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His fingers dance over the strings of his lyre, plucking out a familiar melody. One of Dvalin’s favorites, though the dragon would be loath to admit his fondness for such a simple tune. He pours his magic into the song, letting the winds carry it to where it needs to go.
The last note of the song flows into the air as the familiar rushing of a multi-winged dragon echoes overhead. Instinctively, he braces himself against the downdraft, clutching his hat in one hand and lyre in the other. The wind nearly topples him over as his friend thunders to the ground in front of him.
He looks as elegant as always, though the stench or corruption wafts off him like a sickness. Venti’s heart twists at the look of pain in his old friend’s eyes and he reaches out a tentative hand. “Oh, Dvalin,” he murmurs. Perhaps if he was stronger-
He sighs and rests his hand on Dvalin’s chin. The dragon growls, low and barely audible, but Venti hesitates, reading the dragon’s meaning without him even speaking. “I apologize it has taken me this long,” he whispers, “I have hardly been the best friend. But I wish to help you, if you’ll let me.”
There’s a long pause then the grumbling softens, a silent assent to the bard’s pleas. Venti reaches over with his other hand, cupping the dragon’s chin, pressing his forehead to Dvalin’s snout, and breathing deeply. With this close contact, he can feel the pain and the anger swirling inside and his heart drops even more. How long had he left his friend alone to deal with these emotions? How long had Dvalin held on with no one to save or help him?
He reaches out to help unravel the frazzled ball, to ease his sorrows and anguish.
Dvalin’s heavy breaths vibrate across Venti’s hands. There’s a fragility to their connection, in a way that he can’t describe. It’s like Dvalin’s constantly pulling away from his touch without even moving, like he doesn’t want his help, and Venti’s reluctant to push too hard.
Despite this, he siphons more of his power into his friend, focusing on the feeling of flying through the air, on lazy days spent along the beach, a bottle of wine after a long day of doing nothing… he concentrates on what he wants to protect. What Dvalin promised to protect. Slowly, he feels the energy within the dragon shift and waver under his power.
Unfortunately, Venti’s relief is short-lived.
The corrupting energy twists and lashes like a cat trying to escape from being held. It turns a violent magenta shade, tinged with sludge-like black. Before Venti could sever the connection between them, the corruption strikes like a cobra.
Panting, he stumbles back from Dvalin, brain trapped in a muddled delirium as the world seems to fall away from him with a dizzying sense of vertigo. The feeling of corruption worms its way to his core, no doubt drawn to the power of the gnosis in his chest. Already the voices come in like needle points, sticking in his brain.
He needs to get to Windrise. He isn’t sure if it would even work or if he would sully the last place Venessa had stood but he has to risk it, he refuses to be the conduit through which Mondstadt is destroyed…
Desperately, he loosens himself into the wind. Had he had better control of his faculties he could probably teleport to the very top of the tree at Windrise and perch in its branches, but now… now he’d be lucky to find himself anywhere near.
His mind and body lurch as a raging fury surges through him, piercing deeper into his chest like a thorn. He hears the wind whistle past his ears as he plummets before he hits the ground, bones aching at the impact.
Through the haze he can see Vanessa’s tree across an empty field. He just has to get up… and…..
Diluc adjusts his mask with one hand as he examines the surrounding area. His intel is typically less reliable than whatever sources Kaeya finds himself intertwined with, but Elzer had seemed fairly confident the Abyss mages were planning something around Starfell Lake. Unfortunately, he had surveyed the entire area and found nothing. Suppressing a yawn, he makes his way back toward Mondstadt. The moon is long past its zenith and despite his tendency to stay up late, he can feel his eyelids drooping. Probably about time to get back to his manor and attempt to sleep before the sun comes up in full.
He’s just passing through Windrise when he notices what looks like a crumpled figure just off the path leading away from the city. Immediately, his sleep-dulled senses sharpen and he primes himself for danger. Treasure Hoarders typically prey on Mondstadtian kindness with ruses like this, but the area around them is an empty field, so he eases forward.
With a start, he realizes he recognizes the figure’s clothes as that of the young bard who performs at the Angel’s Share. He carefully checks the boy over for any injuries, but there’s nothing except a flushed face and blackened skin on his palms.
After adjusting his gloves, he rubs at the marks. It didn’t seem to be soot or scorch marks, it was almost like paint or dye…Or perhaps an illness he had never heard of. Hopefully the nuns at the church would have better insight than him.
With a sigh he rips off his mask and stuffs it in his coat pocket, then he carefully eases his arms around the young boy and lifts him up. It’s easier than he expects, given the amount of food and drink the bard can put away while running up a tab at his tavern. He shifts Venti around in his arms, supporting the head and neck, then strides purposefully back to Mondstadt.
The figure in his arms shifts and Diluc glances down to meet Venti’s disoriented gaze. The boy blinks a few times, then seems to focus on Diluc with a hitching breath. His lips move, though he makes no sound.
“Sorry,” the tavern owner apologizes, “I couldn’t quite hear. But don’t worry, the sisters will be able to assist you. I’ll get you there promptly.”
A wave of emotion flashes over the boy’s face and he squints his eyes shut with another stuttering breath. “...ow, ...ease”
Diluc stops short. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “but I really think we must hurry to the sisters. If it helps-”
“Halt and put him down,” Diluc jumps, whirling around to face the owner of the voice. He hadn’t even heard anyone come close-
A young man in white stands several feet down the path, spear held loosely in one hand. He cocks his head to the side before his gaze trails down to Venti limp in Diluc’s arms. “Put him down and back away. I doubt he can hold back the corruption much longer. It must be exterminated.”
Something in the young man’s calm tone of voice sets Diluc on edge. He tightens his grip on Venti and takes a casual step back. “And how do you plan on exterminating his ‘corruption’?” He asks, preparing to duck back in case the stranger lunges forward.
The stranger doesn’t seem to blink as he responds levelly, “Extermination through death is the only way.”
Diluc laughs hollowly as he sets Venti at his feet and steps over him. “You will not harm him,” he summons his sword from the ether, shifting his grip on the hilt and settling into a defensive position.
The stranger grits his teeth and steps forward. “I do not wish to fight mortals, but if you get in the way of my duty, I have no choice.” With that, he surges forward, faster than Diluc expects. There’s barely enough time to deflect the spear’s strike before the stranger twists around, slamming at Diluc’s knee from his side.
He darts back, dancing around Venti’s prone form, before he steps forward and swings wide, forcing the spear wielder back. He takes the opportunity to press forward, keeping the battle away from the helpless bard and preventing the spear user from taking advantage of his impressive speed. He’s not sure what is happening nor why Venti is this man’s target but he refuses to let someone else die in front of him if he can help it.
Xiao hisses as the mortal pushes him back even farther. He’s fast and strong, despite the weight of his weapon holding him back. He leaves few openings to take advantage of and despite how much he wishes this man ill, he can’t help but be impressed.
Finally, the mortal falters. It was really only a matter of time, but a simple misplaced foot slipping just a few inches left enough of a gap for Xiao to dart around and slam the butt end of his spear into the side of the man’s head.
The mortal drops to the ground hard, and for a moment the adeptus worries that he might have hit too hard and killed him, but a quick glance soothes his worries - the man’s chest rises and falls steadily.
Finally.
He grits his teeth and stalks over to the barely-conscious Archon. His grip on his spear falters as he watches one of the few people he could possibly consider a friend writhing on the ground, chest rising and falling in labored breathing. He tightens his hold, then levels his spear at Barbatos. He hesitates but a moment as teal-blue eyes meet his and a wan smile turns up dry and cracked lips. He closes his eyes and thrusts down.
As he does, a heavy force slams him away from Barbatos and to the ground, keeping him in place with the full force of its weight. Anger and frustration coil tight in his chest. Why won’t this man just give up ?
He teleports out of the man’s grip, winding up to knock him out again, but the Muratan rolls out of the way, ready to stall him in his duty. Though he refused to let his spear be tainted with mortal blood, this particular mortal was making it quite difficult to keep that oath.
Diluc blinks back the fuzz and winces against the pounding headache. He staggers to his feet and looks around. There’s a pit in his stomach screaming at him that something is wrong, that he needs to do something. He catches sight of…. Fuck .
He lunges at the spear wielder poised to stab Venti, and manages to catch him around the waist, slinging him to the ground and planting a knee in the small of his back. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but that was a miscalculation. With a puff of anemo, the boy disappears and the hairs on the back of Diluc’s neck stand up. Almost instinctively, he somersaults forward as the enemy flings his staff into empty air. He rolls to his feet, re-summoning his sword and advancing.
The white-clad boy hisses as he approaches, “What are you doing? You are getting in my way.”
Diluc can’t bite back a snippy laugh. “That’s the point. I will not let you kill an innocent boy.”
A vaguely disgusted grimace etches itself across the other’s face and he opens his mouth as if to respond but his head jerks to the side, looking at something to Diluc’s right.
“You were so close, Xiao,” Venti staggers to his feet, voice raw with pain and shoulders shaking. His eyes meet Diluc, and the wine mogul could have sworn his eyes were green just a few minutes ago. But now… bright magenta eyes fill with iridescent tears that fall down his cheeks. “Why did you stop him?” the bard chokes out.
Diluc opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. He’s just staring as Venti clutches at his chest, breathing audible all the way from where he stands.
The spear user steps forward. “Lord Barbatos-” but he’s cut off as the bard leaps at him, impossibly fast, and knocks him to the ground.
The redhead blinks, heart dropping into his chest as he processes what the other man said. Did he just call Venti- ...there was no way…
The man manages to flip the bard-and-maybe-god off of him then disappears in a whisp of anemo energy before reappearing at his side and grabbing his elbow. There’s a moment of intense vertigo as the landscape shifts around them. He feels like he just drank his entire stock of wine before the world seems to right itself. His stomach roils and his head pounds as he stumbles into the other man who hisses in pain, but manages to easily support his weight..
Once he can actually see straight, he notices the man must have teleported them, since just a few seconds ago they were at Windrise and now they stood on a cliff overlooking Stone Gate.
“Stay here,” the spear user orders, glaring sidelong at Diluc, “You’ll only get in the way.”
Diluc meets his gaze, noting ragged claw marks dripping blood from the man’s shoulders. He opens his mouth to respond, but something in the stranger’s eyes makes him reconsider. The man takes his silence as understanding and turns to leave, but the redhead holds out a hand with a hurried, “Wait.”
The boy turns his head and raises an eyebrow.
“You said… back there you called him ‘Barbatos’. Is he truly the Anemo Archon?”
A look of sadness passes over the younger man’s face, a shadow that is quickly replaced by a look of neutrality. He nods, then turns to face forward. “You should not have to see your god fall.”
Unease roils in Diluc’s stomach. “I-I see. May the wind bless you.”
But the boy is already gone.
Xiao leaves the mortal alone at the border between Liyue and Monsdtat. He seemed like a capable fighter so he should be more than able to get to safety. In the meantime, he had a duty to fulfill.
He reappears behind the Archon as the latter stumbles on the path toward his city. If Xiao didn’t know any better, he’d assume Barbatos was merely drunk, but the stench of corruption wafts off him, twisting the adeptus’ gut in revulsion. “Barbatos,” he calls, “it is time.”
The Archon whirls toward him, face twisted in fury and pain. Xiao almost doesn’t recognize it. He steels himself for Barbatos’ attack, praying that he can subdue the threat. He’s fought gods tainted by corruption, but never an Archon, and never one as mobile as he himself was.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Barbatos lunges forward, striking with deadly sharp nails toward Xiao’s throat. He manages to knock the hand aside and dart around to strike at the Archon’s side.
A blast of power knocks him back, though he manages to twist so he lands on his feet, already braced for the god’s next assault. It’s clear Barbatos lacks combat experience from his wild attacks, but his raw power alone is enough to keep Xiao on the defensive.
He realizes that his only hope of defeating the god in front of him is through the power of the mask slung on his hip, but the god leaves no opening to don it. He dances back from Barbatos’ claws before swiping towards his exposed face, but the wind whips him back. He twists in midair, managing to land on his feet before dashing forward, catching Barbatos in the side with his spear. Black blood seeps from the wounds and the corruption screams in his head - he must exterminate the darkness. He winces against the thought, hesitating just long enough for a weight to crash into his back and for claws to rip through his flesh. He grimaces against the pain but before he can shake the god off, the weight is blown back by a power not his own.
He jumps to his feet, spear at the ready, only to find a blond man narrowing his gaze towards Barbatos, drawing a sword from the ether.
Exasperation erupts in his chest as he staggers to his feet, ignoring the pain pulsing through his back. “Mortal,” he hisses, “You should not be in this fight. Leave before you-”
His next words are cut off as Barbatos launches himself at the mortal, who makes quick work of his anemo abilities to redirect the corrupted god’s strikes. But it’s a battle of attrition the mortal has no hope of winning.
With shaking hands, Xiao dons the mask. Whispers of bygone gods and demons felled by his spear sends shivers down his spine and he can feel the weight of his accumulated karma pressing in on him. He shakes the feeling aside and ducks into battle, knocking aside one of Barbatos’ wild swings and pushing him back.
There’s a primal rage to the corrupted god’s attacks, and a strength he doesn’t even remember from the archon’s prime during the war, no doubt a byproduct of the corruption twisting his mind. With the strength provided by his mask, however, he meets each and every blow with one of his own, scoring hits with every parry. This only serves to infuriate the god, who howls with rage. The winds heed the call, buffeting Xiao back.
He swiftly rolls to his feet, but the mortal is already there, covering his flank with a blast of anemo that knocks the god aside once again. The mortal readies his sword, practiced and poised, as the god, face contorted in rage, shoots himself forward.
Right onto the point of the mortal’s sword.
Aether watches in a paralyzing mix of amazement and fear as the two fighters clash, nearly too fast to see. He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, but judging by Paimon’s whimpering nearby, it’s hardly a common occurrence.
The boy in green knocks the boy in white back with a rush of wind and almost instinctively, Aether rushes forward to protect his flank, blasting the other boy aside with his newfound powers. He draws his sword defensively in attempt to dissuade the boy from fighting but he’s already launching himself forward too fast to react-
Aether’s breath hitches in his throat as he looks down into the boy’s eerie pink eyes, then down at the sword protruding through the boy’s back. He takes an unconscious step back but the boy latches onto him, one hand grabbing his on the hilt, the other digging claws painfully into his shoulder. He furrows his brow as the hilt seems to warm up in his hand, and the boy’s eyes flash green for a second before he hisses and squints them shut.
The warmth in the hilt balloons until it’s almost too hot to handle, then a blinding force wrenches him back and off his feet. He loses his sword as he tumbles back, rolling to a stop and scrambling to his knees. He blinks back the stars in his vision and sees the boy in green crumpled a fair distance away and the boy with the spear crouching over him.
He takes a step forward, unsure if he had just made things better or worse, but the boy with the spear looks back at him with a quizzical expression. Aether steps forward yet again as Paimon emerges with an uncharacteristically soft “Is it safe yet?”
The boy straightens gracefully, mask now secured beside him. “What did you just do?” He asks, eyes narrowed as if he expects Aether to lie.
“I-I don’t know. I didn’t mean to kill him, I just wanted to separate the two of you. The fight seemed intense. I was just trying to keep him away but in my defense, he literally jumped onto my sword.”
The boy shakes his head. “I am well aware. But you’re a mortal. How could you purify the corruption?”
Aether glances down at the boy in green and notices not a single trace of blood marring the boy’s clothes, now sign of any sword wounds at all, just a nasty gash on his side. He blinks a few times, managing a strangled, “ What ?” before the sound of armored footsteps hurry closer.
The boy with the spear tsks and vanishes as city guards jog to a halt. The one in front gives an odd salute. “Hail, strange and respectable traveler, we heard reports of a disturbance by Windrise, did you see anything?”
The Traveler glances at Paimon, who launches into a vivid explanation of the battle (accompanied by scarily accurate sound effects), delicately leaving the part out where Aether apparently stabbed the unconscious boy.
The guard looks down at the boy in green, then scratches his head. “As long as no one is seriously hurt, I suppose there’s no need to detain you. However, considering the strange circumstances, I ask that you follow us to the Acting Grand Master. She will likely wish to be involved in these matters.”
The guard motions to someone behind him who carefully scoops up the boy in green and heads toward the walled city in the distance. Aether follows close behind, still slightly shaken from the fight, though Paimon’s chattering does wonders to distract him.
The “Acting Grand Master” is a young woman who introduces herself as Jean Gunnhildr, and motions for him to take a seat in a comfy-looking chair. He perches himself carefully on its edge before launching into a quick recap of the fight with the spear user, though much like Paimon, he conveniently leaves out the accidental stabbing.
She looks pensive for a long moment, brow furrowed in thought. “It’s clear you were just an innocent bystander in their fight. Since the polearm user has disappeared, we’ll have to rely on the bard’s testimony. In the meantime, I’ll alert the Knights of Favonius to keep an eye out but hopefully they won’t attempt to enter the city. In the meantime, there are plenty of places to stay the night, I can suggest a few if you’re new to Mondstadt.”
Aether sighs. Each world has a different reaction to outsiders, though this place at least seems welcoming. “I unfortunately am quite new and don’t have any money with me. I was planning on camping somewhere.”
The Acting Grand Master shakes her head. “There’s no need, I’m sure there’s room in the cathedral if you need a place to sleep. Just ask for Sister Jillian and let her know that Jean sent you. She’ll get you squared away.”
Aether nods his thanks and takes his leave. After the night he had, he would be grateful for some shut-eye.
Venti blinks back to consciousness with a raging headache he doesn’t even remember from the celebration of Mondstadt’s expulsion of the Lawrence clan. Colors resolve themselves to the form of a kindly older woman with greying brown hair looking down at him with a faint smile. “Are you feeling okay, dear? Would you like the deaconess to check you over?”
For a moment he’s confused, as he can’t imagine why one of the sisters would be here, then he remembers the feeling of the corruption, the pain and anger and hate, and… and the man with the blond hair ripping it all away.
He sits up gingerly, offering the woman a bright smile back. “Oh, I would feel terrible troubling her over such a little incident. I’m quite fine now, thank you for the excellent care!”
The sister looks a little uncertain but shrugs. “The Knights of Favonius do request your presence at your earliest convenience. Seems there are still some i’s to be dotted and t’s to be crossed. Will you be needing anything else?”
Venti considered the question. “Now that you mention it, I could do with a crisp apple…” He murmurs, “If it’s no trouble, that is.”
“Not at all. You wait here and I’ll go grab one for you,” the sister smiles.
For a long moment, he considers just teleporting back to Windrise for a quick recharge but the thought of a nice, juicy apple has him under his thrall, so he pulls his cape over his shoulders and adjusts his cap.
By the time he’s finished making himself presentable, the sister reappears with a pair of apples. “May the wind bless your travels, bard,” she says. Venti returns the well wishes with a little bow and makes his way out of the cathedral, albeit still a bit winded.
Again, he momentarily considers simply ditching the Knights but figures that they would probably worry themselves over nothing, so casually meanders his way to their headquarters. The Knights in front give him strange looks as he requests entry, but soon escort him into the Dandelion Knight’s study.
She’s a kind woman who looks at him with soft blue eyes. “Thank you for coming,” she says, shuffling a stack of papers to the side and folding her hands. “I was hoping you could give me more information regarding what happened last night. A traveler passing through merely said that he came upon you and another fighting on the path to the city?”
“It’s quite a long story, I’m afraid. But shortened down, I was attempting to purify the corruption turning Dvalin against Mondstadt but was corrupted myself. The man the traveler saw was an adeptus from Liyue whom I asked to take me out before I could become a threat to, well… everything. But it seems the corruption was expunged by that traveler,” he says with a shrug. “Frankly, I’d like to know more about him as well.”
The Acting Grand Master gives a small frown but doesn’t seem to doubt his story. “I see. We know of this traveler’s location, I trust you with the location.”
Venti nods his thanks as he makes his way to the exit. Fairly quick and clean, wasn’t being yelled at for not doing his job-
“And Venti?” The Dandelion Knight pipes up, half standing behind her desk. “I’m… I’m very glad you are alright. If you require help with Dvalin in the future, please ask the Knights for assistance.”
That stops him short. He prides himself on his intuition and ability to read between the lines so he easily understands what the acting grand master is implying. And yet she treats him like any other citizen. Truly a woman worthy of his Vision.
“I appreciate it, Master Jean. I shall keep you in my mind should I ever brave that lion’s den again.”
As the Acting Grand Master told him, the traveler is standing in the courtyard below the Knights' headquarters, bantering with the Cavalry Captain. Venti waits until Kaeya excuses himself before gliding down and landing behind the young man. “Hello there, hero,” he says.
The young man turns around in surprise and his eyebrows raise when he sees Venti standing there. “O-Oh! Hello, I-I’m glad you’re… okay. After… after everything.”
“I have been better, but that’s a story for another time, if you don’t mind following me somewhere a little more… secluded?”
The traveler nods, so Venti grabs a hold of his arm and rockets them both up to the wall surrounding the city. The traveler yelps and grabs a hold of Venti’s hand on his arm before quickly settling on solid ground.
“ Warn me next time,” he grumbles, hand on his knees to catch his breath.
Venti laughs the thought off. “Of course, of course. Anyway I was hoping you could tell me how you purified the Abyssal corruption.”
The traveler blinks. “I-I don’t know. I just...it felt hot and a little familiar? I’m not sure how to describe it.”
“Have you done anything like this before?” He presses.
“No, not really,” the traveler shrugs, “I-”
“What about the red diamond you found?” A floating white fairy jumps out from behind the traveler, hands clasped behind her back. The traveler glances back at her then nods.
“That’s right, Paimon and I came across this diamond,” The traveler holds out a glittering gem that Venti immediately recognizes. “It used to be red and I felt the same kind of heat from holding this as I did with the, uh… sword.”
In awe, Venti holds his hands out. The gem slowly floats over until he’s cupping it in his hands, a familiar warmth in his grasp. “This is one of Dvalin’s tears. And you say you purified it?” He speaks softly to keep the need out of his voice, but it tears through anyway.
The traveler shrugs noncommittally. “I-I guess. I really just held it. I think it reacted to my magic? But I’m not certain.”
Venti nods and focuses on the warmth in his hands as he holds it to his chest. “Well then hero,” he says, chest near bursting with joy and tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, “I have a favor to ask.”