Archive of Our Own

"I will be good, " he cried. "Please let me out. I will be good!"

“You must stay,” they whispered back. “It is your duty.”

Despite the heat that bore down on the crowd that swarmed the streets, it was nothing but a reminder of summer, of its lively mornings and breezy nights. A reminder of the joy each and every individual shared with one another during the Festival of Summer.

Processions marched on through the town, almost never-endingly, making sure that not one person would ever miss out on the celebration of the happiness that runs always and forever in their lovely, ever-lasting home.

A child of nine or ten sat at the edge of the crowd alone, playing on a wooden flute.

People paused to listen, and they smiled, but they did not speak to him, for he never ceased playing and never saw them, his dark eyes wholly rapt in the sweet, thing magic of the tune.

Eventually, he finished, and slowly lowered his hands holding the wooden flute.

The crowd burst into cheers and applause, for which the child received with grace and a grin, hopping up from his seat to bow dramatically. When people finally turned away from him to witness the processions in all its glory, a few children, free and laughing, pulled the flute-player along to frolic in the fields and up the cliff, brushing past the grass made golden by the setting sun.

“Come on, Venti!” The flute-player, now simply just an innocent, playful child, followed.

It was only after night descended did the children scatter back to their warm homes, just as the adults had, after spending an entire day celebrating the Festival of Summer.

Venti returned back home to his parents’ wide open arms, who were full of hugs and smiles to convey how well they thought he had done today in front of the crowd — his one hundredth public performance, they congratulated.

Soon, he was tucked into bed, and like always, he chose something to read before bed. He picked one that he had not touched before, and began reading through on his own.

By the time he flipped to the last page, he was left sitting dazedly on the comfortable sheets. He… didn’t quite understand it.

He has read such books before, stories in which they call a “tragedy”, yet he never quite understood the pain riddled through those stories. How could he, and any other person in this tiny town, for they have never experienced suffering?

“I don’t understand this book. What does pain and suffering feel like?” Venti finally asked the seemingly forbidden question to his parents that night, his hands fidgeting with the yellowed pages of the book. “I’ve never seen anyone here experience such… things.”

His parents had stiffened, before their lips fell into easy, bittersweet smiles.

“I suppose it is time you know,” his mother muttered to his father, who nodded.

They gathered the child up in their arms, and with the gentlest voices possible, told him about the only tragedy that existed in all of their little town.

“Do you remember the bell tower, right in the middle of the town?”

Venti nodded. His mother brushed back the hair sticking out of his braids, and continued.

“Well, on the top of that tower, in a room where the windows are locked, there is this little boy about your age who stays there. He’s unlike you children — he cannot go out, or run about in the fields, and must not see the light of day.”

Venti’s eyes widened in horror. An unfamiliar feeling slithered around his heart, squeezing it tight. He did not like it. But he still had to ask. “Why? Why him?”

“We don’t know, little one. But all we know is that he needs to be there. If he is free of suffering, the rest of the town will succumb to it. Think of it as if… he’s the Protector of our Happiness, you know?”

The little child was silent.

His father sighed quietly, and gently patted the crown of his head. “Don’t worry about it, Venti. We have no choice. So all we have to do is simply thank him in our hearts and enjoy our happiness to the fullest, so as to not waste his efforts. Alright?”

Venti made a small noise of agreement.

He understood. He loved his happiness, the beautiful music that he could draw from his hands, the unbridled joy that he felt journeying through life together with his loved ones. He would never want to let that go.

But even then, the thought of the little boy trapped in the tower kept him awake past midnight. He couldn’t quite understand the feeling that swallowed his chest — a feeling far from the meaning of peace.

Before he knew it, he had scrambled off his bed and snuck out of his house, treading down the empty, quiet streets to find his way to the bell tower.

It did not take long — the bell tower was the tallest and most recognisable building out of the entire town after all. He slipped past the dozing guard at the entrance and took the winding staircase, climbing all the way to the top.

The stairs felt never-ending — he climbed and climbed and climbed to the point where exhaustion squeezed his lungs every time he took a step and pulled himself up. As if something was barring him from the top of the tower, telling him to turn around and go home, to return to his comfortable bed and sleep the night away.

And he had wanted to, so many times. He had even turned around and started his way down a couple of instances. But there was a pull stronger than the nagging voice inside his head, perhaps one of curiosity and a little bit of something else, that made him turn right around and start his journey to the top of the tower again.

His efforts did not go to waste. Eventually, the steps eased out to a platform, where one lone wooden door stood. Venti tried it. Locked, as expected.

So he knocked instead. “Hello!”

No answer.

He tried knocking louder. “Is anyone in there? Are you the boy who protects our happiness?”

Again, silence, just as before.

Venti frowned, then looked up, squinting as moonlight momentarily engulfed his vision. There was still one more flight of stairs to the top of the tower, where the town bell hung.

Maybe he could find another way in from there?

So up he went.

He slowly circled the bell and searched the floor, tapping around to find hollow spots just as characters in his books have done, but his efforts didn’t bear fruit. Frustrated, he went to the edge of the railing, looking down to see if there was even a silver of a chance to find a way in—

—he immediately spotted an anomaly embedded in the stone walls that stretched towards the ground, an indent patched up with glass panes — a window!

The window wasn’t that far off from the top of the tower as well, so all he had to do was hang himself off the railing, and stick the landing on the windowsill…

Before he knew it, he had already let himself off the edge, his hands holding onto the railing for dear life as his feet struggled to even make contact with the windowsill.

Venti let out a panicked squeak, and took a peek at the ground. He had to gulp to force his heart back into his chest. It was a long way down indeed.

It’s okay, I can do this, the child whispered repeatedly in his head. I can do this.

Then he let go.

The moment he felt his feet hit what little platform the window provided, he desperately leaned into the glass, trying not to fall off. He crashed into the window with a force that made his teeth rattle, and it swung open almost immediately upon impact. Venti desperately flailed around as he felt his body tip into the room — he barely caught himself by grabbing the frame of the window.

He popped the lock open in the crash.

(Or perhaps it hadn’t been locked in the first place, unlike what his parents had told him.)

Only after a few seconds did he allow himself to take his first breath in what felt like forever. Somehow, he survived this endeavour against all odds.

When the rhythm of his heart started to slow, he peeked inside the small, empty room.

All there was to find was a little boy in the corner of the room, curling in on himself as if that would make him disappear.

Gold, tormented eyes stared back at Venti’s own, making the latter flinch and almost fall backwards into the town.

They were beautiful, yet devastatingly haunting. The weak moonlight that reflected off his yellow irises did not brighten them — in fact, it made their emptiness more apparent, revealing an abyss of despair that laid behind those eyes.

It ate into him. Venti involuntarily averted his gaze.

He’s so tiny, Venti noted, his heart filling up with an overwhelming amount of inexplicable emotion. The little boy was covered in filth and grime, but even that couldn’t hide how his skin clung to his bones, how his lips were bloodless and how horror was practically imprinted into his dull eyes.

Venti bit his lip. He didn’t quite like whatever was currently stifling his chest and climbing up his throat — he couldn’t understand it — but all he knew was that he wanted to pull this child out and gently do away with the dirt and filth that caked his bare body, and wash away that look in his eyes.

But when he shifted forward to drop himself down into the room, the boy let out an inhumane screech and pressed himself even further into the corner.

Venti stopped.

Then ever so carefully, he spoke. “Hello?”

No response. The boy continued to stare at him, as if taking his eyes off him would befall some terrible disaster onto him.

“What’s your name?” Venti continued to ask.

Again, no response, no movement whatsoever.

So he inched slightly forward on the windowsill, trying to see if he could enter the room. The boy immediately scrabbled against the wall, as if he could push himself any deeper into stone.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Venti whispered, but it is apparent that the boy did not understand his words.

What should he do now? Venti didn’t really have a plan coming here — in fact, he wasn’t really clear on why he came here at all. Maybe he just wanted to see if what his parents said was true. Maybe he was hoping that it wasn’t true.

But it was. So what now? How could he help him, when he knows he can’t do anything in his power to? How could he reach out to him, when he shrinks from Venti just wanting to close the distance?

His mind might not know the answer, but his hands seemed to do. They drifted to his hip, to where his flute was always attached.

In the next second, he had already whipped his favourite instrument out, placed it to his lips, and blew a long, soothing note. Just to test.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced back at the boy, who was still staring up at him. He didn’t lean forward with interest and gleaming eyes, unlike most of his audience anticipating a song, but he didn’t shriek or continue to curl into himself in fear.

It was an indication for Venti to continue.

Ever so slowly, he moved his fingers across the flute, blowing out note after note, until he threaded it into a slow, melancholic tune.

He kept a close eye on the boy as he played, and he watched as the other seemed to visibly loosen up, his alert stance dissolving into something more relaxed. He no longer clung to the wall — instead, he started to inch closer to Venti, interested while still keeping a safe distance away.

But Venti didn’t dare to put down his flute and try to get closer to the boy. He was scared to shatter this fragile moment into irredeemable pieces. There might be a chance that he wouldn’t be able to calm him down again if he tried to approach one more time.

So he kept playing, song after song after song, and when he ran out of his usual songs to play, he started playing spontaneously, letting his fingers run free across his flute and pressing whatever that felt right.

The boy was the perfect audience. Never once did he ever clap, interrupt his performance, wince on a wrong note, or shower him with praises. All he did was simply sit there in silence, tirelessly fixated on him and his performance.

Eventually, when the winds started shifting and the sun started peeking out of the horizon, Venti reluctantly pulled the flute away from his lips.

He needed to go back before his parents noticed his absence.

“I’ll come back soon, okay?” Venti said quietly. Like before, the boy did not show a slight bit of acknowledgement to his words.

Venti slowly moved to stand, and to his surprise, the boy did not react adversely. He was still. His eyes were still endlessly trained on him.

A small sense of relief, along with accomplishment, bled into his heart.

After some time of searching, his fingers found purchase on the stone wall, and Venti slowly lifted himself back up onto the roof — he could feel his limbs threatening to succumb to exhaustion, but somehow he managed to pull himself over the edge.

Even as he wheezed on the platform with shaking arms, trying desperately to catch his breath, he found that he did not regret his little adventure one bit.

In fact, he was quite looking forward to the next one.

His parents might not have noticed his absence in the night, but they did absolutely notice the dark circles under his eyes in the morning.

“Oh Venti, why do you have eyebags? Did you not sleep at all last night?” his mother asked during breakfast. “What kept you up? Was it the book?”

“I… just kept thinking about it,” Venti said a little shakily, not very accustomed to lying. He never had to lie before, but something told him that his parents cannot know that he went to visit the boy at the top of the tower.

But his parents, never expecting for their dear little child to lie, bought his words wholeheartedly. “The book must have really gotten to you, huh? Maybe you should read happier books tonight.”

Later in the day, playtime soon came around. It was the time of the day where Venti was supposed to meet up with his friends in the field, setting off on new adventures together until the sun set. He had done so everyday without fail for as long as he could remember, and yet, he decided to set off on his own adventure today.

He can’t quite show up at the little boy’s door (window) empty handed now, can he?

Venti took his time and snuck around the back of the market, collecting scrap pieces of unused rope and cloth. Then, with whatever little pocket money he had, he bought a few of his favourite foods — apples, especially — and wrapped it all in a small basket.

Before his parents came back home, he hid it all under his bed, hoping that his scheme would continue to go unnoticed.

And unnoticed it went, even as his parents stood by his bedside after night fell, asking him what bedtime story he would like to read today.

Yet today was destined to be a day of anomalies. “I’m kinda sleepy… is it okay if we read it tomorrow?” Venti asked, blinking as if pretending to be exhausted.

“Are you sure? You never miss a bedtime story.”

“I’m sure,” Venti said, nodding determinedly.

His parents did not press for further details, and simply left him with a pat on the head.

Venti laid awake in his bed, waiting for the house to settle into silence before he snuck out. Even as his soft, comfortable duvet lured his consciousness away into dreamland, he still continued to force his closing eyelids open, occasionally using his fingers to pry them apart if he had to.

When the night was finally still, he rolled off the bed. Then, as quietly as he could, he grabbed everything he had gathered in the day and set off for the tower.

The break-in was easier this time. With a shoddy rope wrapped around his torso, he securely tied himself to the stone railing and lowered himself onto the ledge of the boy’s window.

He peered in to find the boy dozing off, glued to another corner this time. Then, he gave the windows a light push, a much more graceful entrance than whatever he had done the previous night. They easily gave way.

It seemed that no one had bothered to repair the lock on the window. Or rather, no one noticed that Venti had been here at all.

Perfect.

He settled himself down on the ledge, cross-legged, and fished out his flute to play a tune, hoping that it would wake him up.

The boy jerked awake upon the sound of the first note, scrabbling back to look at the window. Golden eyes locked onto his figure and did not move away.

Once the short tune ended, Venti put his flute down, and experimentally shifted forward to hang his legs off the ledge.

The boy did not scream. He did not budge one bit.

“Can I come in?” Venti asked softly, even though he knew that he would not receive an answer.

And as expected, the boy did not respond. But this time, his gaze felt like an invitation.

Venti slowly inched forward as much as he could, clutching tightly to his wrapped cloth of food and the rope around his waist, before he hopped off the ledge and jumped into the room.

He flinched the moment he touched the ground.

Ew.

He hadn’t quite noticed it before, but the stench of the cell was much more pungent now that it was surrounding him and caging him in, threatening to suffocate him. He felt as if he was about to throw up.

How could he even bear to live in here?

He released himself from the rope, then tried taking a step forward, grimacing as he felt grime squelch underneath his feet.

The boy instantly retreated, scrambling back before gathering his limbs into a somewhat defensive, scared stance. Venti paused.

Then ever so slowly, he unwrapped the cloth in his hands, and showed its contents to the other.

An offering.

He could almost swear the boy’s eyes widened — it was Venti’s first time witnessing an expression from him that was neither fear nor terror.

The boy took a step towards him, as if trying to peek into the cloth.

Venti held his breath. He held still.

Then the boy lunged at him.

Venti didn’t even have time to react — before he knew it, he was tackled to the floor, tangled in limbs and dirt as he felt the boy flail in an attempt to snatch the food.

“I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it to you!” Venti gasped, trying to hold the cloth up so that it wouldn’t touch the dirty floor, even as he was pressed into the ground in the other’s frenzy. Yet despite his best efforts, he could feel the weight in his hands shifting. “Wait—”

The warning came a tad too late. An apple popped right out of the confines of the cloth and fell to the ground, rolling until it stopped just right by Venti’s head.

The boy instantly stopped struggling against him, stilling on top of Venti’s stomach, his eyes locking onto the apple right beside his head. Venti froze along with him as well, lest a single movement would falsely suggest that he was going to fight with him over the food yet again.

Golden eyes flicked to green irises, almost as if he was checking if Venti was going to do anything about the apple. Venti did not move.

And so the boy did.

He immediately snatched the apple up and bit into it.

“Hey—!” Venti was too late to stop him from consuming the contaminated food — he had already started chomping away on the fruit, uncaring of the apple juices messily dripping down his chin or the fact that he was still sitting on top of Venti.

Therefore, all he could do was watch.

Despite the apple having rolled in filth and grime, the boy still feasted on it as if it was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten.

For the first time in the time Venti knew him, the sparkle in his eyes was not created by the flicker of moonlight, but something more innate. A small spark in an empty void.

Venti watched until the fruit had been thoroughly devoured — that is, until he was forced to tug the apple away when the boy started attempting to eat the inedible core. At first the boy fought him over it, but relented when Venti appeased him with the rest of the offerings he brought.

And that was what they did for almost the rest of the night; the flute-player attentively observing the boy as he ate.

There was something so enrapturing about it that Venti could not find it in him to tear his eyes away, and not once did boredom drive him to pick up his flute. Even the rancid stench and horror of the room eventually faded out of his mind, his initial disgust fading into indifference.

Acceptance, even.

The boy consumed in desperation at the start, eating as if Venti could snatch away the food in his hands before he could finish it. Weak fingers held onto the food so tightly that most had ground into mush in his palms before it passed through his mouth.

Only towards the end did he slow down. He must have learnt that no one was going to deny it from him. Eventually he stopped fixating on the food in front of him and took to flicking his gaze in Venti’s direction instead, as if asking a question he could not voice.

Venti took that as an invitation to finally speak, after so long. “Um, hello.”

The boy blinked.

“I’m Venti,” Venti introduced himself while tentatively stretching out his hand, just like how he had witnessed his parents and adults interacting with each other.

The kid did not take his hand. He simply stared at it expectantly. Perhaps he thought Venti was offering more food.

“What’s your name?”

This time, the boy looked up at him, like he had understood that particular question. He opened his mouth. A small, broken sound came out, and nothing else. He frowned, then tried again, mouth working trying to form words.

“Ah…” was all he could produce. He failed.

“Um,” Venti cut in, getting a little nervous at how the boy was growing more and more distraught at his inability to voice out his name. “What about Alatus?”

Alatus was Venti’s favourite character in one of the books he read. He is said to possess wings on his back, a strong unbreakable spirit, and was most prominently known by the gold of his eyes.

The boy’s rich amber irises reminded him vividly of the Alatus that he constructed in his head. He might not have wings on his back, and he might not be physically strong, but… it suited him. Somehow.

“It’s a really good name! He’s a really cool person, you know.”

The boy’s gaze was confusedly vacant.

“I swear he is! You know, in one of the chapters, he was getting chased by an angry mob of people, but he easily got out of the situation.”

They were villagers who had been misled by the villains into thinking that Alatus had done something terrible. But Alatus had something that was precious to village, so he had run off to a cliff and threatened to fly off with the precious item if they did not let him go on his terms.

Alatus had been lying. His wings were broken in a fight in the previous chapter. Yet, he still succeeded in his plan and got what he wanted, and the villagers got their item back. No one got hurt, and everything was resolved perfectly.

Venti eagerly explained it all. The other had fell silent at that, his expression unreadable. Venti couldn’t quite tell if he had actually understood him.

“That’s what I’ll call you then, Alatus!”

Silence soon filled the room, and Venti tried to conjure up the next topic of conversation. He was usually pretty good at conjuring up things to talk about with his friends and family, but now he found himself a little lost.

There was so much he wanted to find out about him. Like his origins. And how he ended up here. And if he chose to be the Protector of their Happiness. But how was he going to ask someone who couldn’t answer?

A nudge at his hip made him return to reality. Venti, in his stupor, didn’t realise that Alatus had crawled closer, no longer on guard against him. He toyed curiously with his flute, then startled back when he realised Venti was looking at him.

“Do you want to take a look?” Venti unhooked the flute from his side and handed it to Alatus.

Alatus didn’t politely decline, unlike most people whenever Venti made that offer to curious onlookers. In fact, he happily took it into his hands, and started inspecting it. He even peered into the holes on the instrument, as if he could find something inside. It wasn’t until he tried putting it to his mouth did Venti try stopping him.

“Wait, it’s not food— oh.”

Venti didn’t finish as it stopped right just beneath his mouth. Alatus pursed his lips. Then he frowned.

He was trying to play it, Venti realised, as laughter and something close to adoration bloomed and bubbled out of his chest.

“Do you want me to teach you how to play it?” Venti asked, scooting closer to adjust the flute beneath Alatus’ lips. Then gently, he realigned the other’s hands along the flute. “This is how you hold it.”

“Try blowing downwards.”

Alatus tilted his head to the side in inquiry.

“Uh,” Venti racked his brains for a better way to help him understand it. He blew at his hand, then positioned it beneath the flute, just as his parents had taught him once. “Try blowing at my hand.”

It took quite a few puffs, but eventually Alatus was able to make the flute sing, albeit its voice was rather short-lived and unstable.

But Venti couldn’t miss the smile that grew on the boy’s face the moment he was able to pull a long, low note from the flute. Beautiful, as it was discordant.

“You’re a natural!” Venti exclaimed. He wasn’t exaggerating. Alatus was able to master what took Venti hours in just a few, short minutes.

Alatus was still smiling, but he removed the flute from his mouth and handed it back to Venti.

“Do you not want to play anymore?” Weren’t they having fun?

Alatus pointed at the window, where the sky was lightening up into a gentle shade of blue, clouds becoming more and more visible while the stars have already long faded out of sight.

Venti shot up. “I need to go! Thanks for reminding me, I swear I’ll come back soon!”

He tucked his flute back into his side, and got up.

And hesitated.

Then he crouched back down and wrapped his arms around the other’s tiny frame. Alatus jolted in his arms, instinctively resisting, but then slowly relaxed.

He wasn’t all that nice to hold. His arms met more bone than muscle, more grime than skin. And yet, Venti was reluctant to let him go.

Too soon, he eventually released him from his hold, and retreated swiftly up the rope and returning back into the town.

The next time Venti returned was two nights later, gripping onto an even bigger basket of treats.

He had accidentally fallen asleep the previous night from exhaustion — he did stay up for two nights consecutively after all.

To make it up to his newfound friend Alatus, he sourced an even bigger portion of food for him. However, he soon came to realise that there was a problem.

He had left the cloth he used to carry the food back in the tower.

Left with no choice, he had to steal borrow his mother’s favourite picnic basket. He just hoped that she wouldn’t notice or mind.

It’s alright, he thought. If she knew what I was doing, she would be proud of me! I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.

And with that, he set off for the tower.

This time, he descended down to Alatus’ window with practised ease. It was getting easier and easier the more he visited the little boy.

When he peeked in, all he saw was Alatus curled up in the corner, eyes lidded and hands tucked to his chest. Something pink spilled out from the crevices of his curled fingers — it took Venti a few seconds to realise that it was the cloth he had been missing.

The sight made his chest constrict, and yet, some inexplicable happiness thrummed in his heart as well.

“Alatus!” Venti called in a loud whisper, and the boy’s eyelids fluttered open, squinting against the light to look in his direction.

Upon spotting Venti (or at least, Venti would like to think he did), Alatus shot up, eyes lit and eager.

Venti lowered himself down from the window and held up the basket. “Look what I brought!”

The rest of the night passed without a hitch, similar to the previous one. Venti watched Alatus eat, and continued their flute lessons.

Alatus was able to catch on quick — in no time he had managed to figure out how to properly play a note. Alas, Venti noticed that he could not press down hard enough on the holes to make a fuller sound.

He came to the conclusion that it was because the boy was so skinny. Venti secretly vowed to bring more food next time to help him grow stronger. Like his parents always said: You need to eat in order to grow muscles!

When the night fell away yet again in what felt like a blink of an eye, Venti regretfully had to part with Alatus.

Before he went though, he tried requesting for the pink food cloth back. But Alatus refused.

“Come on, Alatus, I need it to bring you more food!” Venti tried convincing him, but Alatus only clutched the cloth closer to his chest.

“Please?” Venti reached for the cloth and was able to snag it by the corner. He gave it a small tug.

He could see Alatus’ eyes shift, almost as if he was conflicted on whether or not to withdraw or fight Venti for it.

Eventually, Alatus’ grip on the cloth relaxed, like he had resigned himself to letting it go.

Venti wavered.

There was something so inherently mournful in his expression that instantly made Venti give up on the idea of retrieving the cloth back.

His mother’s basket it is, Venti thought, and he let the cloth go. She wouldn’t notice that it went missing for a few more weeks, right…?

The gloom lurking above Alatus’ head immediately lifted, and so did the corners of Venti’s lips.

The next two weeks went by in a blur, with Venti visiting Alatus whenever he could.

Their nights were all spent in a similar fashion, consisting of supper, flute lessons, and Venti talking Alatus’ ear off about his day, his friends and family, and even the stories he heard or read. Alatus always listened attentively, not once complaining nor interrupting.

Courtesy to these nightly drop-bys, Venti was getting way less sleep, dozing off in class, and running low on allowance trying to feed Alatus, but at least Alatus’ condition have been improving.

By the second week, the little boy had put on a little more weight, his limbs and cheeks slowly filling out and his skin no longer looked like they were stretched onto bone. He was getting better at the flute as well — short tunes were not a problem for him now.

He smiled more too. He seemed to perk up every time Venti swung by his window.

It’s worth it, Venti wholeheartedly believed. As long as he keeps smiling…

“Ven…ti…?”

…just like the rest of us.

“Ven. Ti.”

A soft pat on his shoulder dragged him out of half-sleep, and Venti jerked upright.

It was happening again, him falling asleep during his visits with Alatus. It was either he was getting too comfortable in the decrepit room or he was getting too exhausted. Or maybe both.

“I’m sorry…” Venti muttered, rubbing his eyes to remove the blurriness of sleep. “Thanks for waking— wait.”

He came to an abrupt stop. Alatus simply stared at him inquisitively, not understanding what was wrong.

“Did you just say my name?” What came out of his mouth was nothing less than a surprised shriek.

Alatus blinked, taking another bite into the almost finished bread in his hands. “Ven…ti?”

“You can talk!”

The boy gave him a look (he has been more expressive lately too!), as if he had always been able to talk. But he didn’t say another word.

“Does that mean you can tell me your name now? Or tell me about yourself?”

Alatus paused. Opened his mouth. Then closed it.

He swallowed.

“Xi… ow…” The first syllables were garbled, but he tried again. It turned out much clearer.

“Xi. Ao."

“Xiao?” Venti echoed.

The boy nodded, and excitement instantly sparked in Venti’s chest at the confirmation.

He had his name now!

“Alright then,” a grin uncontrollably spread across Venti’s face. “Nice to meet you, Xiao!”

Over the course of the next few days, Xiao started trying to articulate more and more words, and succeeding at an at almost exponential rate. While it still took him a lot of effort to properly string up a full sentence, Venti did not need much to understand him well.

Naturally, this development spurred Venti to finally ask all the questions he had wanted to throw at Xiao since day one. Was he born here, in this cell? Why him specifically, to be the Protector of their Happiness? And how, by being here, is he protecting their Happiness? After all, if he remembered correctly, he wasn’t all that happy before, when Venti had just met him.

Venti must have overwhelmed the poor boy with his questions, because all he did was sit there and stare at him in some sort of sad confusion, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to find the words that wouldn’t come to him.

So Venti decided to take it slow.

“Where did you come from?” Simple enough. After all, the Protector of their Happiness must be no ordinary person, just like how Alatus was.

Xiao lifted his gaze from the flute in his hands — he had been toying with it — and tilted his head. “Come from?”

“Yeah! You must be some special being, right?”

The boy squinted, trying to process his words. Then he shook his head. “I am… like you.”

“Like me?”

He nodded. “Used to be. Outside,” he continued, pointing at the window.

Horror settled deep into Venti’s gut. “And someone put you in here?!”

“Yes.”

“Then how do you protect the happiness of our town?” He’s so small. So young. Almost Venti’s age, if not even younger. If Venti himself could not even begin to understand the concept of joy and suffering in its entirety, how was Xiao expected to carry out such a huge mission?

Xiao’s brows furrowed further, as if his words didn’t make any sense. “Protect. Happy-ness?”

“My parents said that you are the Protector of our Happiness. That you have to be here in order for us to be happy. But I don’t get it.”

It seemed that Xiao didn’t either. “…Don’t know.”

“…Do you like it here?”

Xiao hesitated. Venti could see it in his eyes, and in the slight tremble in his hand. He seemed to steel himself to answer. “…No.”

“Then why don’t you escape?” Something was pinching at Venti’s heart, and the longer he stared at Xiao’s resigned features, the harder it seemed to twist.

“Can’t. Duty.”

“But, but it’s not!” That was all Venti could conjure up in indignation.

Xiao could only shake his head in response. He didn’t say anymore than that.

And that was the end of their conversation. Venti had so many other burning questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask them to Xiao’s melancholic and conflicted expression.

It reminded him much of a wet cat — or rather, a wet bird, who had just realised its wings were too heavy to fly.

His parents were taking really long, Venti internally ranted. He had been laying in bed for at least an hour, and he still could hear their voices outside the door. When were they going to sleep? Venti himself was already struggling to stay awake!

He strained to hear what they were saying, but all he could do was catch bits and pieces of their conversation. Impatience and frustration eventually led him to quietly slide off his bed and place his ear to the door to hear better.

“What are we going to do about the harvest?” That was his mother’s voice.

His father swiftly replied. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“What, so all I can do is stand by and watch our crops fail?”

“You’re too stressed lately, honey. You should take the day off tomorrow and go out for a picnic with your friends or something.”

“I would, if I could find my picnic basket!” His mother’s frustration shot through the door, punching guilt into Venti’s heart — he didn’t realise that she had been searching for it.

“It’s just — nothing’s been going right lately. And that’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

“You’re overthinking it, dear.”

“I’m not!” The yell was sudden. Jarring. It threw Venti a few steps back. His mother had never yelled like that before. Not to him, or to his father.

Then quiet. Her next words were apologetic, yet still not free from frustration. “Sorry. But I know I’m not imagining things. Our crops are failing, my basket is missing, and Venti’s teachers just called me to tell me that he has been nodding off in class. They’re accusing me of not taking care of him well!”

A long, extended silence, so long that Venti would have thought they had gone to bed already, if not for the light seeping through the gap of his door.

Then, he heard his father’s voice. “I think we should visit the tower the next time it opens.”

A short pause. He could practically hear his mother turn the idea over in her head. “Him? I think they are opening visits tomorrow.”

“Perfect. Should we bring Venti along?”

“We should. I think he needs it as much as we do.”

The tower? The bell tower that Xiao lives in? Why do they need to visit him in the day?

Venti retreated back to his bed, a little confused, but his heart thrummed in excitement nonetheless. If they were going to visit Xiao anyway the next day, he didn’t have to go tonight.

It would be great to introduce his parents to his new friend! His parents would definitely love Xiao, and see how gentle and curious he can be.

And then, maybe, he could convince them to help him bring Xiao out of the cellar. Adults could do anything, Venti believed.

With his new, shiny plan in mind, he finally let his eyelids fall shut under the watchful night for the first time in weeks.

There was a long queue that snaked along the steps when Venti and his parents arrived at the bell tower the next day.

“I didn’t know that this many people come to visit him.” Venti had overheard his mother whispering to his father.

He was surprised too. Xiao had never told him that a lot of people visit him other than Venti himself. He’s starting to think that the little boy had more friends than he thought.

Of course he would have friends. He was the Protector of Happiness, after all!

"Maybe it’s been going bad for everyone lately,” his father shrugged. “Hah… I have no idea why things would go weird now. I never had to return here ever since my parents took me here that one time when I was a kid.”

“I never had to come here, ever,” his mother said as she wrung her hands together, staring blankly at the tower that loomed over them.

Venti blinked up at her. She only ever did that when she was nervous, but usually it was accompanied with an anticipating grin or excitement sparkling in her eyes. Yet now, the corners of her mouth were downturned, her lips tight.

She was frowning.

Was she… afraid? Venti never thought his parents could ever be. Why would she be afraid? It was just Xiao inside, was it not?

The queue slowly inched forward, and leaving guests streamed past them periodically. A few looked determined and relief. Others looked distraught.

Venti… didn’t understand. What exactly was going on up there?

Soon enough, all his questions were answered.

At the top of the tower, where Xiao’s room resided, the door that Venti struggled to open on the first night was now thrown open wide. Excitement rushed through his veins — he didn’t know that the door could be opened! Maybe he just didn’t have a key, or something.

He tried to look past the tall adults before him to look into the room to find Xiao, but his efforts were to no avail.

“Five people. Two minutes.” The guard holding the door open said, tone cold and bored, as if he had repeated the same process a hundred times over. “Get on with it.”

Venti, his parents, and two other men were then quickly ushered in, and the door slammed shut behind them.

When he finally met face to face with the boy he was anticipating to meet again, his stomach dropped.

Crowned in the weak sunlight trickling in from the window, there was Xiao, curled in on himself in the corner of the room. Imprinted into his skin were purple and black, and dark red smudged the edge of his lips. His eyes, that was so full of sparkle just two nights ago, had been plunged back into its dark abyss.

It reminded him of the day Venti met him, terrified and primal, weak yet desperate.

What happened to you?

The question never managed to leave his chest for the two strangers who joined them rushed towards Xiao. One of them grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged him to the middle of the room.

The terrible, terrible screech that was tore from Xiao’s throat pulled Venti out of his stupor.

“No!” Venti cried, breaking out of his father’s hold.

Without a second thought he pounced into the fight, his arms wrapping around Xiao even though he knew he couldn’t protect him with his scrawny limbs and arms. But surprisingly, the men came to a stop.

“Why are you doing this?” He screamed, as best as he could, but a weird lump in his throat made him swallow half his words. Oddly, his cheeks felt wet and cold, his vision blurry, but he refused to let Xiao go just to wipe his face.

“Ven…ti?”

Venti looked down at Xiao, who was a myriad of colours melted in his arms in his kaleidoscopic vision. Venti hates this. He can’t even see Xiao properly. So he buried his face into his shoulder instead.

“Oi. Get your kid off. Our time’s running out,” one of the men said, but there was a tremble in his voice. Venti instinctively tightened his grip. He’s not ever letting go of Xiao, even if those men tried pry him from the boy in his arms, and he’s sure his parents would stand on—

His father’s gentle hands ripped him away from Xiao.

What happened after was all a blur.

All he could remember was a familiar embrace, one that he had leaned into all these years growing up, holding him in place. He remembered struggling and screaming, but he wasn’t sure if he was screaming in protest or screaming just so he could not hear Xiao’s own.

But they rang in his ears all the same.

He didn’t know how he got home. He didn’t know how the rest of the day passed him by. He didn’t quite know what his parents said to him about that whole debacle after that. He remembered the passing words between them though, after he had been tucked back into bed for the night.

“How did things get worse?” There were streaks across his mother’s face. Crying, he realised. That was crying.

He was doing that too, he realised.

“It will get better. It will get better now…” his father had repeatedly reassured her. “It will be okay…”

It was not okay. Venti remembered thinking after they had left his room, listlessly staring up at the empty ceiling. His fingers clutched tightly to his blankets until his knuckles turned white, but he barely registered the pain.

“If he is free of suffering, the rest of the town will succumb to it.”

Why? The question plagued his mind. He didn’t think about it then, but he thought about it now. It felt as if he was screaming into a dark cave, echoing the same question over and over again, yet never giving an answer.

It doesn’t make sense. Suffering shouldn’t breed happiness.

Why do they want to hurt him even though he was already suffering? Do they hate him? Why do they hate him? Does Xiao think that Venti hate him too? Is he okay now?

Then he sat up.

He didn’t know if Xiao was okay.

Before he knew it, he was already perched on the windowsill, just a simple push of a window away from Xiao. Just like all the nights before.

But despite the fiery determination that drove him here, he hesitated as his fingers brushed against the glass.

Would Xiao want to see him at all?

Venti squinted through the windowpanes, and was caught between the gaze of golden eyes. A part of him feared the abyss beyond his stare, but it was instead it was a mix of anticipation and relief that looked back at him. His fingers were fidgeting with that pink cloth.

The heart that had been stuck in his throat the entire time settled back into his chest. It seemed that Xiao was waiting for him. He doesn’t hate him.

Replacing his heart was that lump again, the precursor to tears and crying, as he had learnt. And he was terrible at swallowing it back down, for it all burst from his chest the moment Venti rushed in to pull Xiao into his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry ‘m sorry,” Venti sobbed, repeatedly whispering the words into his ear. “I really couldn’t — I didn’t know they were going to do that to you, I’m sorry, I—”

A pat on his back cut him off, and shame licked at his cheeks. Xiao shouldn’t be the one comforting him right now — it should be the other way round.

He drew back. “Are you okay, Xiao?”

Even though his vision was blurred over, he could see that new bruises had evidently sprouted up ever since Venti last saw him, but the cuts that he had saw previously were now scarred over and on its way to healing.

Xiao traced spirals with his fingers on the ground, pointedly not looking at Venti. “Okay.”

“This is not okay!”

“After that. More food.”

“So what? I always give you food. And I don’t beat you up!” Venti cried.

“They help,” Xiao pointed at his scars.

Venti shook his head vehemently. “But they are the ones who put it there in the first place! Do you even know why they are doing this to you?”

The reply was slow. “…no.”

“The adults think that if you suffer, they’ll be happy.” Xiao stared at him blankly. “It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Suffer? Happy?” he echoed quietly, his eyes not lifting from the ground.

“This,” Venti gestured to the room. “Is suffering.” He spoke as if he had insight to this word not just two weeks prior. “But happiness… it’s like when you have something to smile or laugh about, and you feel light, like you can fly up, up, and up into the sky—”

“Food?”

“Yes! But so much more than that!” Venti’s heart ached at the thought that his only definition of joy was the basic need of sustenance. “Happiness to me is like playing my flute, running in the fields with my friends, or going to picnics with mo…” He paused. He didn’t want to think about his parents right now.

"The only way you can be happy like us is if you get out of here.”

Xiao raised his head to the window. The withered moon had seized the familiar moonlight and provided an endless darkness, yet there still was a glint in his eyes, and he stared on all the same.

“But. Can’t go,” Xiao whispered, self-consciously rubbing his bruises. There was wistfulness in his tone, even as his eyse tore away from the window. “They said. Duty.”

He was scared, Venti realised. He didn’t know if Xiao was scared of himself, of the world out there, or for the world out there.

“Just tonight,” Venti bargained. “Just today. Let me bring you around today, and if you still want to come back, we’ll come back. Okay?”

He extended his hand to Xiao, just as he had done in what felt like a long time ago. But this time he was determined to wait.

Xiao stared.

Venti waited.

The boy blinked.

Venti waited.

Patience won the war this time, for Xiao slipped his hand into his palm, slim fingers tentatively wrapping around his own.

The first order of business was to get Xiao cleaned up.

Although the town was in deep sleep, Venti felt it was still quite odd dragging a dirty and naked boy around, so they snuck into the communal baths to scrub the years of grime off Xiao’s body. They weren’t the most successful, but they got quite a good chunk of the dirt off.

“This… weird.” Xiao stared down at his mostly clean body and wiggled his grime-free toes.

“It feels good right?” Venti beamed. He always loved a good shower after rolling around in the fields. He could not imagine the immense relief Xiao must be feeling right now.

Xiao mutely nodded as his fingers lightly danced across his torso, still admiring how some parts of his skin were now spotless. He was smiling.

Clothes took a little bit of convincing for Xiao to wear.

Despite the risk, Venti had led him all the way back to his house to scour for some of Venti’s old clothes. It fit Xiao snugly like a glove, but the boy squirmed a little getting into it.

“Weird,” Xiao said again, but this time it was in a form of a complaint instead of awe by the way he tugged unhappily at the fabric.

Venti shushed him. “But don’t you feel warm and toasty in it? And you don’t have to hold that anymore. You can just put it in your pocket!” He pried the pink cloth from unwilling fingers and stuffed it into Xiao’s pocket.

Xiao looked down at the pocket, slightly fascinated, and eventually nodded. He kept it on.

For their last course of action, Venti took Xiao to the fields that he usually played in. He hadn’t been back here in a while ever since he started taking naps in the afternoon to make up for the lost sleep in exchange for visiting Xiao. He’d never came to the fields after bedtime though, so Venti supposed that this would be the first time for the both of them.

The fields at night were nothing short of a spectacle.

Despite the disappearance of the moon in the wake of a new lunar cycle, the stars that swirled ahead were more than enough to light up the stage for their dance, illuminating the swaying grass with their soft, resplendent glow. The wind that whipped at their hair and their legs beckoned the two boys to break out into similar dance, to tread through the grass and run free from the town.

And that was exactly what they did.

To Venti’s surprise, Xiao was the first to take off running.

“Wait for me!” Venti shouted as he tried to catch up, but Xiao, despite his lack of muscle and strength, ran as if his soul had taken on the form of the howling winds. To Venti, it seemed as if he had embodied Alatus and took off flying.

When he did catch up, all he could hear from Xiao was the soft sound of panting, and something else.

Laughter. He was laughing.

When they have finally exhausted themselves from their aimless journey through the fields, they came to the halt, with Venti collapsing dramatically to the ground and Xiao simply standing as still as time was in that moment.

“How do you… run so fast…” Venti panted. Many things in the world do not make much sense, it seems.

Xiao didn’t reply, so Venti looked up — only for his entire being to be seized.

Not by the night sky, but by Xiao.

Reverence was weaved into his expression as his face angled towards the sky. His eyes were sparkling, the stars’ reflection miniscule compared to the shine that the pair of irises seemed to produce from deep within. It was separate from the small moments of relief or delight back in the tower. Something Venti had seen so often that it plagued his life, but something that he hadn’t seen before in Xiao.

“Is this… happy?” Xiao muttered his thoughts out exactly.

“Yes, Xiao.” Venti breathed out. He could not shift his eyes away, not when this moment could easily shatter and break and never happen again when Xiao decides to the return to the tower. “It is.”

Xiao sank to the ground and nestled himself into the grass, right beside Venti. When he turned to Venti, Venti realised that the light in his eyes were not just a happy gleam. They were tears.

“Oh no no no no,” Venti pulled Xiao in, cradled his head in his palms, and frantically tried to wipe away the tear stains on his cheeks. He thought they were happy! “Why are you…”

“I don’t want to go back.” Xiao sobbed, the words spilling from his mouth like it was a confession he should not say. “I don’t want to go back, Venti.”

“Then let’s not go back,” Venti said, holding him tighter. He would not make the same mistake as he did this morning. He would not let go, no matter what. “Stay with me.”

Xiao buried his face into his stomach and nodded.

That was how they stayed, lying in the grass, as the stars continued to dance on ahead of them. Venti held Xiao and quietly told him stories about the stars, sang, played his flute, and talked about anything, really.

They would have gone on forever, if sleep hadn’t claimed them at the toll of the midnight bell.

Venti was woken up by a series of distant yells.

He only jolted awake completely when he felt blades of grass ticking his ear instead of his soft pillow, but he remembered upon seeing Xiao in his embrace.

“I see him, he’s there!” There was that yell again, frantic, yet sounding way too out of reach to be any cause for concern. Perhaps there were children who got up early to play tag, or someone was trying to find something lost—

Venti looked up either way, curious about the commotion.

He had almost wished he didn’t.

On the horizon, along with the flickering sunrise, were a sea of flames, as shadows and silhouettes wielding torches prowled straight in their direction. He had never seen such a huge gathering at dawn before. Something about the way they tore through the peaceful fields told Venti that they were huge trouble.

Panic shot through Venti’s veins, spurring him to act. “Xiao, Xiao!” Venti shook the boy in his arms, and the boy’s eyes fluttered as he was pulled from tranquility. “We have to go! I think people are here to catch you and drag you back.”

Xiao rubbed at his eyes, but his relaxed stance instantly stiffened at the sight of the danger that was quickly closing in. His hands scrambled to find Venti’s. “What to do?”

There wasn’t enough time to think. They had to run.

Venti pulled Xiao to his feet and ran.

“Hey, they’re getting away!”

“He has an accomplice!”

Think, Venti, think! Venti internally screamed as they weaved through the weeds and the grass. They could run into the woods, out into the forest that surrounded their little town, and escape from their clutches. Though he had never been allowed in the woods before…

…what does it matter? He had already broken more rules than he ever had in his entire lifetime.

While lost in his thoughts, Venti almost got thrown forward.

His flute had snagged on a bush, causing Xiao to stumble as well as Venti tried to take it back from the bushes’ hold. Eventually, he made the decision to rip the instrument from his hip.

Xiao was more important than anything right now.

In their trip-up, the adults closed in faster than ever. Venti tugged on Xiao’s hand to continue their escape, but Xiao, panting, shook his head.

“Can’t,” he said as he heaved, desperately trying to catch his breath. Even though he had the strength to run, Xiao was weaker than children his age due to prolonged starvation over the years. Even if they tried, they could not outrun the adults. The woods, which lay far out of sight, was not an option.

They needed a change of plans.

“Just a little more,” Venti begged. “We’re almost there!”

Xiao let himself get pulled along as Venti dashed for the nearby cliffs.

It was just a little ways from the field, one that towered over the ocean below the town. Venti has seen the cliff from afar, and heard about the few misadventures that happened around the area, but had never personally climbed his way up there. It always looked too intimdating, and way too tall.

But none of that mattered now, not when Xiao was on the line. Adrenaline aided their journey, propelling them all the way up to the tip of the cliff.

“Venti. How?” Xiao choked out the question between gasps of air. “What to do?” He was understandably worried, since they had driven themselves into a dead end. It wouldn’t be long before the adults catch up to them and find them.

“I have a plan,” Venti reassured him, but his voice could not help but tremble as anxiety crawled up his throat.

If Alatus could do it, they could do it too.

It didn’t take long before the adults reemerged into their field of vision.

“Stay back!” Venti yelled, with as much confidence as he could muster. “Or we’ll jump off!”

It worked. The adults, in the midst of their frenzy, were arrested to the spot, making sure to keep a safe distance away from the two boys.

“It’s the flute player,” Venti could hear the people whisper amongst themselves. “I didn’t think he would ever do such a thing!”

“You know, I’ve been hearing the flute playing at night lately despite that boy not performing that much anymore. Maybe…”

“Just a child! How did he pull this off?”

“Flute player or not, we have to get that wretched one back.”

A voice broke from the murmurs. "Venti,” one of them cried, stepping out from the shadows of the crowd. Sunlight slowly smeared itself onto their face as they slowly inched forward. It was his mother.

She was holding up his flute, the one that he had just left behind. “Venti, please.” She was crying, as she had yesterday. But instead of contained sobs and sniffing, the tears that streamed down her face were endless.

Venti’s heart pulsed with pain. Even though he was angry at her and his father, he didn’t want her to cry.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this to us, but please, Venti, come back down.” Her voice was fragile in the wind blown in from the ocean. “We promise we won’t punish you if you come back and return the boy to us.”

Venti slowly shook his head and curled his fingers tighter around Xiao’s hand. He wouldn’t let go. He promised.

“See? I have your flute,” she said gently, just as she always has been towards him. “Come to me, Venti.”

A part of Venti, as shameful as it was to admit, really, really wanted to run into her arms right then. He was scared. He wanted to crawl into his mother’s embrace and have her tell him that it’s okay. That everything will work out.

But if he did that now, nothing would be okay.

“I will come back if you let Xiao go,” Venti said, trying not to stutter and trip over his words.

His mother faltered. “We can’t do that, Venti.”

“Why not?” He asked, even if he knew the answer.

His mother shook his head. “Please.” Her voice cracked.

“Because if he’s not in that tower, we will be unhappy!” One of the townsmen shouted, impatient.

“But he should be happy too!” Venti said, drawing on the anger roiling beneath his gut to utter the words. “How do we know that he has to suffer for us to be happy?”

“What do you know, you little brat?” He spat. “It must be you, is it? You are the reason why the harvest has been failing recently! Why everything has gone to ruin!”

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd again. That’s right. They hadn’t seen such a long queue of people at the wretched’s doorstep trying to rectify their happiness before yesterday. Perhaps the flute-player had something to do with it.

“Forget it, he’s just a kid. He won’t listen to us,” the man announced to the people standing behind him. “They are simply issuing out empty threats! They won’t jump. Let’s just get them now!”

“Wait—” His mother’s cries were lost in the renewal of the rush of footsteps, swelling as they headed towards the tip of the cliff.

Venti panicked and backed away to the edge. Why didn’t it work? It had worked for Alatus, so why not them?

Xiao clung tightly to his hand. His eyes teetered at the brink of the abyss, as their feet were at the edge. But they were bright, when they looked at Venti.

“I don’t want to go back.”

The plea was quiet. Barely a whisper in the loud wind and the incoming stampede. But it rang in Venti’s ears all the same.

“Shall we learn how to fly then?” Venti asked.

The view from the cliff was magnificent. It was no time to be admiring what lay before the cliff, but it enthralled Venti all the same. He had never seen this far beyond his suffocating town. The endless ocean that stretched out ahead underneath the gleaming sunlight — it was so blue, so unendingly azure that seemed almost green, at the point where the sea had kissed the rising sun who dripped in gold.

And when he turned to meet a similar aureate, they smiled back at him. No other words needed to be said.

When they felt the flame of their torches lick their skin, they turned to the embrace of the ocean.

And they flew.