Chapter Text
Although Jean is no longer a little girl, she still remembers the first time she had joined the Ragnvindrs on one of their hunting trips.
Her own parents had never quite been ones for hunting, but the late Master Crepus had enjoyed it, and had brought the boys with him often. On that particular trip, Master Crepus had taught her many things. He had taught her to identify animals from tracks in the mud, from teeth marks in foliage, or claw marks on trees. He had taught her how to track and find prey, and to recognise predators from their kill sites.
It is that memory that comes to her now as she stands over the carcass hauled back by the Springvale hunters.
In front of her, Kaeya crouches to examine the claw marks rent down the side of the deer’s trunk, from back to belly. Even to Jean’s less experienced eye, she can already tell that the predator that had left those marks is no normal beast.
No normal beast could have left claw marks that large.
“Kaeya?” Jean finally prompts.
“Large four-legged predator,” he says, without looking up. “Roughly the height of three men, on all fours.”
A chill goes down Jean’s spine.
“The wounds are oozing blood that has gone black,” Kaeya continues. “Cause is uncertain, probably some kind of poison.”
“Some kind of large, venomous beast?” Jean asks, bewildered. “I've never heard of such an animal. Do you know of any?”
“It's possible that the poison entered the deer’s system before its encounter with the predator,” Kaeya remarks noncommittally, pulling the tarp back over the carcass.
While he straightens from his crouch, Jean turns to Draff.
“Thanks for calling us in,” she says.
“I was only doing my part,” Draff assures her, and hesitates. “Do the knights know of any beast that could have done this?”
“This is the first carcass we've found,” Allan adds uneasily, “but prey grows scarce in this area. I'm not sure it's safe to travel the merchant routes.”
“We’ll increase patrols,” Jean promises.
Some fifteen minutes later, they bid the villagers farewell. Stopping by the waters of Cider Lake, Jean folds her arms, rubbing at her brow as she considers the situation.
“Should we issue a travel warning?” Huffman asks.
Jean closes her eyes, thinking on it longer, but—
“I don't think we've reached that stage yet,” Kaeya cuts in. “The Stormterror Incident has barely passed, and with the Geo Archon’s killer still at large, everyone is on edge.”
“I agree,” Jean concurs. “We should exercise caution before making any public statements.”
“That's a good point,” Huffman admits. “I'll keep the intel under wraps on my end.”
“We should probably let the rest of the knights know to keep it quiet as well,” Kaeya adds.
“I'll draft an executive order,” Jean says.
Upon returning to her office, Jean sits heavily in the Grandmaster's seat. Her breath comes out of her in a whoosh, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. For a moment, she just stares at her desk blankly, before finally, she puts herself back together, picks up her quill, and begins drafting the missive.
They'll need one squadron patrolling Springvale, just to ensure the safety of the settlement in case of an attack.
The carcass had been found nearer to Galesong Hill, however, so it might be wise to send another squadron to scope out the area.
To cover the swath of land between Galesong Hill and Springvale would require another two squadrons, and as for the merchant route leading south into Liyue—
She pauses in her writing.
For a long moment, she just stares at the parchment, before finally, she sets her quill down, and buries her face in her hands.
It pains her to admit, but moments like this only remind her of just how vulnerable Mondstadt has become. The knights have been short-staffed since Grandmaster Varka left. She knows they've left on an important mission, but in times of trouble, she can't help but wish he hadn't taken four out of every five knights with him.
She sighs again, and is just about to pick her quill back up, when she hears the whispering sound of the wind, accompanied by the gentle flap of heavy velvet curtains. A moment later, there comes the distinctive sound of teeth, crunching into something juicy.
When she turns, a familiar figure is curled up in the cradle of her windowsill, an apple in hand.
“Venti,” Jean says, surprised, rising instinctively to greet him.
Venti stays her movement with an upheld palm, before gesturing for her to remain seated. After a moment, Jean sits back down, a little abashed. In the short time they've known each other, she's come to see that Venti prefers for others not to stand on ceremony around him, but it's sometimes hard to forget who he is— to forget what he is.
With teal eyes lazily lidded, Venti tilts his head in greeting, before taking another languid bite out of his apple.
“Hello, Acting Grandmaster,” he greets casually through his mouthful. “Mora for your thoughts?”
When Jean doesn't immediately reply, he smiles, the expression strangely knowing.
“The wind carried the sounds of your lamentable sighing to mine ears,” he explains. “Pray tell, what has our unflappable Acting Grandmaster in such a state?”
“We've come across intel that a large, unknown beast may be roaming Mondstadt,” Jean explains, after a moment. “Would you… happen to know of any existing in the vicinity of Springvale?”
“Maybe Andrius and his pack have been hunting again?” Venti ventures with a laugh, but Jean just shakes her head solemnly.
“I don't think so,” she says. “The wounds were oozing black blood, as if due to some poison. Kaeya estimated from the injuries… that the beast is likely as tall as three grown men.”
Venti raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like rifthound corrosion,” he says, “but this might be a particularly large one.”
“That sounds plausible,” Jean says, perking in interest. “There've been riftwolves sighted in Wolvendom before.” She pauses. “But this carcass was discovered near Galesong Hill.”
Concern begins to grow within her.
“Are there riftwolves in other parts of Mondstadt now?” she murmurs, mostly to herself. “And such large ones at that?”
Venti doesn't answer the question, but she doesn’t need him to. “Will the knights put out a warning?” he asks instead.
“Not yet,” Jean says. “The people of Mondstadt are still recovering emotionally from the Stormterror Incident, and with the Geo Archon’s murderer still at large, we fear a public announcement may cause speculation and panic.”
Suddenly, she remembers herself. Mustering a more sympathetic expression, she turns to Venti again.
“My condolences,” she quietly offers. “I know that Rex Lapis was your friend. It came as a great shock to hear that he had been assassinated.”
Venti blinks, looking surprised, and then, after a moment, he just sighs.
“Right,” he says flatly. “Assassinated.”
He sighs again, the sound oddly exasperated. Before Jean can wonder further at his reaction, however, he clears his throat.
“In any case,” he continues, “I'll keep an ear out and let you know if I hear any howls carried on the winds. Though I must admit, riftwolves are always tricky to track down— even for me. You hear them one moment, and the next, they've gone disappearing into one of those pesky little rifts!”
He laughs as Jean blinks, taken aback by the notion that the wind may, in fact, carry sounds to Venti that are much further away than the human ear can hear. Then again, he had said he'd heard her sighing from afar. It's slightly creepy to think about, but at the same time, she can't help the sense of almost child-like wonderment that arises in her.
The wind is the eyes and ears of our Lord, her father used to preach when she had still been a little girl, long before the divorce had torn her family asunder. Everywhere the wind blows— is within His reach.
How far exactly can a god hear? Does he hear all things said where the wind blows? Do the wishes made on dandelions reach him in the breeze? Does he listen to the prayers of his people?
Has he heard hers?
Quickly, she pushes those thoughts aside. They aren't relevant to the current situation, and… she doesn't want to make things awkward by asking.
“Actually,” she blurts out instead, “could you perhaps—”
She stops herself as she realizes what she's doing.
“Could I…?” Venti prompts.
“No, nothing,” Jean says, embarrassed. “I don't want to bother you.”
“It's not a bother, Acting Grandmaster,” Venti insists, and his eyes soften. “You've helped me greatly throughout the course of things with Dvalin. Please let me know if there's any way I can help you in return.”
Under his warm, gentle gaze, Jean finds herself easing.
“Well, if that's really the case…” she begins, unable to keep a hint of shyness from her voice, before she clears her throat, bringing a mask of professionalism back onto her face. “Thank you, Venti. The knights will patrol the trade routes. I'll also assign several squadrons to scout for riftwolves between Galesong Hill and Springvale. As for you…”
She pauses.
“If it won't be too much trouble,” she continues, a little more delicately, “could you keep an ear out for those venturing off the roads? Our young allogenes, in particular, can be… a handful. They are free-willed, adventurous, and independent, always heading out into the wilderness alone. With visions, they are used to being able to take care of themselves, but with this beast at large, I worry. The knights can't watch everyone . We’re much too…”
She trails off in helpless frustration.
Short-staffed, she does not say.
There's a moment of silence, before Venti exhales.
The curtains framing him billow briefly as a breeze sings through the window, setting the hanging adornments on the overhead chandelier a-tinkling. The gentle gust almost seems to circle her, a playful caress over her cheek, through her hair, before it exits again out the window, tinkling through the chandelier like peals of soft laughter.
It had lasted only a moment, but Jean finds herself easing with the instinctive comfort, the sense of safety it had brought her.
“It is within my power,” Venti answers, before his expression turns mischievous. “I'm being put on babysitting duty then?”
At Jean's sheepish expression, he laughs, but sobers again quickly. His eyes gentle, softening at the corners with fondness, and something almost like pride.
“Truly children of freedom to the end, aren’t they?” he muses, and nods solemnly. “Worry not, I will watch over them.”