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Zhongli was on her way to pick up a recently commissioned outfit when the wind suddenly coiled around her in a warm, gentle embrace. She blinked in surprise, knowing immediately that it was one of Barbatos’ winds and not the native crisp ones of Liyue this time of year.
She was surprised to see a leaf brush by her brown bangs and hover in the air, waiting patiently for her to take it. Curiosity piqued, she plucked it from the air.
The wind tells me you have been up to much, old friend. What do you say we meet up at our spot this Sunday—provided you’re not busy, of course.
She smiled at the leaf. Sunday she would have off from her consultancy work at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, so Barbatos’ impromptu invitation would work out perfectly.
She had always harbored affection for Barbatos, though, her duty to Liyue prevented her from ever acting upon it. The most she would ever allow was her fellow archon to…get away with certain things no one else would. She would conceal her amused grin by sipping tea, and Barbatos’ actions would prove enough of a distraction that no one was any wiser to her feelings.
She tucked the leaf into her breast pocket and continued her path toward the shop. She had to quickly pick up her order and then head to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to meet with a potential high-profile client.
Zhongli sighed contentedly. Such mortal quandaries were far simpler to deal with than those during her tenure as Geo Archon, and she walked forward with her hands clasped behind her with a gentle smile on her lips.
The following days passed in a blur of consultations, an assortment of running errands for Director Hu, and four funerals.
Right before she teleported herself out of her mortal abode, she caught sight of the outfit she had picked up earlier in the week and still zipped in the garment bag she had picked it up in.
An idea sprang to mind, and her heart raced at the thought. In an old habit she thought she had long buried, she brought a clenched hand to her face and felt pointed fangs dug into the flesh of her lip slightly—not enough to draw golden blood, but enough that the sting forced her into focusing.
It was a floor length qipao that was mainly black with hints of dark brown along the hemline like scales, complete with golden embroidered accents. The sleeves of her qipao were short—something she would never normally wear due to the archon markings crawling up her arms, but the black and gold shoulder-length gloves she also commissioned would pair nicely. Most women wore a shoe with a slight heel for the additional height, but she did not need that given her already tall stature. A pair of flat black shoes with decoratively golden floral accents would match perfectly and she could use those decorative dragon hairpins she bought recently to style her hair….
Her eyes flicked down at her attire—the one she had been wearing in her mortal form for the last few centuries—and the one concealed within the bag.
Her reason for commissioning it, at least the reason she told the seamstress, was for this year’s Lantern Rite. Now that Barbatos was no longer in slumber, she had been planning to ask the Anemo Archon to visit during the festivities…merely for diplomatic reasons, of course.
But now the opportunity to wear it in a more…intimate setting had presented itself, and she was torn with indecision. Was it too much to wear for a simple meetup? Barbatos had seen her dressed in many attires over the years, but usually in the more formal regalia expected of the Geo Archon, not of a mortal Liyuean woman.
Perhaps Barbatos would notice and she could comment on her recent retirement as Geo Archon and how it was meant to usher in a new era as the mortal ‘Zhongli’.
Without thinking further and trusting her gut instinct–the one that had led both her and Liyue to survive many millennia–she grabbed the garment bag and turned toward her bedroom.
When she arrived at Mount Tianheng, she could hear Venti strumming her lyre and the beautiful sound of her ethereal voice. Barbatos was facing the moon–the one they both knew to be false—yet its synthetic light only haloed the Anemo Archon like the angel she was.
“Ooo, is that a new outfit I see?” Barbatos asked, her lyre disappearing in a swirl of Anemo. The wind aided her to her feet, and she spun around Zhongli and took in her new outfit.
“It is,” she replied succinctly, her hands moving to clasp behind her back to keep herself from fidgeting. She was glad she hadn’t worn the gloves—it was only Barbatos, after all, and her arms so rarely had the chance to experience the open air. “I originally planned to wear this for Lantern Rite, but I felt that a long overdue reunion with an old friend was an equally ceremonious occasion."
Barbatos’ smile widened, her expression softening further. “You look well, Morax.”
She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head fondly. “I’ve left that name behind, Barbatos. I am simply ‘Zhongli’ now.”
“Zhongli…Zhongli.” The Anemo Archon tasted the name on her lips. “Doesn’t that mean something along the lines of ‘clockwork bell’ or ‘bell of finality’?”
She closed her eyes. Barbatos was right, of course—trust that the archon of music and the written word would know the hidden symbolism behind the name she had chosen for her mortal life. “Indeed. I thought it was rather fitting given I have now ‘retired’ from my duties as Geo Archon.”
Venti snorted loudly. “If you call throwing your divine vessel into the crowd during the Rite of Descension, then I suppose that can be considered one way of ‘retiring’.”
“It was a test to ensure the people of Liyue would be able to safely exist without my direct oversight, as well as to ensure the Adepti will see past their long-instilled habit of defaulting to my judgment instead of their own.” She sighed, her amber eyes trailing to the floating in the skies of Celestia. “I will not be around forever, after all. Erosion is indiscriminate.”
She could see Barbatos flinch out of the corner of her eye, the other’s teeth peeking out and biting those perfect, rosy lips of hers.
Zhongli was well aware that Barbatos was a former angel taken under the Shade of Time’s protection shortly before the War of Funerary Flame—just as she had been taken under the shade of Space’s—but it was something neither of them spoke about openly for a myriad of reasons. She knew Barbatos felt guilty that simply existing around others caused erosion to set in faster as an extension of Her authority. Zhongli, meanwhile, seemingly bore no consequences for holding a fragment of the Shade of Space’s power other than the… inclination to preserve things by sequestering them away in domains from Wind and Time.
Simply put, Zhongli didn’t want Barbatos to feel any sort of responsibility or remorse for something out of her control.
“Zhongli—” Barbatos began with a warbled breath, but the dragon swiftly raised her hand to quell the others' words.
“Barbatos, that was not directed toward you,” she whispered placatingly. “I was simply stating a fact. I am old—exceptionally old, even for a god—and in watching the mortals, it was time for me to ensure they were ready for the eventuality when I would not be here.”
She could see tears beading in the corners of Barbatos’ eyes. “Please, let’s…not talk about that today,” she requested softly. “It’s your birthday, after all.”
Zhongli blinked once. Twice. It was Sunday, the last day of the year, which meant it was….
Oh, it was her birthday. Rather, it was the date she had chosen long ago when Barbatos had insisted upon all Archons having one.
“It gives us something to celebrate and to come together for a good reason,” she had said.
Zhongli remembered asking Barbatos what date she had wanted for her ‘birthday’.
“June 16th—it’s the anniversary of something important to me,” was all Barbatos had said.
It would take Zhongli many years to learn it had been the date of her ascension as archon, as well as the birthday of the person she had based her human form on. Zhongli never pried further. She hated seeing Barbatos cry.
“Why that day, Morax?” The Anemo Archon had asked, swirling her drink of Dandelion Wine to aerate it further.
“Because it is the end of the traditional Teyvatan calendar,” she had said simply. “And as the oldest being among us, it simply seemed like a good choice and it is equidistant from our colleagues' ‘birthdays’ as well.”
Barbatos had accepted her explanation, the true reason remaining under wraps.
(It was so her own birthday was exactly half a year away from the Anemo Archon’s. Just like a contract, their birthdays were split equally, with no favor toward the other. And if her heart beat just a bit faster at that little secret, it was only for her to know.)
Over the years, their meetups on birthdays became fewer and fewer…and disappeared altogether when the Cataclysm occurred. So many seats changed, Barbatos had to pay her debt to Time for using Her power, and Zhongli spent most of her time fixing a devastated nation...she could not afford to slack even for a moment.
But then, as Barbatos liked to say, the winds of change were upon them in the form of the Traveler from beyond the Firmament. They were exactly the right component to enact the plans she had come up with in her brief downtime to ‘retire’, so to speak.
Ah, but she was getting lost in the past reminiscing when Barbatos was in front of her again for the first time in half a millennia. And, now that she was looking…Barbatos seemed to have altered her outfit as well.
“I had…forgotten, truthfully.” she said, answering Barbatos’ question about the date. “I have not had a reason to celebrate it for a long time. But that matters not, it seems that you too have decided to update your apparel.”
That comment was enough for the happy spark to return to Barbatos eyes. She twirled around, green cape mimicking her concealed wings fluttering in the wind and she caught a bright flash of light—Her symbol pulsing the color of Anemo—before Barbatos faced her directly and tilted her head as if to as ‘what do you think?’.
Truthfully, it wasn’t too different from the one Barbatos had worn during Mondstadt’s aristocratic rebellion a few millennia ago, but Zhongli appreciated the new details on her hat, shorts, and cape. It felt more…Mondstadt, more Barbatos in a way.
That was the thing about Barbatos. She never had many possessions, instead opting to wear or symbolize what was most important to her through her attire.
(And the fact that the Shade of Time’s symbol hung between the other’s shoulder blades specifically was not lost on Zhongli.)
And it was then that Zhongli had noticed the emerald brooch laying on top of the white ascot-like fabric that covered Barbatos throat—no doubt to cover her archon tattoos just as Zhongli always wore gloves.
The former Geo Archon swallowed. She had given Barbatos that brooch during the first formal meeting between their nations. The new Anemo Archon had brought a bottle of newly created Dandelion Wine as a gesture of goodwill, and they had opened it later privately and indulged together, Zhongli’s guard lowering for the first time after hundreds of years of war.
It had been a lovely night, one spent not as colleagues, but new friends watching the false firmament above them move mechanically along to the dictated fate of the Heavenly Principles.
(Perhaps that had been the true moment she had fallen in love with Barbatos.)
“You’re still wearing it.”
“Huh?” Barbatos replied eloquently.
“The brooch I gave you, Barbatos.”
“I’ve never stopped wearing it, blockhead.” The insult-turned fond endearment (at least Zhongli liked to think so) rolled off Barbatos’ tongue like second nature. “And it’s Venti. How many times do I have to tell you? Do you want me to keep calling you Morax?”
She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Erm, no. Zhongli will do. Apologies, Bar—Venti.”
She looked away for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. Her mind was still latched on to the fact that Venti was still wearing the brooch she had handmade thousands of years ago.
Venti had few possessions to her name—probably from her inherent nature of always flitting from place to place as a (former) wind spirit (and angel), as well as her fear of eroding things around her.
And yet, the stone seemed to have retained its luster and form after all these years, the only signs of wear appeared to be on the actual clip itself, but it seemed to be more from it brushing against fabric than erosion.
(She noted that for later. It was an interesting detail, that was for certain. Maybe because it was a part of Venti’s ‘outfit’, it was now inherently immune to the effects of Time?)
Zhongli shook her head, returning to the conversation. “I…suppose I should mention that I have ‘retired’ from my role as Geo Archon.”
Venti giggled, closing her eyes and giving another smile. “I know.”
“Of course you do,” she replied, not at all surprised. The Anemo Archon always had one ear to the wind at all times, though she admittedly expected the other to needle her more about her retirement. “Aren’t you curious about how I’m spending my time instead?”
Venti hummed, placing her chin in her hand. “Why would I ask when I know you’ll tell me?”
She sighed, resisting the urge to quip back at her fellow archon. “Must you be so cagey?”
“Cagey? Is that the adjective we’re going with today?” She began to tap a rhythm against her cheek, but Zhongli couldn’t quite make out what song it was meant to be. “You would have used a harsher descriptor last time we met. Annoying, troublesome, irritating,” she rattled off, her other hand putting up a finger at each word. “Have you gotten soft in your old age?”
“...perhaps,” she acquiesced. “I still uphold contracts to the same level of scrutiny, but I have decided to let go of some of the more…intensive tasks after the events of five hundred years ago.”
“Why’s that?” Venti asked, genuinely curious.
“Why indeed,” she parroted back. “It was something that has lurked at the back of my mind for centuries. Perhaps the monotony simply got to me…or the loneliness that came afterward.”
“...I’m sorry. I didn’t know I would be ‘asleep’ for so long.”
“I know, Venti. We both did what we had to do to ensure Teyvat’s survival, and we both made tremendous sacrifices.” She leaned forward, placing her hand over the Anemo Archon’s. “In all honesty, you proved to me that I could still watch over my people from ‘behind the scenes’ as you like to call it. I suppose I simply wished to break the cadence I had chained myself to.”
Venti cocked her head at Zhongli, ebony braids tapping her cheeks slightly. “You know what, I take it back.” The other archon smirked. “I’m not surprised. You always have been up to your eyes in paperwork.”
“Not as much, anymore,” Zhongli refuted gently. “I have a mortal job now—one requiring far less paperwork and a lot more interaction with the people of Liyue than before.”
“Good!” Venti said jovially. “Getting out and getting some fresh air is good for you, even if it took you forever to realize it.”
Zhongli sighed. “Must you constantly poke fun at how old I am? We’re about the same age, after all.”
“Fine, fine….” It was quiet for a moment, and Zhongli thought she had won. “...you old blockhead.”
She felt her right eye twitch. Only Venti could get under her skin like this, forcing the carefully built up walls Zhongli had built to crumble time and time again. “Venti….”
The Anemo Archon raised her hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I couldn't help myself.”
A subtle growl from her draconic lineage manifested deeply in her chest, but Venti knew she meant no harm by it.
“If it makes you feel any better….” Here, the wind coalesced around Venti’s hands, and a vintage bottle of Osmanthus wine appeared. “I brought this for you.”
Zhongli took the bottle and inspected the long faded label that still held traces of dirt on it. She brushed some of it away with the pad of her thumb and rubbed it against her index finger.
The soil was Mondstadtan in nature and still held a slight chill to it. If she knew Venti (which she liked to believe so), this vintage had been buried somewhere else originally before being added to the Anemo Archon’s growing collection beneath the great tree commonly known as Windrise.
Zhongli twisted the bottle in her hands, noting that there was a small portion of the label that had retained its clarity.
It was her handwriting—made of a type of ink she had crafted long ago personally to ensure no one would ever attempt to forge her signature (which of course, Venti did). The date was intact, but was now from a defunct calendar system from before the true age of The Seven.
She had written some words in ancient Liyuean, something now only the most studied scholars (and even then it would be a guess at best) and the eldest adepti would be able to decipher.
‘For a day in which we are all able to come together once more, and reminisce on the memories we have created together.’
“Bittersweet, I know,” Venti suddenly piped up, and Zhongli’s grasp on the neck of the bottle tightened slightly. “We knew Xbalanque’s lifespan was inherently going to be the shortest of us all, but I didn’t think it would be just us two a scarce two and a half millennia later.”
Zhongli said nothing, and her silence was enough of an answer. Apart from the very human Pyro Archon, all of their fellow Archons had theoretical infinite lifespans and were ordained by Celestia themselves.
But now that Zhongli was much, much older, she knew that wasn’t true. Everything inevitably crumbled with the passage of time, and she was lucky to have endured this long due to her inherent resistance to Anemo and erosion.
(Though even the earth yields in due time.)
“I don’t think any of us could have predicted this outcome,” she said with melancholy lacing her tone. “I remember our first ‘meeting’ as the Seven…. Though, admittedly, much of that evening remains a blur to make thanks to a certain individual.”
“That was a fun night,” Venti reminisced fondly, sighing at looking up at the false moon. “Our own private celebration away from those stuffy Celestials. We were not Archons that night, but rather comrades bound by a shared duty and purpose.”
Zhongli hummed. “It was a pleasant evening, indeed.”
She broke the seal on the bottle and popped the cork effortlessly. In a long-practiced motion, Zhongli kicked the heel of her shoe against the earth, manifesting two raised ‘chairs’ and a small table between them. Venti gave her a small smile, placing the two cups down as Zhongli began to pour their drinks.
After she had filled their cups, Zhongli took her seat and began to sip her wine. “Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember….”
“Mmm, you always say that.” Venti took a drink and made a contented noise herself. “As a connoisseur of the craft, I say this particular brew tastes far superior than most.”
Zhongli set her cup down, crossing her legs and turning her full attention to her fellow archon. “I doubt you’ve had the opportunity to try a wine as old as this—at least a Liyuean one. I’m sure you have a dozen or so bottles scattered all over Mondstadt from when wine-making truly first started.”
The Anemo Archon laughed into her drink, teasing the rim with her pointer finger. “A bard never reveals her secrets~.” Then, quieter she added: “But perhaps you may be right.”
She could feel her cheeks heat at Venti’s teasing. It was one of the many reasons she seldom drank, especially when it came to more potent brews. Her lips loosened, which was always something she was cautious of given her reputation as God of Contracts. Her word was law and binding, and she valued equal exchange over all.
But now Zhongli was technically no longer Liyue’s Archon. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in a little celebratory drink for both their long-awaited reunion and her birthday….
Right?
She didn’t want to dwell on her indecision further, raising her cup and quickly downing it in the form of liquid encouragement.
She could feel Venti’s emerald eyes staring at her in shock, especially when said Geo Archon picked up the bottle and began to fill her cup to the brim once more before sipping on it a lot more gracefully this time.
“Is there a problem?” She asked, though with more bite than she intended. She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but it seemed like the potency of this long-buried wine was more than even she anticipated. That, or it was perhaps the fact she no longer possessed the Gnosis and no longer possessed that same level of immunity to certain things as she once did.
Zhongli was admittedly…happy with this development. It made her feel more mortal—more human. It was something Venti had always seemed to embody effortlessly, and Zhongli had always secretly envied her fellow archon in that regard.
The bard quickly shook her head. “No, no, just surprised that you finished your first cup already. You’ve always been one to savor things.”
“Maybe so, but I think I want to indulge a bit tonight. Take a page out of your book for once.” She tipped her cup back further, finishing the second cup swiftly and feeling the heat rise to her ears. “Perhaps I will be able to feel its effects for once, now that I no longer possess my Gnosis.”
“You got drunk that night too despite having your Gnosis,” Venti said quietly, so much so that Zhongli had to strain to hear her. “Do you remember?”
“I recall someone placing cup after cup of Dandelion Wine in my hands and stating that it was rude to refuse a gift,” Zhongli replied equally. “I was merely being polite and did not want to waste the gift you had brought. And I definitely wasn’t ‘drunk’. Tipsy, at most because I chose not to waste the power of the Gnosis on something so trivial.”
Venti poked her in the sternum, and it took all of her willpower to not react. “Uh huh, sure.”
“I remember you climbing upon me like I was some sort of tree,” the ‘former’ Geo Archon continued. “Like a bird trying to reach the tallest branch by merely hopping instead of flying, which they are very capable of doing, mind you.”
“And yet, you didn’t throw me off or make me suffer ‘the wrath of the rock’.” Venti side-eyed her. “I wonder why.”
“It is rude, first and foremost, especially when we are with colleagues. I didn’t want them to have a bad impression of me.” She leveled a flat stare at Venti.
“Right,” she replied, drawing out the word. “And yet when Baal accidentally bumped into you after having too much sake you nearly bit her head off.”
“That was different. She spooked me with that silent stepping she had learned from her sister, meanwhile there was no hiding your movements.” She crossed her arms defensively. “Your inebriated babbling was enough for even the most drunken of fools to remain aware of you.”
The corners of her lips quirked up. “Fools, huh? Is that what we are?”
Zhongli spluttered, her cheeks heating to the hue of Geo energy. “Barbatos!”
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s Venti. And you know what they say, opposites attract and all that,” she said idly, waving her hand.
Zhongli tried to will away the blush she knew was straining her cheeks. “W-what does that mean?”
“Hm?” The Anemo Archon said after a moment, not registering her words at first. “Oh, nothing! Anyway, back then I had heard much about you—how you were a fierce warrior that commanded the earth with the strength of a dragon.” She sighed dramatically. “Shame that you’re just mortal Zhongli now.”
“I still am a dragon,” she huffed. Zhongli really wanted to let her tail out to deliver a (gentle) smack to the Anemo Archon with it. “That hasn’t changed even though I used Exuvia to ‘fake my death’. I still retain all my draconic traits and most of my strength.” Zhongli could feel the phantom sensation of her tail thumping against the ground in slight irritation. “But neither you nor I truly needed those cursed relics in the first place to defend our respective nations.”
Venti hummed in agreement. “But going back to what I said earlier,” the bard segued. “You got drunk that night with all of us and we made a contract. Do you remember what it was?”
Zhongli tried to think back. Her overall memories of the night were mostly there, but whether it was due to her age or erosion (or something else that she refused to acknowledge), what happened after she indulged Venti in drinking glass after glass was murky.
She remembered that there was some sort of conversation pertaining to Archonhood, but had they all actually agreed to a contract, or was it merely an inebriated agreement between them all?
The lines on her forearms and hands pulsed amber with Geo energy, confirming that why she may not remember what exactly the contract entailed, there was one and it was enforceable.
“I…do not,” she confessed after a moment. “I only know that there was—is—one.” Then, she leveled a flat stare at Venti. “Please tell me it’s nothing embarrassing, at least.”
Venti chuckled at her, her hand moving up to conceal her smile. “Do you really think so lowly of me, blockhead?”
“I, no, well—” She hated it when she stammered. Zhongli rarely did so, and the culprit was almost always Venti.
“I would never take advantage of you like that,” she reassured. “You know that. Plus, it’s more fun teasing you like this.”
Zhongli grumbled, but didn’t articulate a response.
The bard cleared her throat. “As for what our contract entailed…I had bet that your stubbornness would prevail and you would never step back from your role as archon willingly.” Venti said it so matter-of-factly that it surprised Zhongli. If anything, the Anemo Archon was always optimistic about these sorts of things, so to think that she would never retire….
Hm, perhaps Venti had misjudged her all those years ago. To be fair, Zhongli would never believe it herself that she would willingly step back as archon—though perhaps her inebriated past self was already clinging to a future where she would be able to live freely and leisurely?
She knew Venti had planted that seed of freedom in her heart all those years ago—of love too, of course—but like the arid dirt of Sumeru’s desert, she didn’t possess the right conditions yet to nurture such a prospect. So she tucked it away, never allowing that particular seed to feel the warmth of the nurturing sun nor the winds that brought rain and growth.
And now, as Zhongli sat next to her long-time friend and bearer of her affections, she had realized the futility of that action all those years ago. The absence of that familiar wind for those 500 years had caused her heart to ache, to search futility for something to fill the gap in her life, and that had been the catalyst that allowed the seed to burrow through the cracks in the earth desperately in search of what it desired most.
Freedom. Freedom to be, freedom to let down her burdens, and freedom to love the one she adored above all in this cruel world.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Venti’s verbose and metaphorical writing and speaking habits were getting to her again. “And what did I say?”
Venti’s face softened as if reliving the memory herself, her eyes taking on a distant hue. “That one day Liyue would become strong enough to fend for itself, and no longer need you to watch over them.”
Zhongli blinked once. Twice.
Had…she really said something like that back then?
She tried to think back. The time leading up to her taking the position of Geo Archon had been…tumultuous at best. Zhongli had lost many friends and homes along the way, and she had only picked up her spear in the first place to defend those she cared about.
She remembered that despite the stony facade she had tried to project to her fellow Archons that her heart still wept for those she had been unable to save, and for the home that had been left in ruins.
Morax was renowned throughout history for her fighting prowess—swift and powerful, the rage of a dragon manifested to protect what she deemed dear.
But Zhongli, the part within Morax locked away and buried beneath layer upon layer of strife and hardship, had only wanted to bask in the company of her dearest companions and indulge in artistic crafts.
…it seemed she had yearned for the simple life of a mortal all those years ago.
“Interesting,” the Geo Archon said, massaging her chin in contemplation. “And what were the terms of the contract?”
“The winner gets one thing of their choice from the other.”
Zhongli’s brows furrowed. “...that’s it?”
“That’s it,” Venti confirmed.
“It’s unlike me to agree to such vague terms.” Her arms pulsed amber in agreement with Venti’s words. “And yet, I know it to be the truth.”
“So,” Venti began, drawing out the sound. “What do you want to ask of me?”
Zhongli licked her lips. She had a thought, one that was dangerous and could jeopardize their lengthy relationship, but she couldn’t help but want.
She wanted to confess to Venti, to undo the layers she had buried her heart under and culminate everything she had worked hard for since the Cataclysm (no, her ascension as Geo Archon) and finally allow her to be herself.
But the rational part of her brain screamed at her that it was a terrible idea. What if Venti was appalled by her feelings? Or thought that their friendship had been built upon lies because Zhongli simply wanted to have the Anemo Archon by her side?
(Protect and cherish, the dragon within her whispered. Do not allow her to succumb to the machinations of the Heavens.)
“A kiss.”
The words slipped out unconsciously, and she slammed her hand over her agape mouth in horror.
Venti looked at her incredulously for a moment before blinking a few times to shake away her surprise. “You’re joking Zhongli! I could’ve sworn you said you wanted—”
It was too late now to go back, so she doubled down. “A kiss, Venti.”
The Anemo Archon’s too-wide smile faltered. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I am.” Zhongli looked away, suddenly deeply embarrassed. “When have you ever known me to mince my words?”
“Never,” she replied weakly, as if the weight of Zhongli’s words were settling upon her. “Can I ask…why?”
“I…have always held deep affection for you, Bar—Venti.” She inwardly cursed as Venti’s archon name nearly slipped from her lips once more. “I have withheld that since we first met, and only now that I’ve laid down my burdens as Geo Archon, I felt that I should at least…inform you.” She refused to meet Venti’s eyes, afraid of what she would find there. “Please do not feel pressured to return my affections nor indulge my selfish request. I…can think of something else to fulfill our contract.”
Silence prevailed for a few minutes. Then, Venti began to laugh. It was quiet at first, one that initially sounded to be of disbelief before growing louder and louder.
“Oh, Zhongli,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m afraid we’ve both been rather dense.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Venti stood up and took a tentative step closer, her shoes clacking against the pebbles that had appeared when Zhongli manifested their chairs. “You didn’t need to invoke our contract from long ago to ask a kiss from me. I would have given it to you freely.”
“W-what?” Zhongli licked her lips, hanging on to every word that fell from her lips. “Really now?”
“Really,” Venti replied with absolute certainty. “And I’m not just saying that because it’s your birthday either, blockhead.” The Anemo Archon sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment before sighing and looking at Zhongli with such a fond expression she didn’t care if she eroded away on the spot. Witnessing Venti give her such a beautiful, intimate expression made her tenure as Geo Archon worth it. “It’s because I’ve been in love with you too–for a very long time now, might I add.”
Zhongli couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Venti…was in love with her?
Her heart hammered in her chest and the increasing th-thump sound echoed loudly in her ears. Her throat suddenly felt dry, her lips cracking as she ran her tongue over them in a vain attempt to moisten them. She massaged her clasped hands together, attempting to do anything other than acknowledge the situation in front of her.
“Can you say something, Zhongli? Have I…upset you?” Venti asked quietly—too quietly for Zhongli’s liking. The other looked so small and apprehensive at this moment, as if she had been the one to overstep and not her.
She needed to rectify this at once.
“No, not at all. I suppose it is merely…astonishment,” she settled on. “You never expressed any interest before, so I thought it was a one-sided affection.”
“Have you ever seen me act around anyone the same way I do with you?”
She had been ruminating on this very thing earlier and she already knew the answer. “No.”
“Have you ever seen me give anyone else things like I do with you?”
Again, she responded, “No.”
“And who’s brooch have I continued to wear around my neck since I received it 2,473 years ago?”
“Mine,” she breathed out, more air than word, as if the realization was finally dawning upon her.
“Exactly.” Venti smiled gently, the wind coiling around her and lifting her into the air. “So if it’s a kiss you request of me….” The bard’s hand cupped her jaw. “I would be thrilled to uphold my end of our contract.”
Zhongli still couldn’t believe her ears. “Truly?”
Instead of answering, Venti’s face drew closer and closer to hers. She found herself closing her amber eyes, waiting with bated breath to see if she would wake up from this dream, or if it was reality after all.
Venti’s lips pressed against hers and elation filled her. Venti, the Anemo Archon, the one that she had harbored feelings for since they had first met, was finally kissing her!
Their lips were just barely touching, and Zhongli found herself frozen. She…had never kissed anyone before. What was she meant to do? Some novels she had read made it seem like a tug-of-war with both parties fighting for dominance in an effort to undo the other, and yet, Venti didn’t move at all against her. Was she doing something wrong?
She opened her amber eyes slightly, finding Venti’s emerald eyes still shut and brows furrowed with an intensity she seldom saw on the other. Zhongli could feel the bard shaking slightly, but she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or from how rigid the other’s posture was.
It was an adorable sight, but after a lengthy time of nothing happening, Zhongli decided to say something.
“‘enti?” The first syllable’s sound was lost between their pressed lips. “What are you doing?”
The Anemo Archon pulled away, her cheeks heating and looking away. “Kissing you…?”
“R-right, you just seem….” She paused for a moment, searching for the right word so as to not upset the other. “Tense,” she settled on.
“Oh,” Venti breathed after a moment. “I…I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“For all those love poems you’ve written over the years and the inherent romantic nature of some of your nation’s festivals, you mean to tell me you have never kissed anyone?”
“...No,” she confessed after a moment of silence. “Have you?”
“No.” Her thumb reached up to cup Venti’s cheek, noticing that tears were beginning to bud in the other’s eyes. That wouldn’t do, not at all. “Relax, Venti, it is just us. Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, not at all!” The former wind spirit hastily said. “I just wanted our first kiss to be perfect….”
Zhongli hummed, rubbing soothing circles into the other’s back. She could see Venti’s shoulders visibly relax, but her expression was still that of firm worry. “I remember someone singing a ballad many years ago about how like wine, one’s affections and expressions of love grew more perfect with time.” The other’s emerald eyes looked up at her questioningly. “Expecting perfection when neither of us have kissed before—or made wine before in this analogy—is to set ourselves up for disappointment.”
“What are you suggesting, then?”
“Allow ourselves to be carried away by what feels right,” she whispered into Venti’s ear, indulging in the shudder of the other at the close proximity. “Freedom, in the manner of speaking. Wouldn’t you agree, Anemo Archon?”
She caught sight of one of Venti’s ebony eyebrows rising. “Sounds like you have an idea in mind.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. “What if I do?”
Zhongli wasn’t sure where this newfound confidence of hers was coming from, but she wasn’t displeased with this development. Actually, Venti seemed uncharacteristically shy at the moment, so she decided to take the initiative this time.
She licked her lips once more before leaning in, one of her hands moving to cup the back of Venti’s head as she kissed the Anemo Archon.
Zhongli thought about the romance books she had read and how it described kissing similar to building a fire. It needed to be crafted with a good foundation and stoked slowly and carefully, lest the embers fizzle out before they’re truly able to take hold.
And so she kissed slowly, tenderly, ensuring that Venti was receptive to her actions and felt no discomfort. Then, she began to put more movement, more pressure into her efforts, and Venti began to match her pace.
The kindling had caught, she thought to herself. Now it’s time to stoke the fire higher.
Her hand that was at the back of Venti’s head began to scratch downward, catching on the white collar of the other’s shirt before pulling away and threading into her ebony locks instead. The Anemo Archon gave a pleased sigh, her hands moving to circle around Zhongli’s neck.
And then, she felt Venti’s teeth nipping at her lower lip. It sent shivers down her spine and made her writhe in delight at the sensation, and she felt something at the back of her mind begin to creep forward.
Zhongli didn’t know if it was the heat of the moment or her latent draconic instincts manifesting (likely both), but she pulled Venti closer so her arms snaked around the other’s chest, a growl bubbling up from the depths of her chest. The bard pulled away from her lips with a surprised gasp, emerald eyes looking down at her in confusion.
“Z-Zhongli?”
“Is this all right?” she husked out, her voice an octave deeper than usual.
She felt Venti exhale out her nose harshly and laugh incredulously. “I didn’t say stop, did I?”
“Well, no—”
She felt Venti grab both sides of her face gently, no, reverently. Zhongli could see those beautiful forest-green eyes staring at her with an intensity that pinned her in place. Then, Venti sighed and closed her eyes, butting her forehead against Zhongli’s.
Zhongli’s inner dragon preened at the gesture. For a being like her, it was the ultimate sign of love and trust.
“Venti….” It came from so deep in her chest that it felt as if the sound was resonating in her soul.
“Am I making things difficult for you, Zhongli?” Venti whispered, her voice also much lower than usual. “Is the dragon getting riled up?”
She could feel her instincts simmering beneath the surface, and unconsciously, her nails sharpened and tongue elongated. Zhongli curled her tongue around the shell of Venti’s ear before nipping the lobe and pulling away. The Anemo Archon groaned against her, her legs winding around Zhongli’s waist and their chests collided, her larger breasts pressing against Venti’s much smaller ones.
Greedily, she nipped on Venti’s lip and pushed her tongue into the other’s mouth, delighting in the wanton moan she made when her more prehensile tongue wrapped around Venti’s own. She thrusted the appendage gently, her nails digging into the Anemo Archon’s back and threatening to rip her shirt.
Venti sighed airily, and Zhongli took it as her cue to continue. Her tongue filled more of the other’s mouth, and she felt Venti tense for a moment before relaxing in her hold. The bard’s nails dug into her scalp like a lifeline, and Zhongli rumbled in appreciation at the brief hint of pain.
However, unlike her companion that was wind incarnate, she had to pull away to suck down a greedy inhale of air, her long tongue taking a moment to exit Venti’s lips which remained pursed, as if not wanting the slippery appendage to retreat.
“Zhongli,” she whined at the loss as they pulled apart. Venti was breathing heavily, her pupils dilated and Zhongli’s inner dragon purred at the sight.
“Yes, my precious gem?”
Venti gasped as the nickname, smiling softly before murmuring, “You’re purring.”
It took her a moment to register Venti’s words, and after a quick physical inventory, she realized that she was. She coughed, suddenly self conscious of the action and looking away. “You are hearing things.”
“Am I now?” Venti tucked her head between the swell of her breasts, humming contentedly and dug her fingers into the material of her qipao, not allowing Zhongli to opportunity pull away (not that she wanted to). “Are your horns a tail a figment of my imagination as well?”
She couldn’t really look down as Venti’s head was obstructing her view, nor could she take inventory of her horns with her arms wrapped around the Anemo Archon clinging to her like a hatchling. So, she felt for the (usual) phantom sensation of her draconic tail and willed it to move into her line of sight.
And there it was, just as Venti had said. She closed her eyes and shook her head fondly. Once again, only the one in her arms could undo her so.
She lifted her tail and gently touched the fluffy part against the archon’s head. “Perhaps you weren’t imagining things after all.”
“Zhon’li?” The other’s voice was muffled from where her face was smothered in her chest. Venti moved slightly, allowing the next words to be heard clearly as she undid the bow that secured her cape. “Can you undo my shirt in the back?”
The wind carried Venti’s green cape away to a nearby branch and the Geo Archon peered forward, but didn’t spot any buttons or zipper. “I do not see any way to do so, Venti.”
“Mmm, my shirt opens from the front, that’s why.”
Then why did Venti ask her to undo her shirt from the back? “Meaning…?”
The smaller archon rolled her shoulders, shuddering once. “My wings are itching to come out. I haven’t stretched them since—” Here, Venti’s voice cut off abruptly, her hands fisting Zhongli’s dress tightly. “Since before I fell into slumber. Please?”
Venti sounded uncharacteristically small upon asking and Zhongli’s heart twisted. “I can try to run one of my nails along the seam so it can be easily replaced,” she offered, trailing her forefinger along said line in the fabric and causing Venti to shiver. “It may not be perfect but—”
“Go ahead.”
With approval received, Zhongli pressed her finger into the cotton shirt at the base of Venti’s neck. The fabric parted easily and neatly as she dragged her nail downward to the small of the other’s back before pulling away. The elaborate collar and base of Venti’s white dress shirt remained intact to preserve her modesty, but the gap in the middle would allow her wings to unfurl without getting caught or tearing the fabric further.
She moved her hands lower—one cradling Venti’s lower back and the other supporting under her thighs. “It is done.”
Venti released her arms from around Zhongli’s neck, raising them toward the sky as her perfect white wings manifested in teal swirls. The Anemo Archon groaned and sighed as her wings flapped a few times before stretching out to their full width and settling behind her like her cape.
“Thank you,” she said graciously. “And for not ruining my shirt either. I should be able to fix it easily enough.”
“I would be happy to do so myself, if you so choose.” Venti looked up at her with an inquisitive glance. “I have been learning from one of the retired seamstresses in Liyue as I thought it would be a prudent skill to have. Though, I understand if you’d rather do it yourself.”
“Zhongli?”
She blinked. “Yes, my gem?”
Venti pressed one of those lyre-calloused fingers to her lips. “You talk too much. How about you kiss me instead?”
She could feel her tail wagging at the suggestion. It seemed that all it took was another kiss for Venti’s anxiety to melt away and her confident yet carefree demeanor to return in full force.
Zhongli’s mouth opened to give a witty retort, but before she could say anything, Venti grabbed her by the horns and pulled her in for another kiss.
This kiss was messier than the ones that came before. Zhongli’s teeth (and fangs) clacked against Venti’s own, causing them both to wince and pull back. The bard chuckled in embarrassment before sliding her grip from Zhongli’s horns to her jaw to rub at where she had hit her.
“Patience,” Zhongli chided gently.
Venti pouted and her wings flapped in frustration. “Maybe I don’t want to be patient.”
Zhongli sighed fondly, tucked Venti’s head under her chin and placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Kiss me again?” She asked hopefully, her expression brightening.
Zhongli pecked the apple of each cheek before kissing her on the lips and pulling away. “I suppose I could indulge you in a few more.”
The primary feathers of Venti’s right wing brushed Zhongli’s amber hair aside from where it had come free of her ponytail. “Only a few?”
“Greedy thing.” She pressed another kiss to Venti’s lips and this time, ran her upper fangs over the other’s kiss-swollen lips. “Though I suppose I have no room to talk.”
Venti rolled her eyes at her affectionately. “Less talking, more kissing.”
“As you wish, my gem.”
A few hours later found the pair sitting together gazing over the warm tones lighting the port city of Liyue. The view of the city was immaculate despite the light pollution concealing the stars, though the two Archons only had eyes for each other.
Venti’s legs swung off the edge of the cliff. Despite her being the Anemo Archon and a former wind spirit (and angel), it made Zhongli’s protective dragon instincts writhe in her chest at Venti being so close to a steep drop.
And so, she decided the safest place was to sit beside the bard, her brown and amber tail coiling around Venti’s midriff while still allowing the other’s wings room to breathe.
“Thank you for visiting, Venti,” Zhongli began, feeling the need to express herself. She didn’t often do this, but this felt like an occasion she should. “It is good to have you back. I…missed you dearly these past few centuries.”
She felt Venti’s arm loop through hers and she rested her head against her shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere for a while, so no need to start preparing a lecture.”
Zhongli didn’t know how long ‘a while’ was, but she would treasure every moment until then. “That is good to hear. Now that I’m…retired, I have more time for other things.”
Venti perked up. “Oh? So we can meet more often than just your birthday or for stuffy meetings?”
She gave a mirthful chuckle. “I suppose so, provided you keep our relationship professional while in the public eye.” Venti gave her a pout, so she decided to amend her statement. “For now at least. Until I feel more…comfortable.”
Venti gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course. And—Oh! How could I forget!” The bard stood up suddenly, manifesting her lyre in a swirl of Anemo and her wings fluffing up behind her. “I composed a new song and poem for you for your birthday! I got distracted earlier and well….” She trailed off, using her free hand to scratch the back of her ebony hair with her tongue peeking out adorably. “...would you like to hear it?”
Zhongli turned so that she was facing Venti properly, the bard waiting eagerly for her response. “I would love nothing more than to hear what you prepared for me.”
The Anemo Archon’s expression was one of utter elation, her wings pushing her off the ground as she took an ethereal looking pose in the air.
Venti strummed once, vocalizing for a moment to ensure her pitch was correct (it always was), and began to sing.
Several hours later found the pair watching the sunrise over Liyue Harbor, the warmth of the false sun’s rays decorating the water in a series of hues that would make any other mortal’s eyes recoil in pain.
Venti was perched in one of the nearby trees, the wind ruffling her hair, wings, and clothes affectionately. Zhongli, as always, preferred her feet firmly planted on the ground, so she sat with her legs tucked beneath her on a tall rock beneath the Anemo Archon.
“I was too swept up in our conversation early so I forgot to mention this, but your dress looks stunning on you, Zhongli.”
“Thank you. I could see about procuring you a traditional Liyuean dress for Lantern Rite,” Zhongli offered, her cheeks heating the moment the words leave her lip. “I-I mean, I don’t mean to assume you’ll visit for Lantern Rite this year—”
“Zhongli.” She ceased her verbal backpedaling at once, Venti’s soft expression making her lick her lips in anticipation of the other’s words. “I would love to spend Lantern Rite with you.”
She blinked. It was…that easy? No teasing or toying with her? “You are certain?”
The Anemo Archon laughed fondly. “Of course I am.” Here, Venti leapt down from her branch, hovering enough for the wind to whisper her words into the shell of Zhongli’s ear. “It could even be a date, one could say.”
“...is this not one?”
“Mmm, I suppose,” she acquiesced as she sat beside Zhongli. “But I considered this to be a reunion and birthday celebration foremost. First dates typically happen outside special occasions.”
“By that logic, Lantern Rite is considered a special occasion and therefore, not a date.”
Venti rolled those beautiful eyes at her. “Must you always be such a stickler for details?”
She chuckled, rubbing her cheek against Venti’s. “I must. Someone must keep you accountable.”
“Me?” Venti balked, huffing in fake indignation. “You’ve become incorrigible in your old age. I never thought I’d see the day….”
Zhongli didn’t rise to the bait. “And you were always a troublemaker from the very beginning.”
“You like that about me,” she said cheekily, leaning up to press a kiss to her temple.
“...I do.”
Venti hummed and scooted closer so their sides brushed against each other. She leaned her head against Zhongli, tracing the patterns on her arm.
She felt her tail inch toward Venti and wrap around the other’s waist—not necessarily in a possessive measure this time, but one of someone who could finally let herself love the way she had wanted to for millennia.
She did not care if she would erode faster in Venti’s presence, and, for now, she was glad that the thought seemingly hadn’t crossed the other’s mind. After everything they had endured together as the two living Archons of a long bygone era, they deserved happiness.
The Heavens may scorn her for laying down her responsibilities and taking on the mantle of humble mortal, but Venti had been doing it for her entire time as Anemo Archon. Plus, although Morax was ‘dead’ in the eyes of mortals, she would continue to watch over them from a distance…just as Venti did.
If she had any regrets, it would be that she had not acted upon her feelings earlier. But, perhaps, this was for the better. Enemies of the past would have utilized their relationship to their advantage, and knowing her younger self, Zhongli would not have paid Venti the attention she deserved.
“I would like that very much,” she replied earnestly. The dragon leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her ebony locks, and she delighted in the happy hum that emitted from the other Archon.
“I love you, Zhongli,” Venti murmured while threading their hands together. “I know no matter what storm comes for us in the future we will face it together. The steadfast stubbornness of Geo and the cunning deviousness of Anemo are no match for whatever threat looms on the horizon.”
Her heart swelled at Venti’s words. “I love you as well, Venti. And yes, we shall endure the fate of this world not as Archons, but as two people who love each other more than anything.”
She felt Venti’s lyre-calloused fingers caress her jaw, turning her head and lowering it in the direction of the bard’s own.
They kissed gently, the fervor from earlier having given way to soft, enduring embers. There was no rush, no duty to take them away from this moment that seemed to stretch into perpetuity. The wind even seemed to still as if holding its breath in tandem with its archon, and the sounds of the world fell away too.
No one in the mortal nor celestial plane bore witness to their intimate exchange, save for false firmament above. But that bothered neither of them, for they both knew there would likely come a day when the false sky would fall, and with it, the shackles that had been placed upon them.
Until that fateful day arrived, they would continue the illusion of being the dutiful puppets they were, all while dancing together in a loving embrace that would endure until Finality.