samples.”

“Someone who can aid Amber in a fight,” Eula corrects. “Someone who can defend her while holding their own, if it comes down to it.”

At that, Jean frowns. Her gaze is fixed unseeingly on her empty jar of pins, but there's a surety in her expression now, like she's already reached a decision in her heart, even if she doesn't speak it aloud. For a moment, Eula just watches her, not speaking.

“Jean,” she finally says. “Who is Venti?”

Jean stiffens, but does not look up. She does not answer the question, so Eula just watches her a moment longer, before she sighs.

“Do you trust him?” she asks, and that finally seems to draw Jean’s gaze. She looks up, meeting Eula’s eyes.

“With my life,” she declares fiercely. “With the life of everyone I hold dear. With the fate of Mondstadt itself. I trust him completely, Eula. He is worthy of my belief.”

Eula blinks, taken aback by the immediacy, the fervor in that response. There's a fire blazing in Jean’s eyes as she looks into Eula’s own. She believes her own words with a conviction that borders on faith, and even if Eula has questions about Venti, she trusts Jean, and so—

“He’s a slippery fellow,” Eula admits, and nods. “But I trust your judgment.”

Chapter Text

Although the city has not seen its archon in five hundred years, the fair lands of Mondstadt carry his blessings nevertheless. Warm winds and calm weather grace the rolling green plains all year around, and the landscape is even and easily traversed. Indeed, compared to most nations, Mondstadt is a gentle place full of gentle people. It is only at its edges that the wilderness becomes more treacherous.

Jerking, Amber peers warily up into the canopy at the sudden sound of rustling leaves, but after a moment, she determines that it is just the wind, blowing through Wolvendom.

“Sucrose, are you done?” she asks quietly.

“Just a moment!” Sucrose calls, crouched down with a clipboard in hand. “I just need to get a sample, mark down the location— and done.”

“Let's keep moving,” Amber says, squinting into the foliage as Sucrose stands, tucking a single wolfhook from the bush into a pouch. “This place gives me the creeps. The sooner we find what we're looking for, the better.”

“The next sample is a little deeper in,” Sucrose says absently, as she consults her map.

Amber follows with some trepidation as Sucrose beckons her further into the woods, further away from the path. Sucrose, however, doesn’t seem to share her trepidation. It sometimes boggles Amber’s mind the lengths Sucrose will go to for her research. The other girl, usually so timid, grows quite fearless when focused on a new experiment.

“I just always feel like I'm being watched when I'm in Wolvendom,” Amber grumbles, and shudders. “Like there are little beady eyes watching us out of the—”

A cracking of a branch and the rustling of leaves, this time not accompanied by any breeze, has her drawing her bow with a quiet eep , aiming in the direction of the sound.

“Who’s there!” she demands.

Standing in the foliage, a familiar figure raises both hands. It's Venti the Bard, his eyes gone wide and round with surprise.

“Why, hello there,” he greets, seeming quite bewildered to suddenly be at the business end of a bow. “Fancy seeing you two here. Out for a walk in the woods?”

“Venti?” Amber demands incredulously, and lowers her bow. “What are you doing out here alone? Don't you know it's dangerous in Wolvendom?”

Venti sighs, the sound oddly tired, and leans against a nearby tree.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “I was embarking on a walk in search of musical inspiration, and in a moment of absent-mindedness, realized I'd walked right into Wolvendom.” He clears his throat. “Now that you two are here, however, all should be well! I hope you won't mind my company.”

“I don't know,” Amber says doubtfully. “Maybe you should head back to the city.”

Venti straightens in alarm. “Oh, but please do allow me to accompany you!” he cries. “I would feel so much safer in your company!” 

“The woods are dangerous,” Sucrose agrees, sounding concerned. “It's probably best that you go back to the city.”

“Wait!” Venti cries, and then pauses. “I— well— err—”

After a moment, he clears his throat, and musters up a smile.

“Are you two sure you don't need an additional hand?” he asks. “The woods, as you've said, are fairly dangerous.”

Amber narrows her eyes.

“We’re trained knights,” she says. “It's our duty to protect the citizenry, not the other way around.”

“I'm good with a bow!” Venti offers quickly. “And I know these woods!”

Amber narrows her eyes further, unable to stop the suspicion now beginning to grow within her.

“Why are you so intent on following us?” she asks warily. “Is there some reason you aren't willing to return to the city?”

Venti puts his face in one hand. After a moment, he whispers something under his breath that sounds a lot like Celestia, I'm too old for this.

Amber blinks, confused.

“What?” she says.

“Nothing,” Venti replies, before looking back up at them with a tired smile. “Okay, I admit it. Jean was worried about you guys potentially stumbling into the rifthound den and asked me to come as back-up.”

“Jean asked you to come as back-up?” Amber questions dubiously.

“Yes,” Venti says, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “When we get back, you can ask her to confirm, but for now, please, just take me at my word.”

Amber folds her arms, still extremely skeptical, but after a moment, Sucrose lays a staying hand on her elbow.

“He does know about the rifthound den,” she points out quietly, “and we've been keeping that under wraps.”

Suddenly, Amber recalls that when Jean had returned after confronting Stormterror not long ago, Venti and Diluc had been with her. At the time, Amber had wondered what role the bard had played in that whole mess, but in the end, he had not been mentioned at all in Jean’s final account of that day, and Amber had decided not to ask.

Jean probably had her reasons for hiding the bard’s involvement, and Amber trusts Jean’s judgment.

“Alright then,” is what she finally says. “You can join us.”

With her bow in hand, Amber keeps an eye out, gaze turned towards the surrounding foliage as Sucrose mutters to herself under her breath. Amber isn't sure what is so special about this specific bush, but Sucrose has been muttering for a while, writing on her clipboard the whole time.

Behind her, Venti is leaned casually against a tree.

“Say,” he finally speaks, as Sucrose stands, seemingly done at last with her scribbling, “what are you picking all these berries for?”

At that, Sucrose immediately looks up, brightening in the way she always does when asked about her research. She consults her map briefly, and then beckons for them to follow her.

“There's a particular strain of wolfhooks, used in medicine, that’s red in hue,” she explains. “But my attempts to isolate the component responsible for its cough relieving properties led me to believe that red wolfhooks aren’t a different strain of wolfhooks at all. The red hue is actually the result of a genetic mutation.”

She leads them over a fallen log with a quiet murmur of this way, before continuing her explanation.

“I've been collecting samples to ascertain how the mutation changes its chemical properties,” she continues. “To ensure a representative sample, I only pick one berry from each bush. This map shows the location of all the red wolfhook bushes I've found so far.”

They are walking as they talk, but as they pass through a clearing in the trees, Amber catches sight of something— strange , out of the corner of her eye.

“Wait,” she says, and the others draw to a halt. She crouches down to inspect her findings. Leading into the trees, there are traces of black goo on the ground, the droplets smeared, like something had been dragged over them.

“Don't touch it,” she quickly warns.

There's a pause. When she turns, Sucrose is standing behind her, looking down at the vial that she has, predictably, already pulled from her belt, along with a pair of forceps.

“According to reports, the stuff is like— contagious or something,” Amber explains. “It'll infect you even if you don't touch it with your bare skin.”

“Oh,” Sucrose says, and pushes her glasses up her nose. “It's hazardous.”

Narrowing her eyes, she looks back down at the carcass with a calculating look on her face.

“But through what means?” she murmurs, seemingly to herself. “If we can figure out the manner in which corrosion is transmitted, we can figure out a way to handle it safely for research.” She begins to rub consideringly at her chin. “Is it radiation? Or perhaps it’s the fumes. It might be transmitted through inhalation.”

“Maybe we shouldn't be breathing so close to it then?!” Amber says nervously, quickly rising to her feet.

Before they can say more, however, they are interrupted by the sounds of distant howling. There's a strange, hollow whistling that seems to underlie the sound, lending it a rattling tone that can only be described as skeletal.

It does not sound like Razor's pack.

Silence immediately falls over the three of them as they turn, peering warily in the direction of the sound. They remain utterly still, watching and listening for a moment longer, before determining that there are no beasts in their immediate vicinity.

“You'll have time enough to research in less dangerous places than this,” Venti finally whispers. “The blood of the dark dragon Durin, which poisons Dragonspine to this very day, is made of the same stuff. You can ask Captain Albedo about his research when we get back.”

The trail of blackened blood soon leads them to a grisly scene. In the middle of the clearing, they find two dead mitachurls. The bodies have been savaged, as if by some huge creature, and the half-eaten carcasses are oozing blackened blood. 

“Rifthound corrosion,” Venti immediately identifies, as Amber bends to inspect the wounds.

“Whatever killed them was large,” she murmurs, uneasily noting the sheer size of the jaws that had cleaved this mitachurl’s upper body from its lower. “I haven't ever seen a rifthound that large in Mondstadt.”

She turns, noticing a dent where the grass is flattened and tousled, like something, or multiple somethings, had been lying there. Leading away from the tousled grass are deep rents in the dirt, deeper than the tracks they'd followed here. The ones leading here had probably been left by the injured mitachurls, attempting to flee their attacker, but these new tracks…

“A few carcasses were dragged away,” Amber observes. “Likely for future consumption, which means that if we follow the tracks, we'll find the den.” She stands. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Sucrose says, beginning to sound hesitant for the first time since they'd entered the woods. “Perhaps— Perhaps we should call for back-up before engaging.”

“It’s just reconnaissance for now,” Amber says. “We’ll be quiet, and we won't engage. We just want to know where the den is.”

“Right,” Sucrose says, though she still sounds a little uneasy. “Okay.”

The drag-marks in the dirt lead through the bushes to a cave in the nearby cliffside.

“Looks like we've found the den,” Amber whispers, and then holds a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, before beginning to approach the entrance quietly.

“I thought we weren't engaging?!” Sucrose hisses.

“We aren't,” Amber whispers. “But a rough estimate of numbers will be good. We’ll just have a quick peek.”

She presses her finger more firmly to her lips, beginning to creep very quietly into the cave. After a moment, Sucrose follows, with Venti bringing up the rear.

Inside, it's dark and strangely humid, the air itself odd, oppressive . Further ahead, there are the occasional sounds of echoing chitters and the rustle of wings— bats. Amber can't yet hear the sounds of anything larger, however, so clutching more tightly at her bow, she continues to inch quietly inside.

Some distance in, the tunnel begins to open up, and ahead, seems to drop down into a large underground cavern, dimly lit by a crack in the ceiling. But she is beginning to hear the sounds of claws against stone, of quiet growls and huffs, and so, not even daring to breathe, she takes one step forward, and then two— before peering very, very slowly over the edge.

The hive— there's no other word for it, is about five floors deep, fifty meters across, and crawling with riftwolves. There are at least twenty in this cavern alone, and Amber can see that the cave system continues even further in.

Horrified, she takes a step back. In her panic, however, she ends up backing into Sucrose. The other girl’s boots scuff very quietly as she stumbles backwards against Venti, but to her credit, she makes no noise, not even a gasp. Then, as Venti steadies her— his hand seems to brush one of the vials attached to her belt.

It comes dislodged, falls, and shatters loudly against the stone floor.

There's a moment of complete, utter silence— before the cavern erupts in enraged shrieks. Numbly, Amber grips her bow, preparing to engage, but before she can even nock it, Venti grabs her elbow.

“Get back!” he shouts, and looses an arrow into the cavern.

It whistles through the air, and in the very center of the cavern— it explodes into a storm.

Amber stumbles back, shocked and deafened by the thunderous, cacophonous sound of it. A dark, black vacuum has opened up in the middle of the cavern, pulling the rifthounds, howling and screaming, into it. The wind is so sharp that it seems to cut like blades, scoring slices in the thick armour of the screeching rifthounds, and the suction is such that she feels her feet beginning to slide against the ground.

Venti grips her elbow, yanking her back towards him. On his other side, Sucrose is quailing against his flank, looking quite pale

“We need to go!” he shouts. “Come on! Run!”

Still too shocked to resist, Amber staggers with him, allowing him to pull them back through the long tunnel.

They burst into the sunlight with a gasp, but do not dare stop even there, continuing to sprint through the forest. Behind them, they can hear enraged howls and shrieks as rifthounds begin pouring out of the cave, but Amber dares not turn to look, just runs faster than she's ever run before, jumping over tree roots and ducking under branches as she goes.

Finally, they emerge from the cover of trees onto a stone ledge. Ahead, Amber can see the edge where the cliff drops off— a dead-end. She begins to slow, horrified, but Venti does not stop, just yanks them along, continuing to sprint for the edge.

“Venti!” Sucrose shrieks. “The cliff!”  

“Use your gliders!” Venti bellows.

“What?!” Sucrose demands.

“Flying will be faster than running!” Venti shouts. “I’ll summon a wind current to carry us! Don't worry, I won't let you fall!” He grips both of them more firmly under the elbow. “Jump!”

Sucrose screams, but jumps, and a moment later, Amber jumps as well. Immediately, she feels the wind catching as the wings of her glider snap up. An upward draft buoys them swiftly into the air.

Ahead, a long row of anemo rings appear, forming a straight path towards Cider Lake.

Sucrose screams shrilly the whole way down.

Luckily, the last ring doesn't dump them directly onto the grass, because Amber doubts Sucrose would have been able to stick the landing. Instead, they slow past the last ring, and as they begin to float slowly towards the ground, a light breeze lifts them so that they are deposited, very gently, on both feet.

Even so, Sucrose’s knees buckle the moment she touches the grass. “Oh, sweet Lord Barbatos,” she gasps as she collapses onto all fours, clearly relieved to be reunited with the earth. “I don't think I've ever flown that quickly in my life.”

Venti winces at that, looking a little sheepish.

To her credit, however, Sucrose stands back up after a short moment, wobbling only a little, before turning to look back in the direction of Wolvendom.

“Oh,” she says, and then adjusts her glasses so that they are no longer sitting crookedly on her face. “Oh— dear, I— err, I think we might really have kicked over the hornet’s nest with this one.”

Amber turns around.

Above the dense woodlands of Wolvendom, she can see riftwolves flying in agitated circles, swarming over the entire area like hornets pouring from a damaged nest.

“Oh, wow,” Venti says, and then chuckles, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. “Maybe I shouldn't have destroyed their den. Oops?”

Suddenly reminded of that terrifying vacuum, the roar of the wind, and the rushing storm, Amber spins back around to face him.

“What was that?” she demands.

Venti blinks.

“Err,” he says blankly, “what was what?”

“The thing you summoned!” Amber shouts, throwing her hands up. “You made a black hole!”

“A what?” Venti says. “No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did!” Amber cries, before turning to Sucrose. “You saw it too. Didn't you, Sucrose?”

Bewildered, and clearly still a little shell-shocked, Sucrose pushes her glasses up her nose.

“Yes, I saw it as well,” she confirms. “It was some kind of vacuum.”

“Oh, yeah,” Venti says, and shrugs flippantly. “Anemo visions, huh. Really useful things, especially for crowd control.”

“Sucrose has an Anemo vision!” Amber explodes. “Sucrose, back me up. That was insane!”

“It was certainly— rather more forceful than the average elemental burst,” Sucrose allows.

“Oh, right,” Venti says, rubbing at the back of his head, still seeming unfairly bewildered by this turn of conversation. “Yeah, I— That was…”

His bottom lip wobbles, and suddenly, his eyes begin to fill with tears. Sucrose cries out.

“Venti, what's wrong?!” she demands.

Venti puts his face in his hands, and begins to sob into his palms.

“That was so scary!” he cries. “There were so many of them, and they were attacking us!” 

“It's alright!” Sucrose reassures him, her hands now fluttering helplessly over his shoulders, as if she doesn't quite know how to comfort him. “They are gone now! They can't hurt us!”

Venti throws his head back. “I thought we'd never see the sun again!” he howls inconsolably. “Never feel another breeze! Never smell another rose!”

“But we’re alive, Venti!” Sucrose reminds him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’re alive! And we’re going home!”

Amber watches, disbelievingly, as Venti sinks against Sucrose's side, wailing hysterically.

“I don't want to answer any more questions!” he howls.

“No more questions!” Sucrose promises. “No more questions, alright? Let’s go home. We can talk about it later.”

“I don't want to talk about it later!” Venti wails.

“You’ll feel better after a hot cup of tea,” Sucrose reassures him. “Promise. Noelle makes the best tea. And we have biscuits in the pantry.”

Venti hiccups, and then looks up at Sucrose with big, watery eyes.

“I think I'm traumatized,” he whispers in a small, trembling voice, “so you mustn't ask me any more questions.” 

At that, Amber finally turns away with a loud, frustrated groan.

“Oh, for Barbatos’ sake, Sucrose!” she cries. “He's clearly just pretending!”

The sound of a terribly, horribly familiar voice comes to them before the disagreement can continue. A short distance away, skipping along the banks of Cider Lake, is a small, lone figure.

“Boom!” Klee shouts, as she heaves explosives into the waters. “Boom!”

“Klee!” Amber yells, and then runs forward to meet her. “Klee, what are you doing here?!”

As Amber reaches her, falling to one knee to inspect Klee for injuries, Klee turns to face her.

“Klee is here to play with Razor, of course!” Klee chirps. “Have you seen him? Klee can't find him anywhere.”

“No, we haven't, but that's not the point,” Amber says solemnly, and stands. “Wolvendom is crawling with riftwolves. It's worse than we expected. We need to get back to the city and warn Jean. It's not safe for anyone to be here right now.”

Immediately, Sucrose steps forward, hoisting Klee up into her arms.

“Come on, Klee,” she murmurs as she settles Klee on her hip. “I don't think Razor is around. He was supposed to have his lesson with Lisa today.”

Without further ado, they beat a hasty retreat back along the shore towards the city, Amber in the lead, Sucrose in the middle, and Venti bringing up the rear once more.

“Say,” Venti begins, a little breathlessly. “Don't you think that flying—”

He cuts himself off, the sound of his feet pattering to a halt.

After a moment, Amber slows to look over her shoulder, and behind her, Sucrose has slowed as well. For some indiscernible reason, Venti has stopped in his tracks, and is looking up over the trees.

“Someone is in trouble,” he says. “I hear voices on the path.”

“What?” Amber says, but Venti is already taking off in long, quick strides. “Hey— hey, wait!”

With a disbelieving groan, she begins to give chase, but to her surprise, the sound of snide voices soon reaches her ear as well, a great number of them too.

“We could exchange her for quite the ransom, boys,” someone crows.

“Finally,” someone else groans. “The merchant route has been infested with knights for weeks, but it looks like the winds of fortune are changing now.”

Peering over the ledge to the path below, Amber has to slap her hands over her mouth to stifle the instinctive gasp of horror. Standing amidst a large group of treasure hoarders, is Jean— furious, alone, and seemingly injured. There are gashes on her sword arm that look like she was grazed by claws, and her sword is still in its sheath. She'd likely been ambushed while fleeing Wolvendom.

“Master Jean is here!” Klee whispers from Sucrose’s arms.

Sucrose holds a finger to her lips, warning Klee to stay quiet, before turning to Amber and Venti.

“We need to head to Springvale for reinforcements,” she murmurs.

“Reinforcements?” Venti asks, sounding bewildered. “For what?”

“To rescue Jean, of course!” Amber hisses back, disbelieving. “There are thirty of them and only three of us. Even if we are all allogenes, we can't go all out right now. We could end up hurting Jean.”

“Don't worry, I have just the trick,” Venti says, sounding unfairly unphased by it all. “But first…”

He reaches out, touching each of their Visions briefly.

Immediately, a strange surge of energy seems to flood into Amber’s body, so much of it that she suddenly feels dizzy, like she's had one too many pieces of candy.

And then, with a final, mischievous smile— Venti begins to glow with a strange, teal light. A moment later, he simply disappears.

“What the—” Amber begins.

The sounds of startled yelling brings her attention back to the path below them. Venti has appeared by Jean’s side, grabbing her arm.

“Go!” he yells up at them, and then, with a tug of Jean’s arm, he disappears again.

Shocked and confused, the treasure hoarders look briefly around them, before following Venti's last line of sight to where Amber, Sucrose, and Klee are hiding. With a curse, Amber jumps to her feet.

“Go, Baron Bunny!” she cries, and tosses the doll into their midst.

The treasure hoarders rush towards the doll, looking quite bewildered, the brief distraction allowing Amber time to draw her bow. A moment later, the doll explodes, sending the nearby treasure hoarders scattering with cries of alarm.

Meanwhile, Amber is having a rather strange and disorienting time herself. It feels like everything around her is moving very quickly, her every movement sped up. As she begins to nock arrow after arrow, her arms don't seem to feel tired no matter how many arrows she fires or how fast she shoots. Every arrow lands true, piercing the ground between pattering legs, and lighting the grass aflame. 

“Let it rain!” she cries, before leaping down from the ledge onto the path, bringing her arm across her chest and then straight down in an official salute. “Knights of Favonius! Lay down your weapons! This is your only warning shot!”

“Hurry up and get her!” a treasure hoarder shouts.

Amber jumps backwards as electro projectiles smash at her feet. Meanwhile, Sucrose quickly sets Klee down safely on the ledge, before summoning her catalyst.

“Stand clear!” she yells in warning, and tosses a test-tube into the fray, igniting it with her vision.

Immediately, a towering anemo butterfly manifests between them and the treasure hoarders, each pulse of it releasing a violent roar of wind. The three nearest treasure hoarders are blasted high into the air with frightened screams.

“W-Woah!” Sucrose cries, clearly surprised by the force of her own elemental burst. “Oh no! I— I didn't mean to do that!”

Luckily, a smaller draft seems to gentle their fall as they plummet. Buoyed by the updraft, the descent of the unfortunate treasure hoarders is much slower than their ascent, saving them the agony of broken bones. They are deposited lightly on the ground, and cursing, they jump to their feet, hastily backing out of the butterfly’s radius before it can pulse again.

“Cryo projectiles!” one of them shouts desperately. “And hydro! Hurry up and freeze them! Get the catalyst user first!”

At that, Klee finally jumps up from where she had been hiding.

“Boom!” she shouts gleefully, and heaves a bomb down from the ledge.

“Wait, Klee!” Sucrose cries, panicked. “Don't—”

But it's too late.

The butterfly erupts into a raging inferno.

“Forget it!” another treasure hoarder bellows, amidst the ensuing shouts and shrieks. “I'm out of here!”

Through the pulsing butterfly, Amber sees him throwing down a smoke projectile. The others soon follow suit. Within moments, they are all gone, scattered like frightened ants.

With their foes gone, Jean runs out from behind an abandoned wagon, the cart seemingly left behind by the fleeing treasure hoarders. She aims a forceful kick at the wagon, sending a vat flying out to shatter near the blazing butterfly.

“Wind, hear me!” she shouts, and thrusts her sword forward.

The resulting blast of concentrated anemo hits the pulsing butterfly right as it shrinks to its smallest size. The butterfly immediately dissipates, scattered by the blast. The water from the vat flies forward, splattering over the ground under it.

In a few efficient motions, Jean has put out the inferno completely.

Even the grass is no longer burning.

There's a moment of silence, before Jean turns around, rushing forward and falling to her knees before Klee, who has leapt down from the ledge.

“Klee!” she cries, panicked. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Klee is fine!” the little girl chirps. “Everyone helped Klee fight the bad guys!”

Jean lowers her head with a low, shuddering sigh of relief. Then, after a moment, she looks back up, her eyes now stern as steel.

“Klee, don't ever run off like that without telling anyone again!” she scolds. “Do you know how worried I was when I found out you were missing? Do you know how I felt when the guards at the gate said you were heading in the direction of Wolvendom, all by yourself? And then to come here, and see the place swarming with riftwolves?! I was so worried!”

Klee tucks her chin a little, looking confused.

“But Klee has come to Wolvendom to play with Razor many times before,” she says unsurely. “Miss Lisa said it’s fine as long as Razor is there to watch while Klee is in the woods.”

Jean sighs. “Yes, but—”

Finally, she seems to collect herself.

“You're right, Klee,” she admits, “but this incident shows that we need to set some new house rules. Firstly—”

Rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, Venti ambles slowly out from behind the wagon as well.

“Wow, that was— quite the inferno,” he says, and coughs awkwardly. “Lucky Jean is such a quick thinker!” 

Amber looks at Sucrose disbelievingly, and then storms forward to confront Venti again.

“What was that?!” she howls, throwing her hands up.

Venti blinks, and then clears his throat.

“Err,” he says, “what was what?” 

Amber turns, jabbing a finger furiously at the patch of scorched grass, where the butterfly had been just a moment ago.

“That thing!” she cries. “That thing that just happened! You saw what happened with that butterfly!”

Venti raises both hands, jumping backwards with an indignant squawk.

“I wasn't even the one who summoned it this time!” he protests.

“It happened after you touched our visions!” Amber snaps.

Venti winces, and then gives another cough.

“Did I really?” he asks weakly. “Somehow, I don't seem to remember—”

“Oh no—” Amber begins, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Oh no, no, no— you are not trying that again! We both saw you do it!”

She turns to Sucrose.

“Sucrose, back me up!” she cries.

Sucrose bites her lip, and then folds her arms reproachfully. Wincing again, Venti holds out his hands placatingly.

“Okay, look,” he begins. “I don't even— know that I really did what you said I did. But even if I did—” And here, he turns to look pleadingly at Sucrose. “You know how anemo powers can sometimes boost the elemental abilities of others. Right, Sucrose?”

At their silence, he makes a meaningful gesture.

“Stronger? Faster? Minor energy restoration?” He clears his throat. “Everything happened so quickly. Maybe I did it accidentally.”

“Accidentally,” Amber repeats, unimpressed. “Like how you accidentally destroyed the rifthound den?”

Still crouched on the ground, Jean chokes, and begins to splutter.

“You what?!” she demands, disbelieving.

Venti’s eyes go big and round.

“I was really, really scared,” he offers pitifully.

“Oh, for the love of—” Amber grits out, and quickly turns away. “Sucrose, don't fall for it! He's just using that expression to get his way again!”

Amber folds her arms, and shuts her eyes, refusing to look at him. Meanwhile, Jean finally stands from where she had been crouched.

“Alright, everyone,” she says firmly, if a little confusedly. “Let's… calm down for a bit, okay?”

Taking the presented opportunity, Venti quickly scurries behind her, and she sighs as he ducks behind her outstretched arm.

“It's indeed common for anemo wielders to be able to boost the abilities of others and replenish some elemental energy,” Jean says. “For example, I myself—”

She cuts herself off, and then clears her throat, beginning to look a little flustered.

“You get the idea,” she says.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Venti gasps, popping up from behind her arm to look at her with big, shining eyes.

“Acting Grandmaster,” he whispers. “That incredible power! Was that— Was that you?”

Jean blinks, clearly startled to so suddenly become the topic of conversation. Exhaling, Venti puts a hand over his eyes, and then lowers his head.

“Jean!” he says brightly, without looking up, sounding oddly like he's speaking through gritted teeth. “You’re— truly amazing! I didn't even know you could do that!”

Jean's eyes widen. A moment later, however, she closes her eyes, and then, for some reason, lowers her head as well, covering her eyes with one hand. 

“Yes,” she manages, after a moment. “Indeed, I was— overcome by the intensity of the moment. I was just—” She gives an odd cough— “so afraid that one of you would be hurt.”

Venti makes a strangled noise.

They stand there, heads bowed together, for another strange moment.

“Erm,” Sucrose finally whispers. “What's happening?”

At that, Jean looks up with a strained smile.

“It was me,” she states calmly. “I was the one who replenished your energies just now. I apologize for the confusion.”

“Oh,” Amber says, in a small, confused voice. “Okay.”

With a sigh, Jean briefly massages the bridge of her nose, before turning to look up towards Wolvendom. A moment later, she straightens, bringing a more professional look back onto her face. 

“Wolvendom is no longer safe,” she declares. “We must rally the order, fence off the area, and warn anyone still in the vicinity to evacuate.”

“Oh!” Amber gasps, all her remaining questions disappearing as she's reminded of the situation at hand. “Oh, right!”

“Springvale has horses we can borrow,” Jean says authoritatively, and bends, swinging Klee up to sit in the crook of her dominant arm. “We must— agh!”

Everyone startles at the loud, uncharacteristically harsh sound that had issued from Jean’s throat. After a moment, Jean gingerly transfers Klee onto her other arm, wincing.

“Your arm!” Amber cries. “You’re still injured!”

“Just a graze of a claw,” Jean dismisses. “The corrosive effects faded the moment I left Wolvendom.” She lowers her head, murmuring something soft and reassuring to Klee, before turning firmly back ahead. “Come, we must make haste.”

She immediately takes off in the direction of Springvale, just short of a run, and after a moment, Amber and Sucrose trade a glance, before hastening to follow. Behind them, Venti exhales, and then begins to jog after them.

“Flying would definitely be faster,” he grumbles to himself. “I can't help that this body has short legs.”

Amber decides not to comment.

As they hurry down the valley towards Springvale, Amber turns to look back at Wolvendom for one last time. Above the distant treetops, rifthounds continue to fly in circles like a dark, ominous cloud. She can't hold back a shudder at the sight.

She really hopes no one else is close by.

Chapter Text

The air today, Lisa can't help but note, feels odd and oppressive— still and silent, like the calm before a storm. Her quill stalls again. She has gotten little work done today. Not for the first time, she looks up from her ledger and out the window, watching distant storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

A clatter interrupts her thoughts as a knight comes running in.

“Miss Lisa!” he cries.

“Shush now, Wyratt,” she chides disapprovingly. “This is a library.”

Wyratt ignores her reprimand.

“The Acting Grandmaster has just convened an emergency meeting,” he announces. “She's calling for all hands on deck!”

Indeed, through the open doorway behind him, Lisa can hear the clank of armoured boots, many pairs of them. She stands at once, following Wyratt as he beckons her into the foyer.

Outside, it looks like the order is assembling. Jean is standing by the stairs, Klee sitting in the crook of her left arm. The sleeve of her right arm is torn and tinged brown with dried blood.

“What happened?!” Lisa cries, rushing to her side. “Why are you hurt?”

Ahead of them, the rest of the knights are still streaming in. If a meeting has only just been called, Lisa knows that the knights stationed outside the city must still be making their way back. After a moment, Jean sighs, and sets Klee down.

“Call for Sister Barbara,” Lisa says to Wyratt. The knight nods, and immediately clatters off.

“There's no need—” Jean begins, and then sighs again as the assembling knights quickly congregate around Wyratt’s hurriedly departing form. She turns back to Lisa. “I'm fine, Lisa. It's just a scratch, and I'm perfectly capable of healing it myself, once I'm done addressing the order.”

“What's happening?” Lisa asks. “What's this about?”

“There's an emergency in Wolvendom,” Jean explains. “Amber and Sucrose accidentally disrupted the rifthound nest while scouting and set them off. They are swarming the area now, maybe about forty adults, possibly more. We need to seal off the perimeter and evacuate Windwail Highlands.”

Lisa’s eyes widen.

“Wolvendom,” she breathes, and then looks at Jean, alarmed. “Bennett and Razor left for Wolvendom two hours ago!”

Jean stiffens, turning to meet her eyes. For a moment, they seem to communicate quietly between them.

Two hours.

That's just enough time for the boys to have reached Wolvendom right before the den was disrupted. If Bennett isn't back yet, yelling frantically about rifthounds in this very foyer, it's likely because they are still trapped somewhere in the area, unable to leave.

“Bennett and Razor are in danger?” Klee whispers, drawing the two of them from their thoughts.

Jean lays a hand on Klee’s shoulder, crouching to address her.

“Wait in your room, Klee,” she murmurs. “Be a good girl.”

Klee hesitates for a moment, her head lowered. A moment later, however, she whips around, running straight into her room. Jean sighs as the door slams shut behind her, straightening back up.

“I'll lead a search party to look for Bennett and Razor,” she tells Lisa.

“I'll come with you,” Lisa immediately offers, but Jean just shakes her head.

“No, Lisa,” she says, and lays a hand on Lisa’s elbow. “I need you to stay here and take charge while I'm gone. The knights will need someone to coordinate the evacuation efforts.” 

Lisa wavers for a moment, still unable to contain her worry.

It's still going to be at least half an hour, she knows, before the search party will reach Wolvendom, even on horseback and riding at full speed. That's a whole hour that Bennett and Razor will have been alone in the woods.

Jean seems to be thinking the same thing, because she's biting her lip. After a moment, she looks up over the heads of the assembling knights. She seems to make eye contact with someone, because she nods, a small discreet motion.

When Lisa turns to look, however, she just sees an open window. The curtains are billowing strangely — as if in a departing breeze.

“Hey, Razor,” Bennett murmurs shakily, as he peers out from their hiding spot into the woods. “You really think your pack will be able to find us?”

Outside of the little crevice they are hiding in, the loud screeching howls of riftwolves fill the air. Bennett can see them flying overhead from where they are hiding, half-concealed behind branches hastily pulled from the nearby trees. If any one of those hounds happens to look down, however, they will likely be spotted.

After a moment, he lets his head thunk back against the stone at their backs, drawing in a sharp breath. Beside him, Razor does not speak, silent in that way he always is when he is listening for danger.

“I’m sorry, Razor,” Bennett finally murmurs, smiling weakly when Razor turns to him questioningly.

I think, he does not say aloud, that this is the time my luck will finally do us in.

“I'm sorry you're stuck here with me,” is all he says in the end.

Razor looks a little confused, but Bennett just closes his eyes, speaking a quiet prayer in his heart.

Lord Barbatos, he prays silently, please make it quick.

There's a moment of quiet, with not even howling of riftwolves to disturb it. Then, a breeze sweeps down through the trees, rustling the branches concealing them like a hushed, murmuring call.

Beyond their hiding spot, they hear the crack of a twig breaking underfoot. Razor’s hand immediately goes to the hilt of his claymore, and with a final, shuddering breath, Bennett steels himself, and grips his own sword.

They will make their last fight a fight to remember.

Another step, another creak, and then, as they ready themselves for the inevitable battle— a voice calls out, quiet.

“Bennett?” the voice whispers. “Razor?”

If this is the voice of the afterlife, calling to them from beyond the veil, then it sounds an awful lot like Venti the Bard.

“Mr. Venti?” Bennett hisses. “Is that you?”

There is a moment’s pause, and then Venti's face appears over the branches they've hidden themselves behind. His expression eases the moment he lays eyes on them, his gaze going gentle and fond.

“I've been looking for you,” he murmurs, and then looks briefly over his shoulder. “Come, my children. Let’s get out of here.”

Clearing the branches away, Bennett stands, holding out a hand to help Razor to his feet as well.

“A whole flood of riftwolves suddenly came pouring out over Wolvendom half an hour ago,” Bennett informs Venti. “We have to watch out. They’re really agitated for some reason.”

“They are howling for blood,” Razor agrees.

Venti winces as he turns away, beckoning for them to follow.

“That may be partially my fault,” he admits apologetically. “Amber, Sucrose, and I wandered into their den and set them off by accident. In any case, we need to leave. Quietly.”

Nodding, Bennett makes to follow.

“Right,” he whispers. “Quietly.”

At his first step, a branch breaks from a tree overhead and falls in his path, for no discernable reason at all. It lands with a loud thud, and Razor’s next step kicks it into a nearby tree. The deadened trunk of that tree, already tilted, gives with a loud, ominous creak.

A moment later, the half-rotted tree falls over with a deafening crash. It knocks into a smaller sapling on the way down, which topples with another loud crash.

There's a moment of utter silence, and then Venti draws in a breath.

“Run!” he hisses.

They break into a run, jumping over logs and turning sharply between trees, sprinting at full speed for the edge of the woods. As they finally burst from the dense forest, onto a large stretch of grass and stone, however, they emerge into what appears to be a hilichurl encampment.

The hilichurls, chittering frantically to each other, turn at their appearance. From the looks of things, they had been getting ready to abandon their camp.

“Oh,” Venti says. “Shit.”

With a roar, a nearby mitachurl lunges forward, bringing its axe overhead with a running leap. They jump back, and the strike misses, but the shuddering impact of the axe as it strikes the ground topples a stack of barrels nearby. The barrels begin to roll down the sloping meadow.

“Watch out!” Razor shouts.

They throw themselves out of the path of the barrels, which crash into the mitachurl instead.

“Come on!” Venti urges.

The pole of the half-pitched tent behind Bennett gives, suddenly, with a snap. The tent comes down over him.

“Whoa!” he cries, and immediately begins to struggle, kicking and pushing at the entrapping cloth.

“Stop struggling!” Razor calls, feet pattering as he runs over. “Will pull it off!”

Bennett stills, and a moment later, the tent is roughly yanked away from him. Standing above him, Razor holds out a hand to help him up. A pebble flies over before Bennett can take his hand, hitting Razor squarely in the temple.

Razor slumps down without a sound.

“Razor!” Bennett cries, and jumps to his feet. He looks around, quickly spotting the hilichurl that had thrown the rock. It's jumping and chittering angrily as it picks up another rock, which it throws carelessly in their general direction.

It's a wonder that the first one had even hit.

Readying his sword, Bennett begins to gather his flames around his sword, before charging in with a loud cry.

“Bennett, wait!” Venti cries.

“Let's light it up!”

He hits the ground, and the resulting explosion of force sends him flying back, as usual. This time, however, as he realizes a moment later, the knockback might very well have saved his life.

His attack sets off a bunch of pyro barrels, just out of his line of sight. As they begin to go off, Venti runs forward, tackling Bennett further away from them. They lie there, in a huddle, as that one explosion seems to set off a chain reaction. Another group of barrels explode nearby, setting off a further group of barrels, and another group after that.

For a long moment, they do not move, just listening as the explosions go on and on. In the background, there’s the sound of screeching hilichurls, quickly followed by the panicked pattering of feet. Finally, however, the mayhem dies down.

When they look up, the entire camp is shrouded in smoke, but every last hilichurl has fled.

“Are you okay, Bennett?” Venti murmurs, clearly worried.

“Oh, I'm dandy!” Bennett quickly assures him. “A little bruised, maybe, but otherwise, I'm happy as a clam!”

Venti exhales, eyes growing fond.

“Let's try to wake Razor,” he says. “We should leave with haste. The explosions might end up drawing the riftwolves here.”

“Right, of course,” Bennett says.

As he makes to stand, however, there comes the ominous sound of crumbling rock. Bennett pauses, frowning.

“Hey, do you hear that?” he asks. “What's that noise?”

With a last shuddering of stone, the ground beneath them gives way, and then— they are falling.

“Whoa!” Bennett cries.

Yanking him and Razor close, Venti manages to flip them over. The wings of his glider fold open, and they jerk mid-air as it arrests their descent. A moment later, however, clearly not built to take the weight of three, there's a snap.

Bennett gives a shout as they continue to plummet.

“Brace yourselves!” Venti yells.

A sudden wind begins to blow from beneath them, so strong a gust that even without a glider, it is slowing their fall. They hit the ground with a thump, groaning a little, but otherwise uninjured.

“Gee,” Bennett gasps. “That was—”

He falls silent at the look on Venti's face. Crouched above them, Venti is looking straight up ahead, eyes wide and mouth ajar. With a slow, sinking feeling, Bennett becomes aware of the sound of something very, very large, breathing heavily inside the cavern they've fallen into.

He traces Venti’s gaze to the largest rifthound that he has ever seen.

And it's looking right at them.

“Celestia,” Venti breathes. “It's a Wolflord.”

With a loud, screeching howl, the beast opens its jaws wide, and in the back of its throat, Bennett can see a sizzling golden energy beginning to form. Venti throws himself backwards, bringing Bennett down onto the ground a split-second before the beast— the Wolflord as Venti had called it— unleashes a beam of explosive golden energy, crackling through with tendrils of dark corrosion. 

The beam goes right above their heads, missing, but still far too close for comfort. Bennett lies there, frozen and shell-shocked, as the beam finally ends, the roaring sound of it still echoing deafeningly in his ears.

Venti sits up then, letting out a stream of extremely indelicate curse words, before throwing out a hand. There’s a rush of howling wind as a dark orb manifests within the cavern, growing larger and larger until Bennett realizes—

It's a black hole— a massive void just as massive as the undoubtedly massive rifthound.

The giant wolf whimpers and whines, evidently confused, legs flailing as it is inevitably sucked into the center of the vortex despite its best efforts.

Then, a great many things happen in quick succession.

As the Wolflord tries vainly to free itself from the pull of that void, a hand grips Bennett by the back of his shirt, and lifts him bodily off the ground and into the air. There's a blinding light, and he swears that he catches a split-second glimpse of wings— giant, white wings—

And then a dried leaf, whipped around by the howling gale that Venti has summoned, slaps Bennett in the face. He can feel the sensation and hear the sound of air whistling past them. He gets the distinct impression—

He reaches up, finally managing to pull the leaf off his face, and by the Seven — they are careening, at high speed, up through the air. He can see the tornado of leaves whipping around them, can see the Wolflord howling and struggling, and then—

Blue skies.

They are flying, Bennett realizes then. Venti has somehow gotten them out of the cavern, and they are flying. As he's about to turn his head, however, to try and figure out just how it is that they are flying, he sees the faint outline of craggly branches ahead.

They are lurching a little, flying dangerously low, as if they are having trouble gaining height, and then—

Bennett smacks his head on a tree bough. A branch hooks into the front of his shirt immediately after, catching the fabric so hard that it sends them swinging in a wide arc. He hears another long string of curses, but this time, Venti’s voice abruptly cuts off as they smack into the ground, hard.

There's a yelp, and an explosion of dissipating teal feathers.

Then, the momentum and speed of their descent sends them rolling down the slope they’ve landed on. They roll, and roll, and roll for a good twenty to thirty seconds before finally— they come to a halt where the slope evens out into flat road.

They lie there for a long moment, Bennett just blinking numbly, still dazed and in shock at everything that had just happened. Finally, however, he manages to raise his head. They are on the long dirt path leading out of Wolvendom. It seems they've managed to roll themselves straight out of the woods.

He looks down at himself then, taking stock, but aside from some scratches and a few bruises, and the feathers stuck all over him by dirt and mud, he is unscathed and unmarred.

He has… many questions, however.

Like, what the hell was that?

And, why are we covered in rumpled, broken feathers?

Also, what’s a cocksucking whore-son of a shit-eating fuckboat? 

In the end, however, that sounds like language his dads have always told him not to repeat, and he also doesn't think Venti would appreciate him asking what a fuckboat is at this point of time, so he doesn’t voice any of his questions.

“Oh my god,” is all he finally says, instead.

Beside him, Venti pushes himself upright with a small groan, managing to untangle himself from his teal cape, before collapsing onto his back again. He lets out a wheezing gasp that sounds a lot like I'm old, before rolling onto his side with a final, effortful groan, striking a pose.

“That's me,” he pants, and exhales tiredly. “Your friendly neighborhood god, at your service.”

For a moment, Bennett just blinks at him, confused, before finally, he gets the joke. He begins to laugh.

“Mr. Venti, you really shouldn't joke about being god,” he scolds fondly through his laughter. “The church gets really angry about that kind of thing, you know. But don't worry! I won't tell anyone you said it. You kinda saved our lives there!”

Venti blinks back at him, seeming just as confused as Bennett had been, just a moment ago. Then, with a sigh, and a small groan, Bennett sits up, and begins brushing the dirt and feathers off his clothes.

“Say, where did all these feathers come from?” he asks, and Venti's eyes widen.

“You mean you didn't see—” he blurts out, before cutting himself off abruptly. 

Blinking confusedly, Bennett turns to him again.

“Didn't see what?” he asks.

Venti just stares at him for a long moment before finally seeming to blink himself back to awareness.

“The geese,” he says blankly. “We flew into a flock of geese.”

“What? Really?” Bennett gasps. “Oh man, I mean— I hope we didn't hurt them too badly.”

Then, he shakes his head roughly, in an attempt to clear the rest of the lingering fog from his brain.

“We were flying high enough to run into geese?!” he demands, and then shakes his head again. “No, wait, how were we even flying?”

Venti just stares at him for a moment longer, before he flops onto his back and abruptly begins to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

“Venti?” Bennett calls, slightly alarmed.

But Venti is laughing too hard to respond.

Eventually, amidst all the laughter, there's the sound of a third groan, and beside them, Razor rolls groggily onto his back. He blinks once, and then twice, before shaking his head a little. The motion, however, only seems to make him dizzier, from the way he suddenly looks a little green.

“Razor?” Bennett calls worriedly. “How are you feeling?”

“Bruised,” Razor rasps hoarsely. “Like I fell. Many small scratches. What happened?”

In the distance, there is distant, angry howling.

“That doesn't sound like your pack,” Bennett notes uneasily. “Does it, Razor?”

“Enemy pack,” Razor confirms. “Black wolves with claws that have odd sting. But they are angry now. Even angrier than before. Why?”

“Oh,” Bennett says. “Right, that may have been because we—”

Beside them, Venti finally manages to contain his laughter. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, and then stands with another tired groan.

“Alright,” he gasps. “Storytime can wait until later, my children. Razor, look at me.”

He gently takes hold of Razor’s chin, tipping it up so that he can peer into Razor’s face.

“I think he might be mildly concussed,” he finally says, and straightens with a sigh. “Let’s get out of here before the riftwolves find us.”

As they climb slowly to their feet, a shadow passes overhead. Immediately raising their heads in alarm, they look up to see Oz circling around before swooping down towards them.

“Brave attendants of the Prinzessin!” he cries. “I've found you at last! Mein Fräulein has been searching for you. Are you hurt?”

“We’re fine, but Razor has a concussion,” Venti answers. “The Prinzessin is here too?”

“Hark! The sound of voices!” comes a cry before two familiar figures hurry around the corner and down the slope towards them.

“Princess Fischl!” Bennett calls gladly. “And the Court Archmage, Lady Megistus!”

Mona sighs as she comes to a halt before then.

“Yes,” she says, tonelessly and resignedly, “it's me, the Court Archmage, Lady Megistus.”

Behind them, Barbara is hastening after them as well, picking up her skirts as she turns the corner.

“What are all of you doing here?” Venti asks, disbelieving and aghast. After a moment, however, he just sighs. “Nevermind, explanations can wait. We must leave for a safer place.”

As he turns, however, Fischl grabs his arm, pulling frantically at it.

“The retinue is not complete!” she cries. “There are others still within Wolvendom, also searching. We mustn't leave without them!”

“Others?” Bennett asks.

Fischl and Mona trade a glance.

“We spotted Klee climbing out of her window half an hour ago,” Mona finally explains. “Upon learning from her that Bennett and Razor were missing, the Prinzessin decided that her familiar would be invaluable in a search. We then ran into Sister Barbara on the stairs. She insisted on joining us after hearing that the Acting Grandmaster had set off for Wolvendom without waiting for healing.”

“So where's Klee?” Bennett asks, looking around in alarm.

“We were separated after entering Wolvendom,” Fischl admits.

“Klee is alone in the woods?” Razor questions worriedly, and Mona winces.

“We ran into Sucrose and Noelle while searching,” she quickly assures them. “They are still with Klee.”

“But we need to find the others!” Barbara cries. “They are still inside, looking for Bennett and Razor! We can't leave them behind in such a dangerous place!”

With a forceful exhale, Venti strides away from them, and then tilts one ear up, as if listening for something.

The canopy above them begins to rustle, fallen leaves churning as a wind begins to blow through the woods. It’s not like the usual gentle breezes over the plains, however. The leaves clash and churn roughly in a cacophony of chitters that sound almost frantic, urgent.  

The storm of leaves swirl around Venti for a moment longer, the sound much like worried chattering, before Venti turns back around.

“I know where they are,” he says. “Come quickly!”

“Wait!” Mona cries, bewildered, as he turns away. “How do you know?!”

“This is no time for questions!” Venti cries over his shoulder. “Just trust me!”

And with a small flutter of his cape, he begins to hurry back into the woods.

Not too far into the forest, they find Sucrose, Noelle and Klee, standing with a fourth person. Eula is gesturing frantically, occasionally turning to jab a finger over her shoulder.

“There you lot are!” Mona cries. “And Captain Eula is here too?”

“We all came with the search party,” Noelle explains, “but we lost each other in the chaos.”

“Something's wrong,” Eula snaps, sounding frazzled. “Not long ago, the riftwolves suddenly became even more agitated. We could hear roaring in the distance, and they suddenly started rushing back to their den. We were in the vicinity of the entrance when it happened, and got separated after they attacked us.”

Bennett rubs the back of his head, sheepish and apologetic.

“I think that may have been my fault,” he says. “We fell into their nest and—”

“Jean is still here?!” Barbara cries, cutting into his explanation. “She's near the den?!” She whips around. “We need to find them!”

Venti holds out a palm.

“Quiet,” he commands, and then strides away from them again.

He tips an ear up as the canopy begins to rustle, leaves stirring up around him as he listens. The wind circles him quietly for a moment, whispering and chittering. Suddenly, he straightens, turning back around with a look of alarm on his face.

“I know where they are,” he says, “but we must hurry!”

“What?!” Eula demands. “How do you—”

“Now is not the time for questions!” Venti snaps. “They are surrounded! We must hurry to their aid!”

Following Venti, he leads them on a straight climb swiftly through the trees and up over some stone ledges. They find Amber and Jean in a wide clearing not too far from where they'd fallen into the den. A group of five to seven rifthounds are hissing and swooping around them, but the two knights seem to be guarded by a perimeter of grey wolves.

With a furious cry, Razor rushes past the others. He lunges, landing amongst the riftwolves with an electro-imbued slash of his claymore. The sizzling blow sends the rifthounds scattering briefly, but Razor staggers as he stands back up, shaking his head groggily. When he tries to join the perimeter after that, the grey wolves just snarl at him, tossing their heads in the direction of Jean and Amber.

Upon closer look, Amber is crouched on the ground, looking pale and a little sick, and Jean is clutching at her arm, her jaw clenched tight with pain. The gashes on her arm have reopened, and are oozing black blood.

With a cry, Barbara tries to run to her, but Eula grabs her before she can.

“If you run in there now, you'll just distract the wolves!” she shouts. “Stay with the group!”

Within the clearing, Razor makes a whining noise, but the pack just snarls, tossing their heads again. Finally, with a frustrated noise, Razor beckons to Amber and Jean.

“Come,” he says. “They want me to take you to safety. Come!”

Hissing and growling, the rifthounds swoop down as the three attempt to leave the circle of wolves, but Venti steps forward, nocking an arrow to his bow.

His arrow flies high into the sky and erupts above them, forming the same roaring vacuum as before. It's high enough that the flying rifthounds are immediately sucked into it, but the protecting wolves are able to stay on the ground. The humans amongst them, however, are stumbling a little, unsteady on their feet.

“What in Barbatos’ name is that?!” Eula shrieks.

Back in the den, with Venti holding onto him, Bennett had not experienced the full force of that vacuum, but right now, he feels that if he allows his feet to leave the ground for even a moment, he'll be sucked into it. He falls against a nearby tree, jabbing his sword into it for extra hold. Razor is crouched as well with his heavy claymore sunk into the ground, and Amber and Jean are huddling close to him.

“Put it out, Venti!” Sucrose shrieks. “We are going to be swept into it! 

Wincing, Venti raises a hand. The vacuum immediately seems to collapse a little into itself, sucking the rifthounds more tightly into its center, but the storm surrounding it soon gentles enough for the rest of them to stand.

“Sorry!” Venti yelps, and turns away. “Let's go. The wolves have it in hand— err, or in paw.”

Amber and Jean immediately rise, but Razor hesitates, looking back towards his pack.

“Come, Razor!” Venti shouts, beckoning more forcefully. “You're in no condition to fight! Come! We must leave— we will only hold the wolves back!”

Frustrated, Razor allows Jean and Amber to help him up, letting them usher him with them back into the cover of the trees.

The flurry of the remaining riftwolves are intensifying overhead now, bringing an ominous shadow with them, thick enough to darken the skies. Bennett can feel himself weakening, his movements slowing. It somehow feels difficult to breathe, and a faint nausea is rising in his throat.

“I stumbled upon a nearby cave just now,” Eula says, sounding sickened as well. “We can shelter there while we wait this out.”

“The riftwolves are nesting in one of the cave systems,” Amber reminds her nervously.

“Yeah!” Bennett cries. “We fell in earlier, and there was a huge one inside! Venti called it a Wolflord!” 

“A Wolflord?” Sucrose gasps. “I've read about them! But they’re apparently only found in—”

“Now’s not the time, children,” Venti interrupts. “Eula, where is the cave?” 

Eula looks around, seemingly orienting herself, before she points.

“That's not the same direction where Amber, Venti, and I found the cavern,” Sucrose adds. “I don't think it's the same cave.”

“Not same cave,” Razor confirms. “Lupical sometimes sleep there during storm. Safe to hide.”

Venti turns, beckoning over his shoulder.

“Come then!” he cries. “Quickly!”

He hops deftly over a fallen log, before disappearing swiftly into the trees.

Chapter Text

The cave that Eula had found is located not far away. It's not deep, ending only five to ten meters in. Ushering the rest ahead of him, Venti raises a hand as he enters after Jean, and a strange grey barrier comes up over the entrance.

“What's that?!” Amber demands immediately. “What did you do?”

“It's a wind barrier,” Venti explains, and upon second glance, it does resemble the one they had encountered at Stormterror’s Lair. “The riftwolves won't be able to enter, and the barrier will dampen some of the corrosion you're feeling. The wind prevents the smog from coming through.”

There is just enough space for them to huddle in a circle at the far end, away from the entrance, so Jean gestures for the others to move in. As they settle down, the shadowed silhouette of Sucrose raises a hand to her chin, her posture growing thoughtful.

“If a strong wind is able to dampen corrosion,” she murmurs, “then perhaps it's transmitted by fumes?”

“Now's not the best time, Sucrose,” Amber groans. There's a quiet spark, and then a small torch comes alight between Amber’s hands, allowing them to see one another in the darkness. “There we go.”

A moment later, Barbara crawls over to Jean’s side. She retrieves a small knife from her pouch, cutting Jean’s right sleeve away from the elbow down. Then, with a quiet hum, a phrase from a hymn, she summons the power of water to her hands.

The oozing wounds, once a scratch, have been worsening ever since the riftwolves had started spewing the dark smog now enshrouding Wolvendom. The pain is fading a little, however, under Barbara’s healing touch. The nausea and the inexplicable weakness in Jean’s limbs begins to lessen as well.

When Barbara removes her hand, however, the scratches are still there. 

Under their eyes, the thin scratches gradually begin to widen again. The sickening feeling in Jean’s gut comes back, and she slumps back against the cave wall with a quiet groan. Barbara’s eyes dart up to her face at the sound, and she holds her palm over the wound again, this time singing aloud.

The same thing happens when she removes her hand the second time. 

Barbara draws in a shaken breath.

“Something's wrong,” she frets. “The scratches won't go away. I can heal them whenever they get too bad, but they'll start worsening again the moment I stop!”

“It's abyssal corrosion,” Venti says.

He's still at the entrance, having seemingly been listening for something through the wind barrier, but he turns now, approaching their huddled circle with a small smile.

“Healing will not remove the scratches completely,” he explains. “Not so long as we are still in the vicinity of any riftwolves.”

“So what can we do?” Barbara cries, panicked. “Jean is in pain!”

“I'm fine,” Jean manages weakly.

“No, you're not!” several voices bite back in unison.

“Jean has been ailing faster than me,” Amber informs the others. “I think it's because of the scratches. She could barely stand just now, with the rifthounds so close. If Razor’s pack hadn't come to our rescue…”

“Sister,” Barbara murmurs, holding her hand over the wound again. “How are you feeling? Does this help?”

“Don't worry about me,” Jean whispers back, allowing herself to lay a comforting hand on her sister’s palm. “It's just a bit of nausea.”

Barbara lowers her head, looking quite stricken. There's a moment of silence amongst the rest of them, before Venti sighs.

“I have a way,” he admits, and comes closer.

Barbara sits back as he crouches before them, holding his hand over the wound. She gasps, eyes widening, as Venti's eyes begin to glow . Then, he allows his lids to fall closed, his expression focused, but peaceful.

The ichor lining the scratches light up in vibrant teal, shot through with curling violet. Tendrils of that strange violet rise slowly from the wound, seemingly vanishing into Venti's hand.

When he lowers his hand, the ichor is gone, leaving behind a normal scratch.

“I've absorbed it from her wounds,” he says, and shifts back, finding a spare spot in their circle to settle down with a quiet sigh. “You should be able to heal the scratches now, Sister Barbara.”

As Barbara shifts closer, holding out her hand to do just that, Jean looks up at Venti, alarmed.

“Absorbed it?!” she repeats. “Then what about—”

Before she can complete her sentence, they are interrupted by the sounds of howling outside. These set of howls lack the eerie, rattling tone, the underlying screech that Jean has come to associate with rifthounds.

“Lupical is calling,” Razor whispers, and pushes himself up into a crouch from his sitting position, as if to get up.

Venti puts a hand on his elbow.

“They’re calling to Andrius for assistance,” he says. “Andrius will take care of the rifthounds. It's best we wait here, and besides, Razor, you have a concussion.”

“Razor has a concussion?!” Barbara demands. “And no one thought to tell the healer?!”

She immediately goes to check on him. Turning her palm over, Jean checks her forearm. The cuts are gone completely now.

“You understand the language of wolves too?” Razor asks Venti, surprised, as Fischl shuffles over so that Barbara can sit next to him.

“Oh,” Venti says, and coughs. “Well, no. It was, uh, just an educated guess.”

There's a moment of silence, filled only by the gentle sound of Barbara’s quiet humming.

“A guess,” Mona finally says flatly. “Like how you mysteriously knew where Klee was, and later where Amber and Jean would be?”

“What?” Amber says.

“He knew where you and Jean would be,” Eula says. “And he also knew, somehow, that you were surrounded.” She turns to him, narrowing her eyes. “Do we finally have time for explanations now?”

“Eula,” Jean begins, but is cut off before she can try to further diffuse the situation.

“Yeah!” Amber cries indignantly. “You have a lot of stuff to answer for! Like that black hole you made! And the weird thing you did to our visions! And the corrosion! How did you absorb the corrosion?!”

“Amber,” Jean tries again, but is interrupted once more, this time by Bennett. 

“Wait,” Bennett cuts in. “If you’ve absorbed it, does that mean you've inflicted it upon yourself?! Mr. Venti, why would you do that! Are you in any pain?!”

“Is the good bard dying?!” Fischl gasps, ever one for melodramatics.

Sitting between Sucrose and Noelle, Klee finally looks up. She had seemed quite confused by all the sudden shouting, but has apparently taken one thing away from it all.

“Mr. Venti…” she whispers, “is dying?”

Venti raises both palms, looking quite alarmed.

“No, no, I'm not dying!” he blurts out. “Err… surely there's no need for panic? Did I say that I absorbed it? I'm fairly sure I said that I dispelled it. No harm done. I'm fine.”

Amber throws her hands up.

“You said that you absorbed it!” she explodes. “Everyone heard you!”

Venti winces.

“I mispoke,” he says. “I dispelled it. It's an anemo vision thing. Wind is able to absorb and infuse, but also cleanse and dispel other elements. It's basic elemental theory.”

Mona lets out a low, frustrated noise.

“I don't even need to have an anemo vision,” she begins, “to know that isn't true!” 

“That's really not how anemo visions work,” Sucrose says quietly. “You can't just dispel corrosion like that with a vision, or Dragonspine would already be purified.”

“Wait, so he absorbed it, right?” Bennett gasps. “So that means—”

“Mr. Venti!” Klee wails, shuffling forward to grip Venti’s hands. “Please don't die! Klee will kiss it better!”

“Maybe Barbara can try to treat you, and if she can't heal it, Jean and I can lend our strength?!” Noelle suggests, sounding panicked.

“I can heal a little with my vision too!” Bennett declares frantically. “Don't worry, Mr. Venti, we won't let you die!”

“The good bard is dying!” Fischl cries.

Unsure what to say, Jean just looks around the circle as the younger members of the group fall into sudden hysterics. Meanwhile, Eula just lowers her head with an exhale, putting a hand on her forehead. Mona is rubbing quite tiredly at her temples.

“No, no, I'm not dying!” Venti cries, and then spreads his arms with a beatific smile. “Look at me. Do I look like a dying man?”

There's a moment of silence, unimpressed on one side of the cave, and not at all comforted on the other. 

No one answers.

“Oh, come on,” Venti splutters, lowering his arms. “I’m really not dying!” He turns to the adults. “Tell them I'm not dying!”

He is met with an unsympathetic silence. Deal with the consequences of your own actions, Amber looks like she is barely refraining from saying.

Finally, after a moment, Venti sighs, lowering his head. He draws a deep breath, and then looks back up, his face gone completely serious.

“You see, the truth is,” he begins solemnly, “it's not usually the case that corrosion can be dispelled by a single anemo vision. But the Acting Grandmaster is also an anemo vision-bearer, one of exemplary strength, and who is also, herself, a healer. Indeed, I could tell that she was already working to purge the poison when I lent my assistance, and that's why—”

“So it was Jean again, is that right?” Amber cuts in. “You're saying that Jean healed herself.”

Venti coughs.

“Yes?” he answers, though his reply sounds rather more like a question than an actual answer.

“Oh for Barbatos’ sake—” Amber groans, lowering her forehead back into her hand.

“Err, well, I—” Jean begins, and then stops.

After a moment, she clears her throat, and straightens, managing to bring a semblance of professionalism back onto her face.

“Indeed,” she confirms. “It was actually me.”

No one speaks. 

“You healed yourself,” Mona finally says, flatly, and Jean finds her gaze dropping, somehow unable to meet anyone's eye. After a moment, however, she masters herself, and raises her chin, gaze fixed on a spot on the cave wall behind their heads.

“Yes,” she confirms again. “I— I healed myself.”

There's another moment of silence, before Mona turns away from Jean. 

“Anyway,” she says flippantly. “It was clearly not Jean who healed herself, so back to the topic at hand…”

Venti grimaces as expectant eyes return to him. He puffs himself up, however, after a short moment, meeting their gazes with a brave, determined expression.

“Well, if it was not Jean who aided me, then perhaps—”

He pauses there, before his shoulders slump, and he seems to sag in on himself with a quiet, shaking sigh.

“Then perhaps it was my own desperation,” he whispers brokenly. “I feared for her life, you see. I was—”

He bites his lip then, tears beginning to well in his eyes as he continues in a smaller, trembling voice.

“I was— I was just so— so—”

“No, please let me guess,” Amber interrupts unsympathetically. “You were scared.”

Venti sniffles, widening his eyes a little, and turns that big, watery gaze up at Amber. She purses her lips, but does not give in.

“Yes?” he ventures.

“And now you're traumatized,” Amber continues stoically, “so we mustn't ask you any more questions.”

Venti sniffles again, and blinks. This time, a tear slips down his pale cheek, and with a quiet inhale, Eula quickly averts her gaze.

“Yes?” Venti tries, tremulously.

Amber puts her face in her hands with a loud groan, and finally, Jean steps in again, raising her hands placatingly.

“Alright, everyone,” she says, trying for authoritative, but landing more in the realm of awkward. “Let's give Venti some space. Now’s really not the time—”

Outside, from somewhere in the distance, there comes a thunderous, echoing roar. It does not sound like the Wolflord, but is loud enough, nevertheless, that it seems to shake the very ground beneath them.

A moment later, a loud, screeching howl follows, only slightly lesser in volume than the first, and the sky beyond the barrier goes suddenly dark.

Razor straightens to attention.

“It's him,” he says, turning to look towards the barrier. “He has come.”

“Who?!” Fischl whimpers. “What's happening?! Why has the sky gone dark?!”

She sounds quite overwrought, clearly frightened, and after a moment, Oz speaks for the first time since they'd entered the cave.

“Peace, mein Fräulein,” he whispers. “I do believe it is an ally.”

“Guardian of this land,” Razor agrees. “He has come at last.”

“Lord Barbatos has returned?” Barbara blurts out, looking first stunned, and then hopeful. “He has… revealed himself?”

She rises slightly, looking like she’s barely holding herself back from running outside. Reacting swiftly, Jean and Venti both lunge forward to grab her before she can get to her feet.

“It's Andrius,” Venti says quickly. “His pack must have drawn the riftwolves into his arena. He's engaging the Wolflord.”

He stands then, holding out a palm when Jean attempts to follow, silently gesturing for her to stay seated. After a moment, she slowly lowers herself back to the ground, and he turns to offer her a reassuring smile.

“Wait here,” he says. “I'm just going to have a quick listen.”

He approaches the wind barrier, then crouches before it, turning his ear as if really listening. With a sigh, Mona rubs at her temples.

“Seriously,” she grumbles, “what can you even hear past that barrier when it's hissing like—”

Venti turns suddenly, his eyes gone wide.

“Get down!” he cries.

There's another howling screech, and then—  the sound of some great force, like waves or wind, comes rushing against the barrier. The barrier goes even darker than before, as darkness pushes against the other side of it.

Jean grabs Barbara instinctively, holding her tight as she begins to scream. Near them, Fischl, Sucrose, and Noelle are screaming in terror too, as Razor and Bennett huddle over Klee, hiding her between them.

There's not enough space in the cave for Eula to draw her claymore, so she draws a dagger instead.

“What's that?!” Amber shrieks.

“Something is trying to come in through the barrier!” Mona cries.

Eula turns to Venti, her dagger still held up before her.

“Will it hold?!” she shouts.

Venti doesn't answer. He doesn't even turn around, just continues to crouch where he is, with one hand held out towards the banner.

A moment later, there’s another thunderous, bellowing roar, so loud this time that bits of dust and debris actually fall from the ceiling. They all clap their hands over their ears as loud, wailing screech follows, and then— all of a sudden—

The sounds stop.

After a moment, everyone begins to straighten, looking out past the barrier, but there is no longer that dark tide rushing against it. In fact, as Venti lowers his hand, the wind barrier fades, and outside—

It looks like the sky is clear again.

Finally, Venti turns around, smiling at them.

“The Wolflord’s dying throes,” he explains. “It's gone now. Andrius has vanquished it.”

He begins to stand from his crouch, and Amber seems to come out of her shock then.

“Wait!” she splutters. “You— You still have a lot to answer for—”

Her protests cut off into an alarmed cry as Venti stumbles. He puts a hand on the wall for support, the other clutching at his chest.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Ow. That— actually kinda hurt.”

It feels like Jean’s heart drops right into her stomach.

He'd been weakened since they had found him, unconscious and pale, on the steps of the cathedral, she knows. The harbinger had done something to him, taken something from him— his god-heart, he had later said, the thing that had first granted him godhood, all those years ago.

Without it, is he… now mortal?

Silhouetted against the sky outside, Venti gasps again, and begins to slide, very slowly, down against the wall.

“Venti!”

Jean barely recognizes the sound of her own scream as she throws herself towards him, catching him before he can slump to the floor.

“Oh god,” she whispers, and lets out a sob. “What's wrong, Venti? What's wrong?”

But Venti just chuckles, flapping a hand dismissively.

“Just an old injury flaring up, dear Jean,” he groans. “Nothing to worry about. It's completely normal.”

“Hey—” Amber begins, panicked. “Hey, don't— don't try any more funny stuff. You're alright, aren't you? Don't— Don't try scare us. You're alright, right?”

“I'm alright,” Venti gasps. “No worries, my friends. I'm just feeling… a little… woozy.”

Startled cries ring out as he slumps down in Jean’s arms, going limp.

“What's wrong with him?” Eula shouts, standing. “Is it the corrosion?! But he said he was fine!”

“Oh god, is he dead?!” Fischl sobs. “Please tell me, is our friend dead?!” 

Amber comes running, falling to a crouch beside Jean.

“Venti, stop scaring us!” she cries shakily. “It isn't funny!”

“Move,” Barbara orders, and pushes them all aside, touching Venti with a glowing blue hand.

She moves the hand slowly over his body, stopping here and there, eyes closed. Everyone remains quiet, not daring to speak, barely daring to breathe.

“The corrosion is gone,” Barbara finally pronounces. “I don't feel anything wrong except a bit of mild exhaustion. He’s fine. He's just tired.”

Everyone eases at that.

Suddenly, Amber sniffles.

“I was too hard on him,” she whispers tremulously. “He was probably feeling unwell, but I just kept asking questions.”

“It's not your fault,” Eula quickly assures her, also sounding guilty. “After everything we've seen him do, I… also believed him when he said he was fine.”

“Venti is strong,” Razor finally speaks up. “He will be okay after sleep.”

“And after some food,” Noelle adds. “Maybe some hot tea. Should I…?”

“He'd probably recover better in a bed,” Mona says quickly. “The smog is gone now. We can leave.”

With a sigh, Jean pulls one of Venti’s limp arms over her shoulders, and then lifts him, very gently, up into her arms. He's warm, and breathing deeply, and Jean lowers her head, unable to stop herself from pressing her face to his shoulder.

She takes a deep, calming breath, matching it to the rhythm of his breathing— alive, he's alive— before she finally masters herself, and stands.

“Let’s get him to someplace he can rest,” she rasps. “The knights will take care of the rest here.”

As they leave the cavern, Oz flies ahead to scout for potential danger. It is not long, however, before he returns, bringing a set of familiar voices in his wake.

“Klee?” the voice is calling. “Jean?”

“Brother Kaeya!” Klee shrieks delightedly, and takes off running.

She throws herself against Kaeya’s legs as he appears on the path before them, and he immediately scoops her up into his arms, murmuring something into her hair.

“What happened?” Diluc asks from Kaeya's other side. “There was some kind of dark cloud over Wolvendom. I could see it even from the winery.”

“The knights we could spare tried looking for you,” Kaeya adds, as he shifts Klee to rest on his hip, “but they were quickly sickened by the smog. We had to evacuate. Are all of you alright? You were in the thick of it.”

“We’re fine,” Jean says. “No one was hurt, but Venti—”

Diluc seems to catch sight of Venti then, bundled in her arms, because he closes the distance in a few long, quick strides. He stops in front of Jean, and after a moment, he eases as he notices the rise and fall of Venti’s breathing. Then, he clears his throat as he seems to realize how close he's standing to her, and steps back to a more appropriate distance.

“What's wrong with him?” he asks, a little more stoically. “Why is he unconscious?”

“Just exhausted, it seems,” Jean replies. “He was shielding us from the smog, and— I had asked him to keep an eye on those venturing off the path.” She drops her gaze for a moment then, unable to meet Diluc’s eye. “I suspect that he's been expending himself because of my request.”

Exhaling quietly, Diluc takes another step back, and Jean bites her lip guiltily.

“Bring him to the winery,” Diluc says. “He can rest there.” He looks over her shoulder at the rest of their motley gang. “The rest of you may come too. You all look exhausted.”

Quietly, they begin to trail after Diluc as he turns, and begins to lead them down the path, likely in the direction of the winery. After all the chaos of the day, Jean can no longer tell where they had ended up and which direction is the right way out, so she just follows. When Kaeya puts Klee back down and tries to take Venti from her, however, she instinctively resists.

“No—” she breathes.

When Kaeya’s eyes flicker up to hers, surprised at her reaction, she falters a little, coming back to herself.

“Come on, Jean,” Kaeya murmurs. “You look tired as well. He's safe with me, hm?”

Jean bites her lip, but after a moment, she loosens her grip, reluctantly allowing Kaeya to take her slumbering god, asleep and vulnerable, from her arms. As she lowers her shaking hands to her side, exhaling in an attempt to quell her irrational sense of unease, Klee takes her hand. She yawns, loudly, as she does, and Kaeya turns to smile over his shoulder.

“Our little Spark Knight has had a long day, huh?” he teases, and then sobers slightly. “That must have been scary.”

“Nuh uh!” Klee immediately denies. “Klee wasn't scared at all, because everyone was there to help Klee, and Venti was there too! He did a big whoosh! And then all the rifthounds flew up! Pow! Pow! Pow!”

There is soft chuckling from behind them, and Jean smiles as well, exhausted, but endeared.

“Then Eula brought us to a cave,” Klee continues, “and Venti put a barrier on the door, and he healed Jean, and— and— err, and then— there was a lot of yelling that Klee didn't understand.”

“Yelling?” Kaeya asks, adopting an astonished tone, indulgent as ever with their youngest knight. “About what?”

“About whether Venti was hurt,” Klee answers, “because he absorbed the corro… corro… the poison from Jean.”

“Klee,” Jean begins warningly, and allows her eyes to flicker up to Kaeya.

Kaeya is tilting his head slightly now, listening as Klee continues her tale of the day.

“Oh, but— but Venti said that he didn't absorb it, so he wasn't hurt!” Klee corrects herself, seeming to misunderstand Jean’s warning tone. “He said Jean healed herself, because she's big and strong!”

“Sounds like our Jean,” Kaeya agrees. “What happened after that?”

“Kaeya,” Jean chides, quickly stepping in. “Is it necessary to ask so many questions? Let Klee rest. She's had a long day.”

“No, Klee is fine!” Klee insists, and Jean exhales, looking up at Kaeya again. It would be too suspicious to stop her now, but—

“Erm… after that, there was more yelling, until boom!” Klee continues, throwing her free hand up for effect. “There was something at the door! But Venti's barrier stopped it, and then rawwwrrrrr, woooooo, yaaaaaargh!”

She begins to wave her raised hand in celebration, jumping and skipping in her excitement.

“Andrius chased away all the bad wolves!” she cheers. “And then the sun came back, and we came out of the cave, and now we're here!”

“Sounds like quite the adventure,” Kaeya comments.

“Yes!” she cries, then yawns again, and Jean quickly takes the chance to pick her up, turning her so that she's resting against Jean’s chest.

“You can nap if you want to, Klee,” she whispers. “We’ll be at the winery soon.”

“Alright,” Klee murmurs, and lays her head down on Jean’s shoulder.

She is quiet for a moment, but eventually, she speaks again, more quietly this time.

“Mr. Venti will be alright, right?” she whispers, sounding a little troubled now. “He said… that he didn't absorb the poison, but there was that scary purple glow, and Klee saw it going into his hand.”

“Klee—” Jean begins, shocked. Her eyes flicker up again to Kaeya’s back, but this time, he doesn't turn around.

“He’ll be fine, Klee,” he says. “He's strong, isn't he?”

Klee raises her head.

“Yeah!” she cries, and throws her hand up again. “The strongest!”

Used by now to the sudden motions of excited young children, Jean tilts her head back, so that she doesn't inadvertently get smacked in the face.

“Mind the hand, Klee,” she murmurs.

“Sorry,” Klee mutters, and lowers her hand.

Kaeya chuckles quietly, but does not turn around.

They continue to walk in silence for a long moment. Rocked by Kaeya’s slow gait, the teal ends of Venti’s cloak, spilling over the crook of Kaeya’s elbow, is swaying very slowly from side to side, side to side. A slim arm, frilled at the wrist, is draped over Kaeya’s shoulder. It swings, also, very gently, with the rocking of Kaeya's careful steps.

The fingers are held loosely, the skin very soft, and the bones very slim.

“But you can't tell other people about what you saw,” Kaeya suddenly speaks again. “If other people knew what Venti could do, it would be bad for him.”

Jean draws a quiet breath, eyes flicking up to the back of Kaeya's head, but still, Kaeya does not turn.

“Oh,” Klee finally says. “Okay.”

“He's under witness protection,” Kaeya explains. “That means he helped the knights, and now bad people are looking for him, so he has to hide, and the knights are helping him. If you tell people, the bad people might find him.”

Klee raises her head in alarm.

“Then Klee won't tell anyone!” she swears, and holds up three fingers. “Promise!”

“Good girl,” Kaeya says.

After a moment, Jean lays her hand on the back of Klee’s head, urging her to put her head back down.

“Rest,” she murmurs. “We’ll be there soon.”

Klee lets out one last, big yawn.

“Okay,” she whispers, her eyelashes fluttering against Jean’s neck as closes her eyes. A moment later, she stills, finally fast asleep.

Eula strides forward.

“Witness protection?” she hisses in an undertone. “He's one of our witnesses? From which case?”

“One of mine,” Kaeya says steadily. “You know I can't tell you too much, Eula. It's best not to ask any more questions.”

Eula groans.

“I know, I know,” she whispers, and puts a hand to her forehead. “But witness protection. That's rough.”  

“Yes,” Kaeya says, before finally, he turns, looking over his shoulder at the others. “I trust the rest of you know what to do?”

Turning as well, Jean sees Amber lowering her eyes to the ground, brows drawn together, expression troubled. Mona has her arms folded across her chest, looking deep in thought, while Sucrose and Noelle look sympathetic. Meanwhile, the young explorers of their party are trading looks.

After a moment, Bennett steps forward, a brave look on his face as he raises three fingers solemnly.

“We won't tell anyone either, Captain Kaeya!” he swears. “We will guard this secret with our lives! Promise!”

Kaeya turns his gaze to the next person.

“Razor?” he prompts.

“Razor does not understand everything that was said,” Razor admits. “But Razor will not tell.”

Kaeya smiles a little. “And I trust the Prinzessin knows how to keep a secret, of course.”

Fischl swells a little in clear pride, before she clears her throat, regaining some of her composure, and brings one hand to caress her eyepatch with a low, melodramatic sigh.

“He has seen dark things,” she laments breathily, “deep secrets of this world that must never be spoken aloud, and now— he is sworn to silence.”

Jean feels a strange chill go down her spine. Biting her lip, she turns back around, disconcerted by Fischl’s strange proclamation.

“Yes,” Kaeya agrees, and turns to face the front as well. “Dark things.”

It is not long before they reach the winery. The house-staff come rushing out as they reach the manor, gladdened at the safe return of their master. Once assured of his well-being, they soon hasten to usher in their exhausted guests.

While the others settle downstairs, Diluc leads Jean and Kaeya to a spare bedroom on the second floor. He turns around as the door closes behind them, raising an eyebrow at Kaeya.

“Witness protection, huh?” he questions.

“Yep,” Kaeya says, and drops Venti unceremoniously on the bed. He does not even bother to pull back the covers, or to position Venti so his head lands on the pillows.

“Kaeya!” Jean cries reproachfully.

But Kaeya just folds his arms.

“Alright, stop pretending to be asleep,” he says loudly. “I know you’re already awake. I could feel you fidgeting the entire walk back.”

There's a moment of silence, before Venti opens first one eye, and then the next. Finally, he sits up with a quiet, sheepish chuckle.

“Witness protection,” he says and whistles appreciatively. “That's new. I can try that for myself in the future. Guess I owe you one, Captain.”

Kaeya raises an eyebrow.

“I do like collecting favors,” he says imperiously. “You're welcome.”

He turns and walks out of the room without further comment. The door shuts crisply behind him, and with a quiet sigh, Diluc turns back to face them, folding his arms.

“Kaeya's a tricky one,” he tells Venti. “You'd best be wary of his favors.”

But Venti just waves a hand dismissively.

“Oh, he means well,” he sighs. “It'll be fine.”

Diluc makes a non-committal noise, but says nothing more. After a moment, Jean takes a seat on the side of the bed. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, more quietly. “Barbara said you were, but I still…”

“Oh, I'm perfectly fine,” Venti immediately dismisses. “I meant what I said. Wind elementals, you know. Given enough time, what doesn't kill us will eventually just be purged from our system. Rifthound corrosion is nothing. It dissipated the moment the rifthounds fled. Just triggered some phantom pains from an old injury.”

At that, Diluc narrows his eyes.

“Durin’s poison,” he guesses. “It's still in your system.”

Venti laughs.

“Nope!” he corrects. “Five hundred years of slumber does a lot for the old wind pipes, you know. There's only what I took from Dvalin now, but that's mostly gone too. There wasn't a lot left in him anyway, not after sleeping for five hundred years.”

He smiles, a little more genuinely now— a little more tenderly.

“I meant it,” he reassures them quietly. “It clears naturally from us wind elementals. I'm fine.”

For a moment longer, Jean just looks at him, staring searchingly into his face. He just smiles, with gentle eyes and gentle brows, his expression soft, yet also oddly impenetrable.

“Sometimes,” Jean admits, “I don't know if you're lying just to make us feel better.”

Venti's eyes soften as he touches her cheek.

“I'm not lying this time, Jean,” he whispers. “I’ve told a great many lies in front of you today, I know, but I'm telling the truth now, I promise.”

Drawing a quiet breath, Jean closes her eyes.

“Alright,” she whispers and opens her eyes again, smiling faintly. “I trust you.”

Venti smiles at that, drawing his thumb fondly over her cheekbone. After a moment, however, he sighs and lowers his hand, flopping backwards against the bed.

“Now this is some fine hospitality,” he declares. “A nice bed, a window open to the breeze, and the smell of grass and the vineyards. The only thing that would make it better would be a nice glass of—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, and Venti sighs.

“Well, it was worth a try,” he grants.

Unmoved, Diluc just raises an eyebrow.

“This witness protection excuse isn’t going to make everything go away, you know?” he remarks. “I wasn't present, but just based off Klee’s scattered account, there's still much left unexplained.”

“Mmhm?” Venti hums, and Diluc exhales, exasperated.

“Eula is too sharp,” he continues. “Amber is too perceptive, Sucrose too inquisitive for her own damned good, and Mona— she sees too much. They’ve subsided now because of the worry, the guilt, the shock over the damned sob story , but once that's worn off, they are going to start asking questions again. They'll go to Jean, to Kaeya. What will you have them say? What will you say, when the time comes?”

With a sigh, Venti just tucks his hands behind his head and closes his eyes.

“Oh, if it gets too bothersome, just tell them the truth,” he grumbles. “When all else fails, that's always what I do. I told Bennett today, you know?”

There's a moment of silence.

“You told Bennett,” Diluc repeats, disbelieving.

“Yep,” Venti confirms, still not opening his eyes. “He fell right into the Wolflord’s cavern. I had to break out the wings to get him out. There were feathers everywhere.”

Jean trades looks with Diluc, alarmed, before looking back at Venti.

“And what did he say?” Jean asks, a little more urgently.

Venti just shrugs.

“Didn't believe me,” he says dismissively. “Apparently, he didn't notice the wings. Laughed and told me not to joke about that, then asked where the feathers came from. I said we flew into a flock of geese.”

Diluc closes his eyes.

“A flock of geese,” he states woodenly.

“Yep,” Venti confirms.

Diluc raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“And he believed that?” he questions.

“Yep,” Venti confirms again.

When Diluc just puts his face into one hand, making a despairing noise, Venti laughs and crosses one leg casually over the other, tapping his stockinged foot casually in mid-air.

“Look,” he says, “most people find it hard to believe when someone claims to be god. So if they ask too many questions that you can't answer, just tell them the truth. There's only two reactions to that.” He raises a finger in the air. “One, they don't believe you. That's usually what happens.”

There's a moment's pause.

“And two?” Diluc prompts impatiently.

Venti is quiet for a moment, before he opens his eyes and looks at them, his gaze unbearably fond.

“Or two,” he says. “They do.”

After a moment longer of utter silence, neither Jean or Diluc quite sure what to say in response, Venti settles back against the pillows with a satisfied noise, closing his eyes once more.

“What are they going to do then?” he asks, and laughs. “Shout it from the rooftops? No one I've ever told and who's actually believed it has told anyone else outside of extenuating circumstances. Most of the time, they just fall over themselves trying to keep anyone else from finding out.”

Unable to help herself, Jean coughs a little at that, embarrassed, but Venti just laughs lightly again, his foot still tapping in mid-air.

“So is it that bad if any of those people today found out?” he questions. “They are good kids, Diluc. Just let them be.” 

For a long moment, no one speaks.

A gentle breeze comes in through the window as Venti begins to hum, absent and a little husky, under his breath. His foot is tapping to the rhythm of it, swaying lazily in time.

“When you've lived as long as I have,” he finally murmurs, “you know that you can't control every little thing in life.”

He laughs then, shaking his head.

“Sometimes you get drunk in the woods and lose your favourite lyre,” he continues. “Sometimes you sing a jolly song about the old revolution, start a workers’ riot in Liyue Harbor, and get kicked out of the city by the Geo Archon! Why, maybe one day, you’ll throw in your lot with a bunch of unlikely rebels, win a war, and unexpectedly become a god.”

His foot is tapping still, swaying in rhythm mid-air, and after a moment, Jean realizes with some surprise that she can hear music, drifting in from the window. It sounds like a piano.

One of their guests downstairs must have found the old piano, wherever Diluc had stashed it — very likely, Kaeya had brought them to it — and now, music is floating up towards them, surrounded by the warm sounds of friendly laughter.

“Life is full of surprises, you know,” Venti continues contentedly. “If you stop by the road to help a stranger, you could meet a robber, but you could also meet someone brave and beautiful. You could find a lifelong friend.” He laughs. “You could fall in love, if you'd let yourself.” 

A high, wavering voice reaches them. It is Barbara, her voice raised in moving song, and Jean can feel her heart softening as Venti turns to them with another fond smile.

“Sometimes things just don't go according to plan,” he concludes, “so when all else fails—”

He pauses there, before he winks, cheekily.

“Just wing it,” he says, and laughs, “and be sure to have the absolute time of your life doing it.”

As the sounds of singing melds once more into the gentle sounds of laughter, Venti folds his arms behind his head, and closes his eyes again.

“Now,” he murmurs, “an old man needs his rest.” 

“Rest well,” Jean whispers fondly, and stands.

“You know what would make my rest even better?” Venti calls, as both she and Diluc turn to leave. “A nice glass of—”

“No,” Diluc denies again, flatly, and Venti sighs.

“Oh, you're no fun,” he laments.

“The Gunnhildr manor has a number of fine vintages stowed away,” Jean offers, on a whim. “After all this is over, I'm sure I can spirit a bottle or two out without Mother noticing.”

“Jean!” Diluc hisses, unfairly aghast, and Jean can't help but chuckle at his reaction as Venti rolls onto his side with wide, sparkling eyes.

“Oh, but would you really?” he gasps.

Diluc lowers his forehead into his palm, groaning exasperatedly, and Jean can't help but chuckle again.

“You've done me a favour,” she allows fondly, and then grants him the smallest of smiles— “And one favour deserves another, doesn't it?”

Venti is quiet for a moment, before finally, he offers a mischievous smile.

“I could get used to collecting favours,’ he says.