Archive of Our Own

(Excerpt from A Liyuean Merchant's Guide to the Seven Nations)

— The thing about Mondstadtians to know before trading with them is that they know what you want. Not in the way that people of other nations can predict what you want through guesses. No, they know exactly what you want, your plan to get it, your budget, and probably that one secret you thought was dead and buried.

Do not ask how they know. They will smile. Do not ask who told them. They will smile wider. Do not attempt to lie. This is not because Mondstadtians are particularly good at detecting lies. Quite the opposite. They are simply very good at making you feel that lying is an extremely embarrassing waste of everyone's time.

A merchant from Fontaine once attempted to conceal the true purpose of his visit to Mondstadt by claiming he wished to purchase wine. He did, in fact, wish to purchase wine. He also wished to negotiate a private contract with three local vineyards, circumvent a Sumeruan intermediary, undercut a competing Fontainean importer, and quietly determine whether the Knights of Favonius would object to him establishing a permanent warehouse outside the city.

Before he had finished introducing himself, the tavern owner had already placed the exact wine he wanted in front of him. Then she gave him the name of the warehouse owner. Then she told him which vineyard would offer the best price. Then she informed him that the competing importer had arrived in Mondstadt two days earlier. Finally, she advised him not to bother with the warehouse outside the city because the landlord was, in her words, "a terrible negotiator when sober and an even worse one when drunk."

The Fontainean merchant bought the wine. He also signed the contracts. He never did discover how she knew about the competing importer. This is considered a normal business transaction in Mondstadt.

Do not mistake friendliness for ignorance. 

This is the second most important rule. The first is not to insult the wine. Mondstadtians are cheerful. They are welcoming. They will invite you to dinner, introduce you to their families, pour you a drink, and ask whether your journey was pleasant.

While doing so, they will casually determine: who you represent, how much money you have, what you are attempting to purchase, why you are attempting to purchase it, who your competitors are, whether you are trustworthy, whether your employer is trustworthy, whether your employer's employer is trustworthy, and whether you are likely to cause trouble for Mondstadt. All within the span of a light dinner.

You will not notice this happening and that is the point. Liyueans negotiate. Fontainians interrogate. Sumeru scholars analyze. Inazumans assess. Snezhnayans threaten. Natlanese question. Mondstadtians offer you another drink.

By the time you realize you have been negotiating, the contract has already been drafted. There is, however, one great advantage. Mondstadtians are rarely interested in taking advantage of a merchant merely because they can.

If you are honest, they will generally be honest in return. If you are fair, they will be fair. If you make a reasonable offer, they will probably make a reasonable counteroffer. If you attempt to cheat them, however- Do not.

I repeat: Do not.

You may think you have successfully deceived them. You may leave Mondstadt congratulating yourself on your cleverness. You may even make it halfway back to Liyue before discovering that every document you signed was perfectly legal, every transaction technically legitimate, and every clause you overlooked was written in language so simple that even a child could understand it.

At this point, you will receive a letter. It will be polite. It will thank you for your business. It will wish you a safe journey. It will also inform you that Mondstadt has decided not to do business with you again. You will then discover that six of your usual suppliers have independently reached the same conclusion.

This is not a conspiracy. Mondstadtians simply talk.

And the wind carries remarkably well.

(Excerpt from Marie Bernard’s Mondstadtian Journey )

When I first arrived in Mondstadt, when I was but a young woman on the look for adventure after growing up in the Fontainian Courts nearly thirty years ago, I believed I had found a paradise.

I wasn't wrong. It was peaceful, beautiful, and the people were so very friendly.

I had spent my childhood surrounded by courtiers who smiled while calculating exactly how much your friendship was worth. Every compliment had a purpose. Every invitation had an expectation attached to it. Even kindness could be a form of currency.

Mondstadt was different. Or so I thought.

A baker gave me a pastry because I admired it through the window. A fisherman offered me directions and then walked half an hour out of his way to ensure I reached my destination safely. A group of children invited me to play with them despite the fact that I was a grown woman whom they had never seen before.

When I protested that I had no money to pay for my room at the inn until I received my travel allowance, the innkeeper merely waved me off and told me to pay when I could.

"You're in Mondstadt now," she said.

As though that explained everything. At the time, I found it charming. Years later, I would understand that it did. Mondstadt's hospitality is not weakness. It is simply the way Mondstadtians have chosen to live.

They will feed you before asking your name. They will shelter you before asking where you came from. They will listen to your troubles without demanding an explanation for why you have them. And, perhaps most strangely of all, they genuinely seem to believe that this is normal.

It took me several months to notice the other side of it.

Mondstadtians know things. Not rumors. Not gossip, though they have plenty of that. They simply *know. *

I remember my first proper business negotiation. I had been sent to purchase several crates of locally produced wine for a Fontainian household. I was twenty-two, inexperienced, and absolutely determined that nobody would realize I was inexperienced. The merchant took one look at me.

"You're buying for the Bernard household, aren't you?"

I froze. I had not given him the name.

"Yes."

"Lady Bernard prefers this vintage."

He pointed toward a particular crate.

"But if you're buying for her guests, take the other one. She'll complain about the price either way."

I asked him how he knew. He shrugged.

"You look like a Bernard."

I believed him for years. Then, much later, I learned that the Bernard household had not purchased wine from that merchant in nearly eight years. He had somehow known anyway.

That was when I began paying attention. The Knights knew. The tavern keepers knew. The shopkeepers knew. The elderly women sitting in the plaza knew. The children knew. The cats probably knew. And if you asked any of them how, they would look at you as though you were the strange one for asking.

Eventually, I came to understand something rather important about Mondstadt. The people here do not keep secrets from one another nearly as well as they believe they do, nor do they seem particularly bothered by it.

A Mondstadtian might know that you are having marital troubles, that your business is failing, that you intend to leave the city tomorrow, and that you have been secretly considering an affair with the charming florist down the street.

They will not necessarily confront you. They will simply invite you to dinner. And somewhere between the soup and dessert, someone will say something so perfectly phrased that you will suddenly realize that they know. 

They always know.

It should have frightened me. Instead, strangely enough, it made me feel safe. Because there is an important distinction. Mondstadtians knowing everything does not mean Mondstadtians use everything they know. 

A secret told to a Mondstadtian is often treated less like a weapon and more like a responsibility. They may tease you. They may gossip. They will absolutely laugh about it amongst themselves. But if someone from outside Mondstadt tries to use that secret against you? Ah.

That is different. I learned that lesson when I was twenty-five. And I learned it very quickly.

There was a merchant from Snezhnaya who attempted to pressure one of my friends - a Mondstadtian girl who worked at the grocer in the plaza - by threatening to expose a rather embarrassing family matter. He seemed quite pleased with himself until the tavern went silent.

I have never seen an entire room of cheerful people become quiet so quickly. Nobody threatened him. Nobody shouted. The bartender simply stopped pouring his drink.

The merchant looked around.

"What?"

The bartender smiled.

"Nothing."

He left the tavern ten minutes later. He never returned to Mondstadt. I asked what had happened. Nobody told me. They didn't need to.

The next morning, his business partners had withdrawn their contracts, his caravan permits had been delayed, and every inn between Mondstadt and the Stone Gate had somehow become fully booked. 

Coincidence, apparently. Mondstadtians are very fond of coincidence.

I learned, eventually, that the best way to understand Mondstadt is not to ask what its people are hiding. Ask what they are protecting. The answer is usually the same.

Their home. Their people. Their freedom. And, perhaps most importantly, one another.

I came to Mondstadt looking for adventure. I found something much stranger. I found a place where people smiled because they meant it. And I found a people who could know every terrible thing about you and still invite you to dinner.

Thirty years later, I still cannot decide which of those things is more frightening: the fact that they* all* know everything about everyone that comes to their lands - or that they all smile while dismantling all that you are.

(Excerpt from Rex Lapis’ Perspective of the Seven Nations)

As an Archon, one would think that One fears no mortal. However, one would be wrong. One does fear one nation’s worth of mortals. Now, with that statement, One can forgive one for believing that it might be One’s own nation, for what Archon does not fret over their people? Again, one would be wrong.

One fears the nation ruled by Barbatos. Mondstadt. Do not misunderstand, One does not fear Mondstadt because its people are particularly violent. They are not. They are, in fact, remarkably pleasant. They smile. They sing. They drink. They celebrate festivals. They welcome strangers into their homes with an enthusiasm that would be considered reckless in Liyue. They are, by all reasonable measures, harmless.

This is precisely what concerns One. 

Liyue understands One. The people of Liyue know Rex Lapis as their God of Contracts. They know what One values. They understand the weight of agreements, the importance of hierarchy, the consequences of breaking one's word. Liyueans know what One expects of them.

The people of Mondstadt? They know what Barbatos expects of them. And Barbatos expects freedom.

One has spent thousands of years studying gods and mortals alike. One has fought gods. One has killed gods. One has negotiated with gods. One has watched civilizations rise, flourish, and crumble beneath the ambitions of their rulers. 

One knows how to deal with an army. One knows how to deal with a tyrant. One knows how to deal with a rebellion. One does not know how to deal with a Mondstadtian who has decided that something is unfair.

They do not necessarily organize. They do not necessarily appoint a leader. They do not necessarily even discuss the matter beforehand. 

One day, a Mondstadtian simply decides that something is wrong. Then another agrees. Then another. Then somehow half the city is involved. And should you attempt to stop them?  They will smile. They will remain perfectly polite. They will continue offering you wine. They will apologize for inconveniencing you. And then they will dismantle whatever it was you were attempting to accomplish.

One has witnessed this happen. More than once. The first time, One found it amusing. The second time, One found it impressive. The third time, One began to wonder if Barbatos had deliberately designed his nation this way.

One eventually asked him. Barbatos laughed. Then he disappeared into the wind. This was not reassuring.

There is another matter. Mondstadt knows things. One does not mean that its people are observant. All mortal nations contain observant people. One means that Mondstadt possesses an almost supernatural talent for knowing things it should not know. 

A merchant arrives in Mondstadt intending to deceive a vineyard. The vineyard already knows. A foreign noble arrives intending to manipulate a Knight. The Knight already knows. A Fatui operative enters the city intending to gather information. Three elderly women have already discussed his family history over breakfast.

One once watched a Mondstadtian identify a disguised adeptus after speaking with him for approximately six minutes. 

When One asked how she knew, she replied:

"He looked suspicious."

One has been suspicious for three thousand years. One does not understand. 

And then there is Barbatos himself. This is the part One finds most troublesome. Barbatos is not like One. He does not sit upon a throne. He does not issue decrees. He does not demand tribute. He does not even seem particularly interested in ruling. 

Yet Mondstadt remains fiercely loyal to him. Not because they fear him. Because they love him. That distinction matters.

One has commanded armies that would march into certain death at One's word. Barbatos can accomplish much the same thing by allowing the wind to whisper a suggestion. 

The difference is that his people will believe the decision was their own. One cannot determine whether this is genius or madness. Perhaps it is both.

There are moments when One wonders whether Mondstadt is truly ruled by Barbatos at all. Perhaps the truth is worse. Perhaps Barbatos has simply cultivated a nation that no longer requires ruling. A nation where every citizen understands the values of their Archon so thoroughly that they enforce them upon one another. A nation where freedom is defended not by law, but by instinct.

A nation where a foreigner may insult Barbatos and be laughed at - but threaten one of his people, and suddenly discover that an entire city has decided that he is no longer welcome.

One has seen gods display less terrifying unity. Thus, if you ask One which nation One fears most, the answer is not Snezhnaya. Nor is it Fontaine. Nor is it any of the great powers of Teyvat.

It is Mondstadt, the nation considered by most to be pacifistic and idealistic. The nation of dreamers and poets. The nation that abides by no rules that a God may impose on them.

Because One knows what happens when a nation is ruled by fear. One knows what happens when a nation is ruled by law. One knows what happens when a nation is ruled by ambition.

But Mondstadt? Mondstadt is ruled by love. And there are few forces in this world more difficult to defeat than people who genuinely believe they have something worth protecting.

Especially when their god is watching. Especially when their god is listening. Especially when the wind itself carries their words.

One would advise any foreign dignitary visiting Mondstadt to remember this:  

Do not fear the Knights. Do not fear the taverns. Do not fear the merchants. Do not even fear their Archon.

Fear the moment when the entire city becomes quiet. For that is when Mondstadt has decided. And when Mondstadt decides something together, even One knows better than to stand in its way.

(Excerpt from Interview with the Almighty Raiden Shogun )

Interviewer: I thank you for accepting this interview, Almighty Shogun.

Raiden Shogun: Your interest in my thoughts on Mondstadt was intriguing.

I: A-Ah, yes. Shall we get started?

RS: Indeed.

I: The first question is: What are your thoughts on Mondstadt?

RS: A nation of fools, too absorbed in their ideals of freedom to see the full picture.

I: I… see?

RS: However, I would be uneducated to dismiss them outright.

I: Meaning…?

RS: …

I: Ummm… next question then. What about Lord Barbatos?

RS: …

I: Almighty Shogun?

RS: Terrifying.

I: …

RS: …

I: Would you care to elaborate?

RS: No.

I: Perhaps just a little?

RS: No.

I: Is it his power?

RS: Not particularly.

I: His immortality?

RS: Hardly.

I: His authority as an Archon?

RS: Barbatos has very little interest in authority.

I: Then what makes him terrifying?

RS: His people.

I: His people?

RS: Mondstadt is a nation in which the Archon does not need to command his subjects.

I: Isn't that the point of freedom?

RS: You misunderstand.

I: How so?

RS: In Inazuma, if I wish for something to be done, I give an order.

I: Yes.

RS: In Liyue, Rex Lapis could establish a contract.

I: Correct.

RS: In Fontaine, the laws would accomplish it.

I: And Mondstadt?

RS: Mondstadt will decide for itself.

I: That doesn't sound particularly threatening.

RS: It is.

I: Why?

RS: Because once they have decided something is right, there is no authority I can invoke against them.

I: Not even your status as an Archon?

RS: Especially not that.

I: Why?

RS: They would simply ask why.

I: …Why is that so frightening?

RS: Because they would expect an answer.

I: …

RS: And if they found the answer unsatisfactory, they would ignore me.

I: They would ignore an Archon?

RS: They have ignored their own Archon for centuries.

I: …

RS: They do not fear Barbatos.

I: They worship him.

RS: That is different.

I: How?

RS: They love him.

I: And you find that threatening?

RS: I find anything capable of producing that degree of loyalty without fear worthy of consideration.

I: So you respect Barbatos?

RS: …

I: Almighty Shogun?

RS: I did not say that.

I: You didn't deny it either.

RS: Next question.

I: Right. Of course. Um… Do you believe Mondstadt could become a major military threat to Inazuma?

RS: No.

I: Then why call them dangerous?

RS: Because military strength is not the only measure of danger.

I: What else is there?

RS: Conviction.

I: Conviction?

RS: A soldier obeys because they are commanded. A subject obeys because they fear punishment. A citizen obeys because they believe in the law.

I: And a Mondstadtian?

RS: A Mondstadtian acts because they have decided they are right.

I: That doesn't sound so different.

RS: It is.

I: How?

RS: You can defeat soldiers.  You can intimidate subjects. You can change laws. Try changing someone's mind after they have decided something is wrong.

I: I assume that is difficult.

RS: It is infuriating.

I: You have personal experience?

RS: …

I: Almighty Shogun?

RS: There was an incident.

I: What sort of incident?

RS: I attempted to convince a Mondstadtian delegation that an Inazuman trade restriction was necessary.

I: And?

RS: They disagreed.

I: Surely that is normal diplomacy.

RS: They brought baked goods. They thanked me for hearing their concerns. They complimented the scenery. They apologized for taking up my time.

I: And then?

RS: Three weeks later, I lifted the restriction.

I: Because they persuaded you?

RS: …

I: Almighty Shogun?

RS: Next question.

I: Right.

RS: And for the record, the baked goods were excellent.

I: …I thought you said you weren't particularly fond of Mondstadt.

RS: I am not.

I: You seem to like their food.

RS: That is unrelated.

I: Of course.

RS: Entirely unrelated.

I: One final question.

RS: Proceed.

I: If you had to give one piece of advice to another Archon dealing with Mondstadt, what would it be?

RS: Do not threaten them.

I: Anything else?

RS: Do not threaten their people.

I: And if someone already has?

RS: Leave Mondstadt.

I: Immediately?

RS: Immediately.

I: Before they retaliate?

RS: No.

I: Then why?

RS: Before Barbatos notices. Once he notices, it is already too late. Truly though, there is nowhere to run if you've insulted his people

(Excerpt from The Steambird )

We here at The Steambird have an appreciation for the Archons and are forced to wonder, due to the documents and interviews that have emerged over the last few months, an important question:

Why is Mondstadt the most feared nation to even two of the strongest Archons?

It is, admittedly, a strange question.

Mondstadt does not possess the largest army. It does not have Fontaine's technological advancements, Sumeru's scholars, Inazuma's military traditions, Liyue's enormous wealth, Snezhnaya's infamous Fatui, or Natlan's legendary warriors. By all conventional measures, Mondstadt should not be particularly frightening.

And yet, Rex Lapis fears it. The Almighty Raiden Shogun fears it. Two Archons whose names alone have been enough to bring entire nations to heel have, in their own words, expressed an unusual degree of caution when discussing the City of Freedom. 

Curiously, neither seems particularly frightened of Mondstadt's military. They are frightened of its people.

Rex Lapis described Mondstadtians as "remarkably pleasant" before explaining that he did not know how to deal with a citizen who had simply decided something was unfair. 

The Almighty Shogun was considerably less diplomatic. She called them fools. Then she called them dangerous. Then, when asked about their Archon, she gave a single answer: "Terrifying."

One might assume this was merely political courtesy. One would be wrong.

The Shogun was questioned at length about Barbatos himself. She dismissed his authority, his immortality, and even his power as factors contributing to her assessment. Her concern was his relationship with his people.

They love him. And apparently, that is worse. This is where matters become particularly interesting. 

Mondstadt's defining principle is freedom. The people are not compelled to worship Barbatos. They are not required to obey him. They do not even know where he is most of the time. Their Archon has no throne, no palace, no visible court, and no standing army personally devoted to carrying out his commands. And yet, should someone threaten Mondstadt, its people apparently have a remarkable tendency to respond as though the entire city has received the same order. Except no order was given.

That is what appears to concern the other Archons. A ruler can negotiate with a government. A government can negotiate with a military. A military can negotiate with an army. But what does one negotiate with when thousands of ordinary people independently reach the same conclusion?

This is particularly troubling because Mondstadtians are, by every account we have received, extraordinarily friendly.

They will offer you food. They will offer you wine. They will give you directions. They will invite you into their homes. They will laugh with you. They will listen to your troubles. And, apparently, while doing all of this, they will somehow discover exactly why you are in their city, what you intend to do, who you are working for, and whether you pose a threat to anyone they care about.

The question therefore becomes:

**Are Mondstadtians unusually perceptive? **Perhaps.

**Are they unusually united? **Certainly.

Does Barbatos deliberately cultivate this behavior?

That is considerably harder to answer. The Archon himself has not commented. This is unsurprising.

Barbatos has historically demonstrated a remarkable commitment to not answering questions due to his long periods of not being seen by the public.

However, one detail has appeared consistently in every account.

The wind. The people of Mondstadt speak of it casually.

"The wind told me."

"I heard something on the breeze."

"The wind carries rumors."

To outsiders, these statements are charming. To Archons, apparently, they are considerably less so. Rex Lapis has spent thousands of years listening to the voices of gods and mortals. The Raiden Shogun has ruled an entire nation through divine authority. Both have reached the same conclusion:

Do not threaten Mondstadt.

Not because Mondstadt will necessarily declare war. Not because Barbatos will immediately appear. Not because the Knights of Favonius will march upon your borders. But because you may never know exactly what you have set in motion.

You may insult a Mondstadtian and receive nothing but laughter. You may threaten one and receive nothing at all. You may leave the city believing the matter forgotten. Then, three weeks later, your business partners may reconsider their contracts. Your invitations may mysteriously stop arriving. Your negotiations may become unusually difficult. The inn you intended to stay at may suddenly have no rooms available. And somewhere, perhaps in a tavern you never entered, perhaps beneath a tree you never noticed, perhaps carried upon a breeze you never felt, a certain bard may hear what happened.

And then? Well. The Almighty Raiden Shogun offered The Steambird one final piece of advice.

"There is nowhere to run if you've insulted his people."

We at The Steambird would like to emphasize that this statement came from the god who once attempted to enforce an eternity that encompassed an entire nation. She may know what she is talking about.

So, dear readers, if you are planning a trip to Mondstadt: Enjoy the scenery. Drink the wine. Listen to the music. Compliment the local cuisine. Be polite to the citizens.

And above all, Do Not make the Wind angry.

Nahida put down her copy of The Steambird and smiled, looking up at Wanderer.

“I don’t see why you brought this to me.”

He frowned.

“What is your opinion of Barbatos?”

Nahida blinked.

“Barbatos?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head, considering.

“I've met him.”

Wanderer stared at her.

“You've-”

“I've spoken with him, yes.”

“You've spoken with the Anemo Archon?”

“Yes.”

“And you're only mentioning this now?”

“You didn't ask.”

Wanderer stared at her for several seconds.

“You are infuriating.”

“I've been told.”

He crossed his arms.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Your opinion.”

Nahida smiled.

“Barbatos is kind.”

Wanderer looked deeply unimpressed.

“That's it?”

“He's playful. He enjoys music. He likes drinking. He dislikes formalities. He cares deeply for Mondstadt.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Do they?”

Wanderer paused. Nahida picked up The Steambird again.

“I think that is the problem.”

“The problem?”

“Everyone assumes Barbatos is harmless because he behaves harmlessly.”

Wanderer's expression changed slightly. Nahida noticed.

“You don't agree?”

“I've met him.”

“That explains your expression.”

“He's unsettling.”

“Why?”

“He knows things.”

Nahida smiled.

“So do I.”

“Not like him.”

That caught her attention. Wanderer pulled the newspaper from her hands and pointed toward the article.

“Rex Lapis is afraid of Mondstadt. The Shogun is afraid of Mondstadt. Neither of them is particularly afraid of the people themselves. They're afraid of what happens when those people decide something.”

Nahida listened.

“And you think Barbatos is responsible?”

“I think he's capable of being responsible.”

“That is different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

She folded her hands beneath her chin.

“Tell me what happened when you met him.”

Wanderer hesitated.

“It was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He smiled.”

Nahida waited.

“He knew who I was.”

“That isn't surprising.”

“He knew what I'd done.”

Her smile faded.

“He knew what I thought I'd done.”

Nahida became quiet.

“He didn't threaten me,” Wanderer continued. “Didn't accuse me. Didn't even seem angry.”

“What did he do?”

“He asked if I was tired.”

Nahida blinked.

“That's all?”

“He offered me a drink.”

“That sounds like Barbatos.”

“Then he told me I could stay in Mondstadt if I wanted.”

Nahida's expression softened.

“And what did you say?”

“That I didn't need his pity.”

“What did he say?”

Wanderer looked away.

“He said it wasn't pity.”

Nahida waited.

“He said, ‘Everyone deserves somewhere they can put their feet down without someone trying to kick them out.’”

“And then?”

“He walked away.”

Nahida smiled faintly.

“I see.”

“You're not going to say anything?”

“I think I understand why the other Archons are afraid of him.”

Wanderer looked at her sharply.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She reached for The Steambird again.

“They are all looking at Barbatos as a ruler.”

“And?”

“He isn't.” Nahida tapped the newspaper.“They are asking what happens when a god commands his people.” She folded the paper neatly.“But Barbatos doesn't need to command them.”

Wanderer stared at her.

“He taught them what he values,” Nahida continued. “And then he gave them the freedom to decide whether they value the same things.”

“That sounds naive.”

“It does.”

“And you believe it works?”

Nahida smiled.

“I think the fact that two Archons are frightened of the result answers that question.”

Wanderer scoffed.

“Ridiculous.”

“Perhaps.”

She looked toward the window. A breeze slipped through the room, gently stirring the curtains. Nahida watched it for a moment.

“Although…”

“What?”

“I wonder if Barbatos is actually the frightening one.”

Wanderer raised an eyebrow.

“You just said-”

“I think the people of Mondstadt are.”

He went silent. Nahida's smile became thoughtful.

“Barbatos may have given them freedom.”

She looked back at him.

“But they chose what to do with it.”

The wind moved again. Neither of them spoke. After several seconds, Wanderer muttered,

“I hate that newspaper.”

Nahida laughed.

“I think it's quite informative.”

“It makes everyone sound insane.”

“No.” She smiled.“It makes Mondstadt sound loved.”

Wanderer stared at her.

“That,” he said flatly, “is somehow worse.”

Alhaitham approached her later that evening.

“Lady Buer-”

“Nahida.”

“...Lady Nahida.”

“Close enough.”

Alhaitham gave the smallest nod.

“Do you truly not fear Barbatos?”

Nahida hesitated.

“...Yes and no.”

“...”

“He is an Archon who rules no one, who gives no orders, who is, by most traditional values, harmless. In that way, I am not fearful of him.”

“Then how do you fear him?”

“...There is little information on him, even in Irminsul.”

Alhaitham's expression sharpened.

“Little?”

“Very little.”

“That is unusual.”

“It is.”

Nahida turned toward the window, watching the leaves outside sway gently despite the otherwise still evening.

“Irminsul records the history of Teyvat. The rise and fall of nations. The lives of gods and mortals. Their deeds, their relationships, their conflicts.” She paused.“But when I search for Barbatos…”

“Nothing?”

“Not nothing.”

Alhaitham waited.

“Fragments.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Fragments?”

“Stories. Records. Songs. Accounts of the Archon War. References to a nameless wind spirit. References to Barbatos appearing in one place and then another. Accounts of him helping mortals, guiding them, fighting beside them.”

“That sounds like a great deal of information.”

“It would be.” Nahida smiled faintly.“If the information were consistent.”

Alhaitham was silent.

“Some records contradict others,” she continued. “Some events appear to have happened without leaving a proper record. Some records describe Barbatos as being present when other records insist he could not have been.”

“Historical inconsistencies.”

“Not quite.” She looked at him.“Some of them aren't inconsistencies at all.”

Alhaitham understood immediately.

“Someone removed them.”

“I don't know.”

“Can you tell?”

“That is the problem.” Nahida's fingers rested against the windowsill.“I can tell when information has been altered. I can tell when memories have been erased. I can tell when Irminsul has been manipulated.” She looked back at him.“But with Barbatos, I cannot determine whether something is missing…”

“...or was never there.”

“Yes.”

The room fell silent. Alhaitham glanced toward the newspaper lying on the table.

“So the concern isn't that you know something about Barbatos that the other Archons don't.”

“No.”

“You're concerned because you don't know.”

“Yes.”

“That seems rather ironic.”

Nahida smiled.

“It is.” She picked up The Steambird again, glancing at the article.“Rex Lapis fears what Mondstadt will do when its people decide something is wrong.” She tapped the page.“The Raiden Shogun fears what happens when their convictions become united.”

“And you?”

Nahida's expression became thoughtful.

“I wonder what Barbatos knows that we don't.”

Alhaitham's eyes narrowed.

“Do you believe he knows something?”

“I believe every Archon knows things that the others do not.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“No.”

Nahida smiled.

“I think Barbatos knows far more than he lets anyone realize.”

“Why?”

“Because he's had thousands of years to learn.” She lowered the newspaper.“And unlike the rest of us, he has never had to explain himself.”

Alhaitham considered that.

“An Archon with no throne. No bureaucracy. No court. No formal government. No obligations. No visible ambitions. No need to record anything. And no reason to tell anyone what he knows.”

“Exactly.”

Alhaitham glanced toward the window. The breeze had stopped.

“So you fear his knowledge.”

Nahida shook her head.

“No.” She smiled.“I fear what happens if someone gives him a reason to use it.”

Alhaitham was quiet for a long moment. Then he asked, “Do you think he would?”

Nahida looked toward the darkening sky.

“I think Barbatos is kind.” She paused.“I also think that is the most dangerous thing about him.”

“Because kindness makes people loyal?”

“Because kindness gives people something worth defending.”

Alhaitham said nothing. Nahida folded The Steambird and placed it neatly on the table.

“And if someone threatens what he loves…” 

A faint breeze slipped through the room. Nahida watched the curtains stir.

“Then I suspect we would finally learn what Barbatos is capable of.”

Venti paused with the cup of wine halfway to his lips, looking off towards Sumeru. For a moment, his usual smile disappeared. The tavern around him continued as it always did. Laughter, music, the clinking of glasses. Nobody noticed the way the bard had gone completely still. Then the wind whispered against his ear.

Venti's eyes narrowed.

“Oh?” He lowered the cup.“So that's what you're talking about.”

A few Mondstadtians nearby glanced at him.

“Everything alright, bard?”

Venti's smile returned immediately.

“Of course!” He raised his cup.“Just felt a rather interesting breeze.”

The Mondstadtian shrugged and returned to his conversation. Venti waited until they were no longer looking. Then he quietly muttered toward the open window.

“Little one…” The wind carried his voice eastward.“Be careful what you look for.” His gaze remained fixed toward Sumeru.“I'd hate for you to find something you weren't meant to.”

Venti sighed.

“Though…” He took another sip of wine.“I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone curious enough came along.” His smile turned softer.“And you have always been curious.”

The wind shifted. For just a moment, Venti's expression became ancient. Not playful or carefree. Not the face of the wandering bard. Something far older looked toward Sumeru. Then it was gone.

Venti blinked and frowned at his cup.

“…I'm almost out of wine.”

The ancient presence disappeared completely. The bard returned.

“Diluc!”

From somewhere across Mondstadt came a very irritated voice.

“No.”

Venti pouted.

“It's an emergency!”

“No.”

“I need wine!”

“You've had enough.”

“I am an Archon!”

“You're a nuisance.”

Venti sighed dramatically.

“See? This is why I can't have nice things.”

The wind laughed with him.

And far away, in Sumeru, a certain Dendro Archon suddenly paused beside her window. She looked toward Mondstadt and shivered.

“What a terrifying god.”