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Kaeya, for all his intelligence-gathering abilities, his charm, and his talent for extracting secrets from people who had no intention of giving them to him, was utterly incapable of understanding one particular mystery.
Of all the people of Khaenri’ah, he was the only one who had not become an Abyssal monster. The only one who had not been cursed with immortality. The only one who had seemingly walked away from the Cataclysm with nothing more than a scar, a Vision, and a lifetime of questions.
At first, Kaeya had assumed it was because he had been a child. Perhaps the curse had not reached him properly. Perhaps whatever had transformed the people of Khaenri’ah had simply overlooked him. Perhaps-
No. He had spent years collecting information. He had spoken with survivors. He had read forbidden records. He had listened to stories from monsters who remembered being human and humans who remembered watching their loved ones become monsters. Many of said monsters were children themselves.
Every explanation eventually led to the same conclusion. There should have been something wrong with him. There was. That was the problem. Kaeya simply couldn't determine what.
He had seen hilichurls stare at him for far too long. He had encountered Abyssal creatures that seemed to recognize him despite having never met him. On more than one occasion, monsters had stopped attacking altogether when they caught sight of him.
Some fled. Some bowed. And some simply stared. As though waiting for him to remember something.
Kaeya had always laughed it off. It was easier that way. He could turn almost anything into a joke.
But sometimes, late at night, when the city was quiet and the taverns had finally emptied, he wondered. Why him? Why had the curse spared him? And more importantly, who had decided that he should be spared?
Because the longer Kaeya investigated, the more convinced he became that his survival had never been an accident. Someone had intervened. Someone had altered something. Someone had looked at a child from Khaenri’ah and decided: Not this one.
Kaeya had no idea who. And that frightened him far more than the possibility that he had been cursed. Because if someone had saved him, then perhaps they had done so for a reason.
The answers to his questions came from a source he hadn’t expected. Though, perhaps, he should have. Venti, or rather, Barbatos.
It happened over shared wine and laughter in a quieter corner of Angel’s Share, long after the usual crowd had thinned. Kaeya had already lost track of how many glasses he’d had. His cheeks were flushed, his smile considerably less guarded than usual, and his words had begun to drag together.
“You know,” Kaeya slurred, resting his chin against his hand, “I’ve always wondered why I didn’t end up like the others.”
Venti smiled.
“I know.”
Kaeya blinked.
“Like- I was a Khaenri’ahn.” He paused, frowning at himself before correcting, “I am a Khaenri’ahn. I should’ve been cursed juuuust like the rest…”
“I know.”
Kaeya squinted at him. There was something about that answer. Something far too calm.
“Then do you know why I was spared?”
“Yep.”
Kaeya stared. For several seconds, there was only the quiet clink of someone setting a glass down at the other end of the tavern. Then Kaeya snorted. He leaned back in his chair, a crooked smirk spreading across his face.
“Oh?” he drawled. “Why, then?”
Venti smiled. It was a gentle smile. A familiar smile. The sort Kaeya had seen a hundred times before. Except it didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Because you didn’t forsake the Wind.”
Kaeya's smile faltered.
“…What?”
Venti took another sip of his wine.
“You heard me.”
“I did.” Kaeya stared at him. “I’m just trying to determine whether you’re drunker than I am.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s unfortunate. I'm certain you've drank more than me.”
Venti laughed softly. Kaeya didn't. His expression had gone strangely still.
“You mean…” He swallowed. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I didn't worship you.”
“I know.”
“I didn't pray to you every night.”
“I know.”
“I wasn't even particularly faithful.”
Venti tilted his head.
“You were faithful enough.”
Kaeya's brow furrowed.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does to me.”
The bard's voice had changed. Only slightly. But Kaeya had spent too many years studying people not to notice. There was something ancient beneath it. Something that didn't belong to the carefree bard sitting across from him. Barbatos was speaking.
“You were born in a land that taught its people to hate the gods,” he said quietly. “And yet you still listened when the Wind spoke.”
Kaeya's fingers tightened around his glass.
“I don't remember that.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
The answer came so easily that Kaeya's blood ran cold.
“What happened?”
Venti looked down into his wine.
“The curse came.” His voice was quieter now.“And it took almost everyone.”
Kaeya said nothing.
“The Wind was there when your kingdom fell. It carried screams across the mountains. It carried ash. It carried prayers.”
Venti's smile disappeared entirely.
“And yours.”
Kaeya stared at him.
“My… prayers?”
“You didn't pray for Khaenri'ah to win. You didn't pray for the gods to save your people. You prayed for someone to take you somewhere safe.”
Kaeya's mouth went dry.
“I was a child.”
“Yes.”
“And you heard me?”
“The Wind always hears the prayers of children.”
Kaeya looked down at his hands. For once, there was no clever remark. No teasing. No carefully constructed mask. Just a boy who had spent centuries - or what felt like centuries - wondering why he had been spared when everyone else had been condemned.
“So you saved me.”
Venti shook his head.
“No.”
Kaeya looked up.
Venti's expression was unbearably sad.
“I protected what had already chosen to belong to Mondstadt.”
Kaeya stared at him.
“But I was Khaenri’ahn.”
“You were.”
“And now?”
Venti's eyes softened.
“Now you're Kaeya.”
The words struck harder than they should have. Kaeya looked away. He laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“So all those years…”
“You thought there had to be something wrong with you.”
Kaeya didn't answer. Venti reached across the table and quietly pushed the wine bottle toward him.
“You were looking for a curse.”
Kaeya glanced at him.
“But you weren't cursed.” Venti smiled faintly.“You were claimed.”
Kaeya hummed, his grip tightening around his glass. Claimed. The word sat strangely in his mind. Not saved. Not protected. Claimed. He wasn't entirely sure which possibility unsettled him more.
Venti sighed and leaned closer across the table. His expression had lost the last traces of drunken merriment, and when he spoke, his voice dropped to a whisper.
“Do you know what Khaenri’ah means?”
Kaeya blinked.
“Erm…” He frowned, trying to remember.“No?”
Venti smiled.
“It means ‘betrayer of winds.’”
Kaeya felt his blood freeze in his veins. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The tavern seemed to grow impossibly quiet around them. The laughter. The clinking glasses. The music. All of it faded beneath the pounding of his own heartbeat.
“...What?”
Venti didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to. Kaeya stared at him.
“That's…” His voice came out quieter than intended.“That can't be right.”
“It is.”
“But Khaenri’ah-”
“-was a nation that rejected the gods.”
Kaeya swallowed.
“Yes.”
“A nation that prided itself on having no god.”
“Yes.”
“A nation whose very name…” Venti's eyes met his.“…called them betrayers of the Wind.”
Kaeya's fingers trembled around his glass. Suddenly, a dozen memories he'd spent years dismissing seemed to rearrange themselves. The hilichurls that stared. The Abyss creatures that recognized him. The monsters that backed away. The strange feeling he'd always had when the wind blew through Mondstadt's streets. The way Venti had looked at him tonight.
You were faithful enough.
Kaeya's stomach twisted.
“You're telling me…”
He couldn't finish. Venti did.
“You were born a Khaenri’ahn.” His voice was gentle.“And yet you never became a betrayer.”
Kaeya stared at him.
“You were taken from Khaenri’ah before you had the chance to become one.”
His breath grew ragged.
“And when the curse came,” Venti continued, “it found nothing in you to punish.”
Kaeya's face had gone pale.
“Because I belonged to you.”
Venti smiled.
“No. Because you chose the Wind.”
Kaeya's breath caught.
“I was a child.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't know what I was choosing.”
“I know.”
“Then how could it count?”
Venti's smile became unbearably sad.
“Because gods remember things mortals forget.”
Kaeya looked down at his glass. For the first time in his life, he wondered whether the wind that had always followed him wasn't simply wind. Whether every breeze he'd felt against his face had been something more. A hand. A promise. A claim.
Venti leaned back.
“So when the curse came looking for a Khaenri’ahn…” He lifted his glass.“It found Mondstadt's instead.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. The tavern slowly grew quieter as patrons left. Chairs scraped against the floor. Coins clinked against the counter. Someone laughed drunkenly near the entrance before stumbling out into the night. Kaeya barely noticed. His mind was still caught on that single word. Claimed.
Eventually, he looked up.
“Barbatos, I…”
Venti's eyes lifted to meet his.
“Yes, my child?”
Kaeya swallowed.
“Why… Why does it matter if Khaenri’ah betrayed the Wind?”
Venti said nothing. Kaeya shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Why not the Stone? Or the Ice? Or any of the others?”
Venti hummed. His eyes crinkled faintly.
“A good question.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying Kaeya for a moment.
“Tell me…” He tilted his head.“What do you know about the Temple of Time and Wind?”
Kaeya blinked.
“The… Temple of Time?”
“Yes.”
“And Wind?”
“Yes.”
Kaeya frowned.
“Not much.”
“Mm.”
Venti took another sip.
“Most people don't.”
“I know it's somewhere in Mondstadt.”
“Correct.”
“It's old.”
“Very.”
“It's abandoned.”
Venti smiled.
“Is it?”
Kaeya's brow furrowed.
“I thought it was.”
“That's what everyone thinks.”
Kaeya stared at him. Venti set his cup down.
“The Temple of Time and Wind predates Mondstadt as you know it.”
Kaeya's expression sharpened.
“How far back?”
“Far enough.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is when you're asking an immortal.”
Kaeya rolled his eye.
“Of course.”
Venti laughed softly. Then his expression changed.
“The temple wasn't built to worship the Wind.”
Kaeya went still.
“It was built to remember him.”
“...To... remember?”
“To remember what the Wind was before he became Barbatos.”
Kaeya's fingers slowly loosened around his glass. Venti continued.
“People forget that gods are not born with temples. They are not born with names. They are not even necessarily born as gods.” His eyes drifted toward the tavern window.“Sometimes, they are simply something that exists.”
“The Wind.”
“Yes.”
“Before Barbatos?”
“Before the name.”
Kaeya stared at him.
“And Khaenri’ah knew about it?”
Venti smiled.
“Oh, Kaeya.”
There was something almost pitying in his expression.
“Khaenri’ah knew far more about the Wind than most of Teyvat ever has.”
Kaeya felt a chill creep down his spine.
“Then why call themselves betrayers of the Wind?”
Venti's smile vanished.
“Because they believed the Wind had betrayed them first.”
Kaeya's breath caught. Venti folded his hands on the table.
“That is the part history rarely remembers.”
“The Wind did something?”
“No. That's the problem.”
Kaeya frowned.
“I don't understand.”
“Khaenri’ah wanted answers.”
Venti's voice was quiet.
“They looked at the gods above them and demanded to know why they were ruled. Why Celestia watched. Why the heavens remained silent. Why mortals were expected to kneel.” His gaze returned to Kaeya.“And when the Wind did not answer…” Venti's voice dropped.“They decided silence was betrayal.”
Kaeya stared at him.
“So they named themselves after it.”
“Yes.”
“Betrayers of the Wind.”
“Yes.”
“Because they believed the Wind had abandoned them.”
Venti nodded.
“And that is why your question matters.”
Kaeya's stomach tightened.
“Because Khaenri’ah wasn't simply rejecting the gods.”
“No.”
“They were rejecting you.” Venti's eyes softened.“They were rejecting what you represented.”
The silence between them suddenly felt much heavier. Kaeya looked down.
“And I…”
“You didn't.”
Kaeya slowly looked up.
“You were born among people who hated the Wind.” Venti smiled faintly.“And yet, when you were afraid, you called for him.”
Kaeya's throat tightened.
“When the world ended,” Venti continued, “you didn't curse the heavens.”
His voice became almost a whisper.
“You asked the Wind to carry you away.”
Kaeya said nothing.
“And so he did.”
Venti sighed.
“Of course, that’s not all.”
Kaeya startled.
“How-?”
Venti smirked.
“The Time aspect is important too. Come now, my child, you know a great deal about this world that is hidden. What is the connection between Wind and Time?” He paused. “Or perhaps…” Venti leaned forward.“What Is Time?”
Kaeya furiously searched through the information stored in his brain. There were books. Fragments of old reports. Conversations with the Traveler. Half-finished theories. Information he had never expected to need and had therefore, naturally, committed to memory.
“Time…” He frowned.“There is a Shade of Time, according to the Traveler?”
Venti nodded.
“And… and she was called the Thousand Winds?”
Venti hummed.
“Good.”
Kaeya stared at him.
“That means…” His eye widened.“The Thousand Winds weren't just yours.”
Venti's smile sharpened.
“No.”
“The phrase doesn't refer to you.”
“No.”
“Then the Wind-”
“-is far older than Barbatos.”
Kaeya fell silent. Venti picked up his glass again, turning it slowly between his fingers.
“Before there was Mondstadt. Before there were Archons. Before I had a name, or a face, or songs written in my honor…” He looked toward the window.“There was Time.”
Kaeya's mouth had gone dry.
“And with Time…” Venti's gaze returned to him.“There was Wind.”
The words settled between them. Heavy and ancient.
Kaeya thought of the temple.
Time and Wind. Not Barbatos and Time. Not the God of Freedom and some forgotten god. Time. And Wind.
“The Thousand Winds…” Kaeya whispered.
Venti nodded.
“The Thousand Winds are Time.”
Kaeya felt something cold crawl down his spine.
“No.”
Venti smiled.
“Yes.”
“But the Traveler said-”
“Mortals have given her many names.” Venti's voice was gentle.“Some called her the God of Time. Some called her the Thousand Winds. Some called her the Unseen God. Some Kairos.”
Kaeya swallowed.
“And you?”
Venti looked almost amused.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What about me?”
“What are you to her?”
For the first time since this conversation had begun, Venti did not answer immediately. His smile faded. The air around them shifted. A breeze moved through the tavern. There were no open windows. No doors. Yet the flame of the nearest candle bent toward Venti.
“I am…” The Archon's voice was quiet.“Her Wind.”
Kaeya stared. Venti looked down at his wine.
“Once, perhaps, I was simply one among many.” His fingers tightened around the glass.“A small breeze. A wandering current. A breath passing through the branches.”
Kaeya remembered the stories. The weak wind spirit. The god who had never been strong.
“But she remembered me,” Venti whispered.
Kaeya's breath caught.
“And the Wind remembered her.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Kaeya slowly looked toward the darkened window.
“Khaenri’ah…”
Venti nodded.
“Yes.”
“They didn't just betray you.”
“No.”
Kaeya felt his stomach drop. The pieces were beginning to fit together. The name. The Temple. The curse. The Thousand Winds. His survival.
Khaenri’ah had called itself the Betrayer of Winds. Not because it had rejected one god. But because the Wind was something older. Something that had existed before the Seven. Something tied to Time itself. Something that had watched Teyvat long before Khaenri’ah had risen beneath the earth.
“They betrayed her.”
Venti's eyes closed.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
The Archon smiled, but there was no humor in it.
“History is written by those who survive long enough to remember it, Kaeya. And Time…” His gaze turned distant.“…has a very long memory.”
Kaeya's blood froze. Because suddenly, he understood why Venti had asked the question.
What is Time? Not what was the Shade of Time. Not what was the Thousand Winds. What was Time?
Kaeya looked at the god sitting across from him.
“Barbatos.”
“Yes, my child?”
“Did the curse spare me…”
He stopped. Venti waited. Kaeya swallowed.
“Or did Time?”
Venti stayed at the tavern long after Diluc had wrangled the almost-catatonic Kaeya out of the bar. Truth be told, he felt something akin to pity for his poor child. He had never meant to cause him such an emotional upheaval. Well. Not that much of one, anyway.
Venti sighed, resting his cheek against his palm as he stared into the remains of his wine.
Perhaps he had been a little too forthcoming. But Kaeya had asked. And Venti had never been particularly good at refusing his children answers when they finally came looking for them. Even when the answers hurt. Especially when they hurt.
His gaze drifted toward the door through which Diluc had hauled Kaeya away. The poor thing had looked utterly horrified by the end of it.
Venti winced.
“Oh, Kaeya…”
He really did feel bad. A little. The trouble was that there were some truths that couldn't simply be explained to a mortal in pieces. Not when those truths stretched back farther than nations. Farther than Archons. Farther than the names mortals had given to the things that governed their world.
And Kaeya had started asking the right questions. Once someone started asking the right questions, it was very difficult to stop them.
Venti sighed again.
Still, there was one consolation. He glanced at the half-empty bottle. Kaeya wouldn't remember most of this.
He vanished from the chair he was sitting in.
A large tree stood before him. Irminsul.
It towered into a darkness that had no sky, its countless branches stretching farther than sight could follow. Pale leaves shimmered softly overhead, each one carrying the faintest impression of a memory. Some glowed brightly. Others were little more than dying embers.
Venti approached the trunk.
For a moment, he simply stood there. Then he placed his hand against the ancient bark.
The world changed. He delved deep into the memories of Irminsul. Past Mondstadt. Past Khaenri’ah. Past the Cataclysm. Past the names of kings and gods and nations.
He searched for a memory that just happened. Something that, according to every rule of the world, should be forgotten.
His eyes narrowed.
“Come now…” His fingers pressed more firmly against the trunk.“Where are you?”
Irminsul answered. Not with words. With memories.
A thousand thousand moments rushed past him. Births. Deaths. Wars. Prayers. Promises. Betrayals. The rise and fall of civilizations.
Venti watched them pass without blinking. He had seen much of this before. Some memories belonged to mortals. Some belonged to gods. Some belonged to things that had never been meant to be remembered at all.
And then- There. A faint thread of light.
Venti's expression changed. He reached toward it.
The memory struggled against his grasp for several seconds, flickering violently as though it knew what was about to happen. Venti's fingers tightened around it.
“Shhh.”
The memory went still. Venti stared at it for a moment. Then he opened his mouth and bit through it like an apple. The thread of light gave a tiny shudder.
Venti chewed thoughtfully. Another bite. The memory dimmed. Another. And another. With every bite, the light grew weaker, its edges fraying into nothingness until eventually there was no memory left at all. It vanished from Irminsul.
Venti swallowed.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, in the place where the memory had been, another glowing thread appeared.
Venti blinked. His lips curled into a smile.
“Oh, that's much better.”
He reached out and brushed his fingers against the replacement memory. A tavern. A bottle of wine. Kaeya laughing. Venti enthusiastically explaining the finer points of fermentation while Kaeya argued that half of what he was saying couldn't possibly be true.
A perfectly harmless conversation. Entirely mundane. Entirely believable. Exactly what Kaeya would remember.
Venti's smile widened.
“All you'll remember is wine and fermentation.” He hummed.“Fitting.”
He released the memory. Irminsul continued to glow peacefully around him, utterly unaware of the secret that had just been devoured from its roots.
Venti turned away.
There were some things even Irminsul didn't need to remember. And some things, like Time and the Wind, were much safer left as nothing more than the taste of an apple on a god's tongue.
Nahida shivered.
She had felt it. Not seen it. Not heard it. Not even understood it. Felt it. Something had shifted within Irminsul. Something impossibly old had brushed against the roots of the world, and for one brief moment, Nahida had felt the faintest tremor run through the tree.
She stared at Irminsul. Then very deliberately looked away.
No. Absolutely not. She had learned. There were questions a god should ask. There were questions a god could ask. And then there were questions that somehow, inevitably, ended with Barbatos involved. Those questions were best left unanswered.
Nahida folded her hands neatly in front of herself. She would not look. She would not investigate. She would certainly not wonder why a memory had briefly flickered and then disappeared. She would simply accept that everything was perfectly fine. Probably.
A breeze drifted through the Sanctuary. Nahida's ears twitched. She closed her eyes.
“I'm not looking.” The breeze seemed almost amused.“I mean it.”
A soft, familiar laugh echoed through the leaves. Nahida's expression flattened.
“... I think,” she muttered, “I am beginning to understand why everyone who knows more than the surface of this world is afraid of him.”