Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a wisp of the winds and a boy without a name.
Once upon a time, there was a wicked god of storms and a huntress who scorned her beloved.
Once upon a time, there was a courageous redhaired warrior and a knight that protected her people.
Once upon a time, the boy without a name was killed in the battle for freedom, and the wisp of the winds took on his face so that the memory of him would never be lost to time. The wicked god of storms was felled, and the huntress who scorned her beloved was at peace. The courageous redhaired warrior mourned his fallen friend, and the knight that protected her people swore to uphold honour and freedom for the rest of her days.
And one by one, all were lost to the annals of history – names and faces forgotten, except in story and in the memory of the last one standing. The Anemo Archon, the wisp of the winds ascended to Celestia, the protector of the newly freed nation, never forgot those friends who fought beside him.
Most of all, he never forgot the boy without a name. The Nameless Bard was naught but a footnote in history, but to the wisp, it was the face he saw in every reflection. It was the notes that rang from his lyre, so similar to the ones that had first caught his attention all those centuries ago. It was the care he showed his people, living amongst them and experiencing everything the world had to offer.
If the bard could not experience freedom for himself, then Venti would live everything twice over in his stead. Venti would keep his face as a memory, and never forget the first friend he ever made.
In many ways, his very first memory was of that boy’s face. The second he saw it, he became unique. Independent. Rather than being one of many, a thread lost amongst countless others in the Thousand Winds, Venti was himself.
And soon enough, he was human – walking amongst them to share a laugh and a tune and a drink. If the boy hadn’t whistled that tune, if the wisp hadn’t been irrevocably drawn to that song, then who knows how history could have gone? But the boy had whistled and the wisp had followed, and Decarabian had fallen to the force of a thousand winds and the very people he had trampled all over. Winter had been driven from Mondstadt’s skies, and the people had finally known freedom at last.
All at the cost of the Nameless Bard.
Venti’s one regret.
Tonight, like many nights, he drinks. He doesn’t drink to forget, unlike many seem to think – forgetting is never a pastime that Venti will allow himself to partake in. Forgetting would be sacrilege to the boy’s memory, to his friends’ memories, numerous and painful as they are.
He drinks to experience – to be among his people in their entirety. He plays song after song on his lyre, wondering all the while if the boy would be proud to see how far his nation and the wisp have come. He lets the energy in the room and the tensions in his body rise higher and higher and higher before he knocks back another drink to dull them once more. He’s pulled tighter than a bowstring, ready to snap with one more tug, but it doesn’t matter, not when the wine still flows and his people still cheer.
But all the while, he can only wish that someone else stood by his side as well.
The trouble with the Thousand Winds, to put it shortly, is that they were not formed by Celestia. They were formed by the hands of Time herself, and Istaroth has always been beyond Celestia’s reach. As such, when she hears her most beloved child mourning the loss of his friend once more, Istaroth remembers, and Istaroth thinks.
She can’t interfere. Of course she can’t – it would turn the balance of the world on its head, and while that will certainly happen someday (and quite soon, with the way things have been going), Teyvat isn’t ready for that just yet. What she can do, though, is give a little nudge. Just a little more power, a little more energy, to her most beloved child, enough to accomplish what needs to be done. The memory is already there, and it’s always been easier to go forwards than back – and if her most beloved child doesn’t know what to do, then she will simply rely on his siblings to guide his hand.
The stopped clock ticks once more as its hands go forward and forward and forward, and Istaroth watches with pleasure as the Thousand Winds (nine hundred and ninety nine, when their brother is occupied at that tavern he so adores) begin to swirl around the ancient tree at Windrise.
Her most beloved child loves to come here, and his siblings all know it – he will find his gift quickly if they leave it here.
And so Istaroth watches, and does not interfere as the threads of time are twisted and pulled and folded over on themselves by the rhythm her most beloved child plays. He doesn’t realise the magic he weaves, but his siblings guide his hands, and the tavern cheers all the louder as the downright archaic song begins to echo throughout the bar. It will be a conduit of sorts, a song to welcome home the one who first played it.
The body that now lays beneath the tree emanates with Anemo energy, weaving air into his lungs as the wind sprites urge his heart to beat. He won’t wake just yet, not for another few hours, but for the first time in over a thousand years, the Nameless Bard is alive again.
Istaroth hopes that her most beloved child will enjoy his gift.
oOoOo
Over a thousand years after his death, a boy without a name wakes up under the tree in Windrise.
He doesn’t know where he is at first. He’s never been to this tree before, and it’s so enormous that he would surely be able to see it for miles around — which means this must not be anywhere near his hometown. Pushing himself up off of the ground with shaking limbs, he begins to look around for anything familiar, any landmark that could tell him which direction to go in order to return to Mondstadt.
The mountains off in the far distance look vaguely familiar, but at the same time, something is off. They’re the wrong way around, for one, so he must be on the opposite side of them. For two, the shape looks slightly different as well – more rounded, less precise.
How did he even get this far from home?
The boy wracks his mind for any possible explanation, only to come up blank. The last thing in his memory is a hazy recollection of the end of the rebellion, and while he’s positive that they won, he can’t quite seem to recall how. Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr must have beat Decarabian, but he doesn’t remember where Amos had been. His little wind sprite had been at his side during that final battle, but now, the boy finds himself wholly and totally alone.
His friends must be so worried, especially his wisp. Who knows if anyone’s been taking care of him or giving him attention or playing songs for him in the boy’s absence? The poor little sprite must be miserable by now.
There’s only one thing to do, then: the boy has to figure out how to get home.
Judging by the way the mountains are pointed, he’s going to need to get past them in order to return to Mondstadt. He’s too low down to get a vantage point though, lying on the ground beneath such an enormous tree, so he pulls himself to his feet with no small effort and begins to scale the trunk. It’s knobbly and twisted, perfect for finding footholds to hoist himself up, and soon enough the boy is sitting on one of the colossal limbs as he pants from exertion.
Up here, he has a much better view of the landscape, and he spots several well-trodden roads within moments. To the left, he also catches sight of something else, something that shocks him to his core as he stares at it for a long moment, trying to make sense of what’s meeting his eyes.
There’s a city.
A big one, with red-roofed wooden houses, multiple windmills, and a huge stone wall that encompasses the whole thing. It’s tall, possibly built in levels if the rising height of the buildings is anything to go by, made half of cool grey stone and half of wood painted in cheery colours, and it rests right in the middle of a lake that he absolutely recognises. It’s Cider Lake – he’s never seen it himself before now, but what else could it be? He knew there was an island in the middle of the lake, sure, but since when was there a city as well?
Something seems wrong here. The landscape is recognisable, but it isn’t quite the same. The mountains are dulled and there are landmarks that weren’t here before – an ancient tree, an established city. The boy doesn’t know how he got here nor where he even is, beyond knowing that he’s on the wrong side of Cider Lake and the mountains.
“I think I might be lost, my sprite,” he murmurs, letting the wind swallow up his words only moments after they leave his mouth. “Where are you?”
The breeze rustles through his hair, shifting his braids against his face. A moment passes, then another, until the boy slowly begins to descend from the tree again. He’s only a few feet above the ground when he forgoes climbing and chooses to drop instead, knees bending with the force of the impact.
He turns around, adjusting his cloak as he prepares to step onto the road, when he sees a tall stone spire resting on a dais in front of the tree. There’s a statue on top, a life-sized cloaked figure with their hood up.
The boy steps carefully as he inches closer to it, but he can’t hold back the gasp as he comes around to the front and finally sees the statue in full. It’s not perfect, not by any means, but… it almost looks like him . The braids, the build… the face is too vague to know for sure, but it looks as if there’s a statue of him built beneath this tree that he doesn’t remember ever existing before now.
What should he do about that? Should he even do anything, or just assume it’s coincidence and move on?
Then again, there’s really nothing he can do. So what if there’s a statue that resembles him? If it’s important, he can find an explanation later, and if not, well then, there’s no point wasting time worrying about it.
Pointedly turning away from the statue that bears him an uncanny resemblance, the boy takes a moment to orient himself before heading off in the direction of the city he’d seen before. It will be difficult to enter Mondstadt without taking the main road, and if he were to go straight there from where he’s standing now, that path would take him straight through Wolvendom. Better to stop in the city first, and see if there’s a better or safer road he can travel before he starts haring off into the wilderness.
The winds rustle through his unbraided hair as he begins to walk, and he frowns, bringing a hand up to run it through the loose locks. Odd that his braids have come undone – the cords he’d been using to bind them seem to be long gone as well, although a quick tug to the edge of his dull green tunic fixes that quickly. He redoes his left braid as he walks through the grasses, tying it off with the soft green thread before moving onto the other side. The makeshift ties won’t hold nearly as long as the woven cords he’d had before, but it will have to do for now. Perhaps he can perform in the city and earn some coin to buy new cords. Surely they must sell something like that, right? Even a length of twine for tying up packages would do in a pinch.
Though the cords from his braids are gone, the rest of his outfit seems to be thankfully intact. His cloak and tunic are still in good enough condition that he won’t need to replace them soon, although there’s a small hole in his shorts right over the front of his thigh that he should patch.
Curiously, it seems that in the absence of the cords, something else has been added to his outfit. There’s an odd little charm hanging from his belt, made of what seems to be golden metal and sturdy glass. It’s sort of round anda a bit squished-flat, and enclosed in the glass is a little teal whirlwind. Each side of the charm is emblazoned with the sigil of Anemo, just like the one his sprite had shown him.
“Now, where did you come from?” He murmurs, picking up the charm and turning it over. It’s cool to the touch, but not cold – more like a refreshing breeze than a chilled blade.
He may ask about the charm in town, as well. It looks to be affixed to his belt by a pair of familiar cords (so that’s where those went), so he could at least see if they have some sort of fastener to keep it attached to his clothing. Either that, or he’ll just put it in his pocket so that he can have his braid cords back.
The sun passes sluggishly overhead as the boy walks through unfamiliar terrain, though he does end up following the well-trodden dirt road that seems to be leading in the direction he wants to go. He sees a few birds fly on above him, their shadows dark against the pale dust of the road, but there doesn’t seem to be a single human for miles around. He does find another path, one that diverges to lead to some large stone door surrounded by glowing runes, but when he tries to open it, it doesn’t budge.
Another thing to gather information about, it seems. The world beyond his prison really is far odder than he thought it would be.
Still, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? It would be far too boring if everything was just like the walled-in jail that Mondstadt had become under Decarabian’s rule. Hopefully, his friends have already started working on that in his absence – he’ll have to pitch in double the effort to make sure everything goes smoothly when he reunites with them again.
Soon enough, the boy finds himself at what he presumes to be the lake city’s entrance. Three dirt roads converge before a wide stone bridge, and he takes a moment to look over the city’s sky-scraping structure before he steps onto the bridge and heads for the gate.
Now that he’s nearly inside the city itself, he’s starting to see a few more people. A young boy on the bridge surrounded by pigeons waves to him as he walks by, and he, not wanting to be impolite, waves back. Up ahead, two men in knightly armour stand guard on either side of an enormous portcullis, though they seem largely unconcerned with who’s entering or exiting. Likely, their role is more for show and comfort than actual defense. Luckily, neither of them stop him as he walks into the city, though the one on the left gives him a nod of acknowledgement that seems a bit too familiar for a steadfast knight to give to a stranger.
The first word he thinks upon entering the city upon Cider Lake is beautiful. The second word he thinks is carefree.
Everyone here seems to be quite happy, going about their days with cheerful smiles and friendly waves to their fellow townsfolk. A handful of guards walk the streets, but they seem far more welcoming and helpful than stern and strict – he even sees one buy an orange flower from a little girl off in one of the side streets, and jog off to hand it to a young woman sitting on her porch with a book. They’re all so peaceful, so happy.
This is what he wants for Mondstadt. What he’s always wanted. For his people to have this tranquil freedom, allowed to go about their days under the open sky, trading flowers and laughs rather than hiding from the storm raging overhead… it would be everything he’s ever wanted.
“Oh, Venti?” A voice from behind him startles him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see a blonde maiden in a shoulderless blouse and a boater hat blinking at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you were come back this way until Friday.”
The boy’s brow furrows. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not Venti, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes widen, and then she lets out a sheepish laugh. “Oh dear, I’m sorry about that! You just look a bit like someone I know, is all.”
“Beatrice, is that Venti?” Calls a young man from behind her. “Is he going to perform again tonight? I might be going to the Angel’s Share after all, if I’ve got a show like that to look forward to!”
“No, he’s not Venti, and mind your business,” Beatrice calls back before turning to the boy again. “I really am sorry about the mixup. Is this your first time in the area, then? I think I’d remember if I’d seen you around before.”
“Something like that. I was actually trying to get to Mondstadt, but I think I’ve gotten a bit turned around – this doesn’t seem to be the place I was looking for. Do you know of another town near here, maybe up north?”
Beatrice’s brow furrows, and she taps her chin in thought. “This town’s the only Mondstadt I know of… up north, you said? I guess it couldn’t be Springvale, then. Hey, Miles?”
A passing guard, flagged down by Beatrice’s call of his name, pauses his rounds to step into the conversation. “Did you need something, ma’am?”
“Not me, but this young traveller here. Says he’s looking for another town in Mondstadt, maybe up north?”
Miles frowns, but the moment his eyes fall on the boy, they spark with recognition. “Venti? You came back quick.”
“Ah, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” the boy informs him politely. “I haven’t been to this city before, though I’m beginning to realise I apparently bear a striking resemblance to someone who does.”
Odd, that everyone who’s spoken to him so far has mistaken him for this ‘Venti’ fellow. Could he be the one the statues were built of? That would certainly explain the confusion.
“Huh.” Miles shrugs. “Well, I don’t know about a town north of here, but if you’re looking for a map, Lisa might be able to give you a hand. She’s the librarian of the Knight of Favonius – I don’t think you’ll have heard of her, if this is your first time visiting. I can tell you where to find her, if you’d like?”
The boy nods gratefully. “That would be much appreciated, thank you.”
“Sure thing. You see that big stone building up there? Not the church, but the one next to it – that’s the Knights’ headquarters. If you just keep going up the stairs, you’ll reach it. Head inside, you can tell the guards that Miles sent you and you need to talk to Lisa if they try and ask your business. The library will be the first door on the left. You got all that?”
“Yes, I think so. Thank you very much for your assistance, sir!” He gives Miles one of his nicest smiles, the one that always makes Gunnhildr forget that he’s been climbing on the roofs again when she specifically asked him not to. It seems to work on Miles as well, for the man returns a sunny smile of his own as he waves farewell.
So to the people he’s already met here, this town is called Mondstadt – based on what Beatrice had said, at least. Where does that leave his Mondstadt, then?
If this is Mondstadt, where does that leave him?
oOoOo
Today, like every other, is a busy day for Jean. There’s never a shortage of things to do when one is the Acting Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius, especially after so many of the Knights had been pulled away on that northern expedition.
Jean is perpetually shortstaffed, but they make it work – she and Kaeya end up with far more paperwork than any single person should deal with, and they end up having to rely on Diluc’s vigilante activities (which Jean has known about for quite a while, contrary to what the other Knights may think – Diluc is the opposite of subtle) to clear out some of the more difficult monster nests, but Mondstadt is still standing and still happy. Clearly, she must be doing something right.
Needless to say, when Jean finishes up the last of today’s folder, she’s exhausted. Her work isn’t done, not by a long shot, but everything left is something that can wait until tomorrow. Besides, she can’t stay late to keep working until midnight this time, not when she’s already promised to meet Lisa in the library. They’re supposed to be heading to the Angel’s Share to get drinks tonight, and Lisa won’t accept tardiness.
When she opens the door to her office, though, she finds something of an unexpected scene awaiting her. It doesn’t seem to be an altercation, but what does surprise her is exactly who’s in the middle of it.
“Venti?” Jean says, bewildered. That seems to be him, at least, standing in the middle of the trio of guards that are meant to be watching the front door. His clothes are more lowkey than usual, and a little tattered if she’s being honest, but she’d know those braids and that face anywhere.
He turns around, giving her a sheepish smile. “Not Venti, I’m afraid. You aren’t the first to mistake me today, ma’am – I can’t even count how many citizens have thought we were one and the same.”
…He’s not Venti? Well, that can’t be right.
Then again, now that she looks closer, some things do seem slightly off. His hair is the biggest tell – the characteristic teal is gone from the ends, leaving only black. His eyes, too, lack their usual bright colouration. They’re grey rather than teal, and while it does suit him, it certainly isn’t a look Venti would ever have.
Jean’s brow furrows as she frowns. “I see. My apologies for the mixup, then. Now, given that you’ve come to our headquarters, I assume you wish to seek assistance from the Knights of Favonius in some way? How can we help?”
“Acting Grandmaster, he says he’s here to see Lisa,” Athos informs her. He looks rather disbelieving, and she wonders if it’s because he still thinks this stranger is Venti, or because he thinks the stranger is impersonating Venti. Mondstadt’s favourite bard usually has a free pass to go wherever the hell he wants, including entering Headquarters, but if someone were to try and impersonate him in order to take advantage of that privilege…
Well. She can see why Athos, Porthos, and Aramis followed the boy inside now, even if he seems intent making it clear that he isn’t Venti. Better to be safe than sorry, after all.
“I am here to see Miss Lisa,” the boy confirms. “I wish to ask her about a map so I might find my way to a certain city. I did ask for directions, but Miss Beatrice and Sir Miles were unable to help me, and directed me here instead.”
She’s got to hand it to the boy, he’s certainly polite. “Very well. At ease, Knights – please return to your posts. I’ll take our visitor to see Lisa.”
Porthos nods, followed by Athos and Aramis. “Understood, Acting Grandmaster.”
They’re out the door in moments, leaving Jean alone with their visitor. He seems a bit confused overall, but not particularly worried – if she had to guess, he either has no reason to be scared, or is simply far too used to going along with whatever happens to be nervous in anything short of a life and death situation.
She hopes it’s the former, but she fears it’s the latter.
“Lisa is usually in her library, which is through this door,” Jean tells the boy, pushing the door open to allow him through first. His eyes widen at the sight of the Favonian Library in all its glory, and she suppresses a fond chuckle at the sight. She always loves to see people awestruck by Lisa’s handiwork – the only reason they’re able to have such a prolific, extensive library is because of her efforts.
“Your library is quite beautiful, ma’am,” he says, sounding fully genuine.
Jean smiles. “Thank you very much – Lisa’s work is quite impressive. And please, Jean is fine. You aren’t one of my Knights, so I see no need for titles.”
He dips his head in acknowledgement. “As you say.”
“My, my, to what do I owe this pleasure?” A familiar voice from behind her notes. Jean turns to see Lisa, smiling even as she raises a brow and inclines her head toward the boy. “A visit from the Acting Grandmaster herself, and with our resident bard in two? Whatever could the reason be?”
“Ah, this isn’t Venti,” Jean quickly clarifies. “They merely share a resemblance, I believe. We’re here to ask if you have a map of Mondstadt that he might borrow.”
Lisa frowns. “Borrow for how long, exactly? I hope you know tht I don’t allow most of the materials within this library to be removed from it, and I am very strict about due dates when it comes to the few books I do lend out.”
“Of course, I can understand that you would want to protect your books as much as possible,” the boy agrees. He truly seems to believe what he’s saying, if the awestruck look he’s been giving the shelves is any indication. “I have no need to take any of your items out of the library, Miss Lisa. I only wish to have a look at one of the maps – there’s a town that I’m hoping to find, a bit northwest of here, but I seem to have gotten turned around on my way there.”
“A town to the northwest? I don’t know of any, but you’re welcome to look. Are you sure it isn’t Springvale? If so, you’ve gone a bit too far north.”
“No, ma’am, it isn’t Springvale. To my knowledge, the town I’m looking for is called Mondstadt, though I’ve been told that that’s the name of your own town as well – which… sort of explains how I got lost.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
Jean, however, is confused. There is no town northwest of here, let alone north at all, not that she’s ever heard of. Mondstadt’s capital city is the northmost town in their nation. Besides that, there’s certainly no other town or city that also calls itself Mondstadt – so either this boy is lying, which seems unlikely based on her own intuition and his actions thus far, or he’s been lied to .
“May I ask why you’re headed to this town?” Jean asks as Lisa swans off to go retrieve her maps. “If you were sent by someone, perhaps they gave you the wrong directions by accident.”
But the boy shakes his head. “No, ma’am. I’ve been there before – it’s where I live, you see. I simply… got a bit lost, that’s all. I’m sure my friends will be very worried about me, so I’d like to get back as soon as possible.”
Well. That just leaves Jean with even more questions.
“Here you are, darling!” Lisa says, dropping a veritable pile of maps on the nearest table. “You can take a seat here to look through the maps, and if you need a more detailed rendition of a certain region, do let me know. I have annotated copies of Brightcrown Canyon and the Stormbearer Mountains already set aside.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Lisa!” The boy chirps, sitting down in one of the chairs.
Jean takes the one across from him as he unrolls one of the maps and begins to look over it. As his eyes travel across the aged parchment, she sees his brow begin to furrow as a small frown grows on his face. He rolls the first map up and carefully sets it aside (taking care of the materials is a good sign, one that’s sure to endear him to Lisa if he ends up sticking around), picking up another only to form the same expression. The same happens with another map, and then another.
“Something wrong?” Jean asks, unable to help her curiosity. “You seem a bit unhappy with the maps.”
The boy slowly shakes his head, but answers nonetheless. “No ma’am, it’s only… what’s this area here, the part that says Stormterror’s Lair? What is a Stormterror?”
He hasn’t heard about the dragon? Jean blinks. Odd, but she supposes it’s possible to have missed a bit of gossip, especially since the incident was resolved so quickly. “Stormterror is a dragon that Mondstadt had a bit of trouble with a short while ago. He makes his nest up beyond Wolvendom, in the ruins of Old Mondstadt.”
An odd look begins to grow across the boy’s face, and the silence stretches on for a few long moments before he finally speaks, voice weak. “Pardon?”
“The… ruins,” Jean repeats. “The original location of Mondstadt, before it was moved to Cider Lake. Stormterror’s lair is there.”
“The ruins. Of… Old Mondstadt?”
“Yes… is there a problem?”
The boy stands abruptly, drawing a shaky breath. “I– I apologize, Grandmaster Jean, but I believe I have to be on my way now. My friends will surely worry if I’m gone any longer.”
He runs out of the library in a flash, and Jean barely has time to follow him before she sees the main door to the Knights’ Headquarters swing shut. By the time she’s out there, there’s no trace of him anywhere. It’s as if he’s vanished into thin air.
Behind her, Lisa follows, her heels clicking as she comes to stand beside Jean. “What happened? He ran out so quickly, did he find what he was searching for?”
Jean frowns, shaking her head. “I don’t know. He seemed shocked when I told him about Stormterror’s Lair, and even more shocked by the knowledge that there were ruins of Mondstadt’s first city there.”
“Did he?” Lisa taps her chin. “Now, that’s odd. We had better have the guards keep an eye out for him, especially if he’s planning on going there himself.”
“Agreed. It’s far too dangerous for just anyone to traverse those lands.”
“Traverse what lands?” Across the road, Kaeya walks up to the headquarters’ entrance, smoothly inserting himself in the conversation as though he’s been here all the while. “Does this have anything to do with why I saw Venti tearing down one of the alleyways like he was being chased?”
“I don’t think the boy you saw was Venti,” Jean says gravely, “and yes, it does. You’d better come inside so I can get you up to speed.”
oOoOo
He needs to get out of this city.
It’s the only thought running through the boy’s head as he bolts out of the Knights’ headquarters, dashing into an alleyway to avoid suspicion. His chest feels tight as he runs toward the city gates, and he can’t figure out why – shock, horror, a lack of air, or some combination of the three?
Old Mondstadt, she’d called it. His home, his friends’ home, reduced to ruins. What had become of Amos and Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr? What had become of his precious little sprite? What would become of him?
So, he runs. Puts all thought of his friends’ potential demises out of his head, and simply bolts across the bridge and down one of the paths, veering off into the woods as soon as he’s out of sight. He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he’s not going to stop until his legs give out. He’s never been able to just keep on running like this, with no walls to block him when he goes too far – it would be exhilarating, if not for the mounting well of emotion in his chest and the tears building in his eyes.
His breath is coming in short, quick bursts as he tears through the trees, driven only by instinct to dodge the trunks and branches around him. The sun is setting now, leaving him with little light to navigate by, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now. His home could be gone – is gone, judging by those maps.
By the stars, what he wouldn’t give to have his dear sprite in his pocket right now, ready to pop out and cheer him up. Of all the things about his home, that’s undoubtedly what he misses the most.
But his sprite is gone now.
Everything is gone.
Without warning, the boy slams headfirst into something solid and firm, knocking himself back with such force that he falls to the ground. His nose and forehead sting from the impact, and he brings a hand up to rub at his face as he looks up to see what he’s just collided with.
A moment later, his eyes widen as he realises that he did, in fact, run into a human being.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!” The boy gasps. “I– I didn’t expect anyone else to be out in the forest at this hour, sir, I apologise for running into you–”
“Calm down, there’s no need for so many apologies.” The man offers a black-gloved hand to help him up, though his face remains impassive despite the kind gesture. “...Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look a lot like–”
“Venti?” Finishes the boy. “I have heard that a lot today. I’ve… never been in this area before. I was… I was looking for my hometown, but, ah. It doesn’t seem to be there anymore.”
He knows his tone must be bitter, wrought with sadness, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he simply sighs, running a hand through his ponytail. It looks bright in colour, but in this dim lighting, he can’t figure out what exactly that colour is. “So you’re out here on your own, then?”
“...For the moment. Yes.”
“I see.” The man pauses for a moment, then turns around, beginning to walk away. “Follow me, then. I can set you up with a room for the night.”
The boy moves to follow, but his brow furrows in suspicion all the same. “What would this room cost, sir?”
“Nothing. I have no need for more money, and you don’t look like you’ve got much to spare. Besides, I have more than enough room for a surprise guest.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but this seems awfully… generous, sir. Why would you choose to offer me lodgings when we’ve only just met?”
“Like I said, I have plenty of room, and you look like you need it. Besides, you remind me enough of a friend of mine that I’d feel bad leaving you out in the cold all night. And… you don’t have to call me sir. Diluc is fine.”
So his name is Diluc, is it? He mentioned a friend that the boy apparently reminds him of, but is he referring to the mysterious Venti, or someone else? “I see. I’ll keep it in mind, Mr. Diluc.”
Diluc casts him a vaguely exasperated glance, but doesn’t say a word.
Soon enough, the pair reach the edge of a large estate overflowing with grapevines. The twilight makes it difficult to see the details, but they seem to be rather well-kept, and they even have a few crystalflies flitting around – a sure sign of an area overflowing with elemental energy. This vineyard’s keeper must be very dutiful, indeed.
The boy follows Diluc down a path through the vines, and then up a set of stairs to the front door of a sprawling manor. A few workers who seem to be finishing up their shift wave to Diluc as he passes, and Diluc offers them a cursory wave back, though he doesn’t stop walking until he’s reached the door.
Before he can reach for the handle, it swings open on its own, revealing a stately woman with greying hair and a kind face, wearing the typical uniform of a maid or housekeeper. “Master Diluc, you’ve returned already? And… you’ve brought a guest, I see.”
“Yes. He’s not Venti, they only look similar. Can you have the other maids make up a room for him? He’ll be staying here for the night.”
The maid nods. “Of course, Master Diluc. And will this young guest be dining with us tonight?”
At that, she turns to the boy, who pauses to look at Diluc. Diluc shrugs uncaringly, so the boy nods. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, ma’am, I would appreciate it.”
“Oh, my! So polite! Master Diluc, you could learn a lesson or two from him. And what might your name be, young man?”
That gives the boy pause.
Diluc, apparently sensing his momentary panic at the question, shakes his head. “No need, Adelinde. We’ll be in the study until everything is arranged.”
He gestures for the boy to follow him upstairs, and the boy does so gratefully, thankful to have a way out of that conversation. Diluc leads him into a room off to the side, shutting the door behind them both before taking a seat at the desk.
“Feel free to take a look at any of those books while you wait,” Diluc offers, tipping his head toward a bookshelf spanning one side of the room. “I’ve got some ledgers to check over in the meantime, so don’t mind me.”
Sure enough, he draws a sheaf of papers out of one of the drawers and begins to go over it with a careful hand. The boy, deciding that this isn’t nearly interesting enough to warrant his full attention, decides to take him up on the offer of a book and walks over to examine the shelves. He doesn’t recognise any of the titles, so he simply grabs a storybook at random, taking a seat in one of the cushy red armchairs to flip through it.
Now that he’s illuminated by the soft glow of the room’s lamps, the boy can see that Diluc’s hair is a vibrant crimson, almost identical to Ragnvindr’s own. In fact, the more he looks, the more Diluc seems to resemble Ragnvindr overall. They have similar face shapes and features, and although it’s not quite close enough for the boy to mistake one for the other, the resemblance is still unmistakable now that he’s noticed it. Odd, that he would find someone who looks so much like Ragnvindr after being mistaken for another person all day. That coincidence feels significant somehow, though he isn’t quite sure why.
Soon enough, a young maid knocks on the door to inform them that a room has been made up for their guest, and that a tray of food is waiting inside. Diluc stands and tips his head for the boy to follow, leading him down the hall to what he presumes is a guest room.
The door is carved beautifully in an angular, abstract pattern, though the boy doesn’t have much time to admire it before Diluc is pushing it open. Inside, he finds a cozy bedroom decorated in mostly reds, browns, and whites, complete with a cushy armchair and an inviting bed with an almost excessive number of pillows. True to the maid’s word, there’s a silver tray sitting neatly on the oaken table beside the armchair, holding a lightly steaming bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a rolled-up napkin that he presumes must have the utensils inside of it. A chunk of bread has been left beside the soup as well, along with a small covered dish that likely holds butter or some other kind of spread for the bread.
“Feel free to leave the tray on the table when you’re finished eating, or set it on the shelf in the hallway if you don’t want it cluttering up the room,” Diluc informs him. “If you need anything else, let Adelinde or one of the other maids know. Sleep well.”
He exits the room without another word, shutting the door behind him and leaving the boy alone. The solitude in such an enclosed space is odd, uncomfortable even. He hasn’t been in a room like this since… well, since he found his sprite, he supposes. After that, he’d never truly been alone, no matter how trapped or contained he might have been.
After a moment’s deliberation, he strides across the room and nudges the window open, sighing in relief as the wind rustles through his braids. Yes, this is much better.
The soup, as expected, is delicious. It doesn’t taste like anything he’s had before, but it isn’t completely unfamiliar, either – the bread, on the other hand, is so identical to what he’d eaten back home that it nearly brings tears to his eyes. He finishes every last drop and every last crumb, determined not to let anything go to waste, before slipping out of the room and carefully placing the tray on the indicated shelf. The fact that he can leave the room is a good sign, as well. Diluc hadn’t locked the door, at least not yet, which bodes well for the hope that he won’t end up imprisoned here like–
Well. No need to dwell on that. It’s in the past, and it won’t be happening again, not if he can help it.
Instead, he returns to the guest room and removes his outer layers before crawling into the bed, wrapping himself up tight in the cozy blankets. Maybe the world will make more sense after a good night’s sleep.
oOoOo
So, Diluc has a strange boy in his house now.
This is perfectly fine.
He’d like to say that he isn’t really sure why he’d offered for the kid to come and stay the night at the winery. Unfortunately, he knows exactly why he made that offer, and it’s because the kid looks utterly fucking identical to Venti… the bard who’s secretly Mondstadt’s Archon in disguise.
Diluc refuses to believe that the resemblance is merely coincidental. He’s not even sure yet if he believes the kid isn’t Venti. For all he knows, their bard-slash-Archon has amnesia – that could be why he insisted that he wasn’t Venti, and why he seemed so nervous last night when Adelinde had asked his name. It would only make sense, if the only name he remembered having was Barbatos. Diluc had stepped in and covered for him, had allowed him to keep that secret a while longer, but he can’t deny that he’s curious.
And if this boy really isn’t Venti, and he’s a separate person who also happens to have the exact same face, then why? Who is he really? Was the resemblance purposeful, and if so, for what purpose? Clearly he isn’t trying to impersonate Venti if he’s going around insisting that they’re not the same person, but what is his intention for coming to Mondstadt? He can’t have been here long, or else Diluc would have seen him before.
Until he finds a way to get those answers without scaring the kid off halfway through the questioning, though, Diluc’s decided to simply leave things be for now. Either the boy will talk or he won’t, and trying to force it will only make the situation worse.
Instead, he acts like everything is perfectly normal.
Diluc doesn’t often have visitors that stay the night, especially not at the winery, but he was raised a Ragnvindr. He knows how to treat a guest. Besides that, Adelinde has drilled etiquette into his head for the past two decades and counting, and even if he’s forgoing the formalities here, he still knows how to be polite when necessary.
He knocks on the boy’s door at nine o’clock, expecting him to still be asleep (or at least in bed attempting to continue being asleep), but to his surprise, the kid is already up. He’s dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, minus the tattered brown cloak that’s been folded neatly on the floor beside the bed.
“Breakfast will be ready shortly,” Diluc informs him. “The bathroom is down the hall. I’ll have a set of clothes set out for you to wear, if you’d like to go freshen up.”
The boy blinks, glancing down at his own clothing with slight trepidation. “Ah, thank you for the offer, but there’s no need. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It’s no imposition. They’d be hand-me-downs anyways, and there’s no one left in this house that’s small enough to wear them. Besides, the maids can send your clothes through the wash with everyone else’s, and you can change back into them once they’re clean.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the boy nods. “Very well. I accept your generous offer, sir.”
Diluc shows the kid where the bathroom is and leaves him to freshen up for the day, and in the meantime, he pulls Hillie aside and asks her to find a set of Kaeya’s old clothes. He knows Adelinde held onto them, and his own castoffs would be much too large on the boy’s wiry frame. Soon enough, she’s set out a white poet blouse, a pair of high-waisted navy riding pants, and some warm socks for the boy to change into before breakfast.
He’s already taken his place at the head of the table when the boy comes down the stairs. Kaeya’s old clothes seem to fit him well enough, if a bit loosely. At Diluc’s nod, the kid takes a seat to his left, and Adelinde sets a plate of pancakes in front of him not even a moment after he’s sat down.
“Eat what you like, and don’t be afraid to ask for seconds,” Adelinde encourages. She’s clearly happy to have someone to mother, given that Diluc doesn’t often allow it nowadays. He couldn’t really stop her if she decided she was going to mother him anyways, not when she practically is his mother, but thankfully she’s taken his feelings on the matter into account and has henceforth refrained.
(He still catches her looking wistfully at him sometimes, though, particularly when something reminds her of Kaeya or of their childhood.)
Throughout breakfast, the kid doesn’t say a word, though he does occasionally shoot Diluc a scrutinising look like he’s trying to figure out what his true intentions are. That’s what Diluc would be wondering in his position, anyways.
After they finish eating, Diluc leads the kid back up to his study, closing the door behind him before leaning against his desk with his arms loosely crossed. “So. What brings you to Mondstadt? You got a place to stay, or are you still looking?”
The boy watches him with sharp grey eyes, obviously evaluating how much to tell him. “...Not at the moment. I had been on my way home, but… it seems that that’s no longer an option.”
No longer an option? That could mean a number of things, none of which are good. “I see. Are you planning on hanging around, or is there somewhere else you need to be? Someone waiting for you, maybe?”
“...I don’t know. There is a place I need to visit, but I… I doubt I’ll find what I’m looking for there.”
That’s… vague. And a bit ominous, if he’s being honest.
After a few beats of silence, the boy seems to reach a conclusion within himself, and he looks up at Diluc to meet his eyes with a firm gaze. “I have no way to repay your kindness, Master Diluc. I don’t know why you offered your home, but I have nothing of value that I can offer in exchange for the generosities you have extended.”
He looks wary, almost scared, as he finishes speaking. Is he expecting Diluc to be angry with him? To demand that he pay him back for something freely offered?
If he hadn’t wanted the boy to accept the room, the food, the clothes, he wouldn’t have offered them. Diluc didn’t help the kid out because he expected to be repaid, but if he says that, the boy’s obviously not going to believe him. He’s expecting some sort of recompense to be demanded of him.
“If you insist on some way of repaying me,” Diluc says slowly, “I suppose you could lend a hand around the winery today. Nothing complex, but I could use someone quick to carry messages around.”
The boy nods, looking a bit relieved. “I would be glad to help.”
The day slowly passes by after that, with the kid occasionally popping back into Diluc’s office to deliver or retrieve another message. He’s surprisingly quick, and seems to have a good memory as well – Diluc never has to repeat himself or explain things more than once, and it only takes one or two meetings before the boy can recall exactly who is who and where they’ll be around the winery.
All in all, it’s a pretty good day, and Diluc finds himself quite satisfied by the evening when the boy sticks around for dinner and retires to the guest room afterwards.
oOoOo
He can’t stay here.
Regardless of how nonthreatening Diluc has made himself out to be, the boy knows he can’t stay here for much longer. A day or two is fine, but the longer he sticks around, the riskier it becomes for him – what happens if he’s found here by an enemy?
He had thought that Decarabian was gone, that Amos and the others must have defeated him, for why else would Mondstadt be filled with such peaceful breezes instead of raging snowstorms? But if that’s the case… then what of Old Mondstadt? Could it be that Decarabian was contained, rather than truly defeated? Is he the Stormterror that the maps warned about?
On top of that, the longer he stays here, the longer Amos, Ragnvindr, and Gunnhildr are left on their own, wherever they are. With any luck, his sprite is with them as well, and if that’s the case, then the boy needs to make his way back to them as quickly as possible. He already feels so nervous and incomplete without the familiar little form hiding in his pocket or nestled into his cowl, ready to pop out and chitter bits of advice or whistle a tune to lift everyone’s spirits.
As soon as his clothes are returned to him, the boy is getting out of here. He’ll have to make a run for it after dark – it’s unlikely that Diluc would try to prevent him from leaving, but that’s a risk he’s not willing to take.
If he leaves in the dead of night, that will also give him a headstart, since no one will notice he’s missing until morning. All he has to do is wait for his clothes to be given back, and he can go. Honestly, he would run right now if he could, but… well, it feels odd to go haring off into the forest dressed like this. He might keep the pants, they’re much sturdier than his tattered shorts and they provide a lot more coverage from brambles, but this odd frilly blouse is much too impractical, especially compared to his usual vest. That thing has survived multiple arrows and plenty of bad attempts at repairs before Amos had helped him figure out how to sew properly; he’s sure it can withstand the woods a lot better than a formal blouse could.
The next morning marks the beginning of the second day that he’s spending in Diluc’s household. Just as the day before, Diluc comes to retrieve him for breakfast around midmorning, and they dine together before the pair adjourn to Diluc’s office. The older man hands him a few sheafs of paper and specifies who should be getting what, then sends the boy on his way to complete the tasks given to him.
As far as job-based payments go, this one is honestly not too bad. It’s obviously something that needs to be done, not just a fake task made up for the purpose of giving him work, but it also isn’t something so difficult that it would take him multiple days to figure out. All he has to do is ferry around messages and papers.
When lunch rolls around, the boy isn’t the slightest bit tired, though Diluc seems rather exasperated by his work. The few glimpses the boy has caught of his paperwork seem halfway to unreadable, with some letters looking familiar and others seeming totally illegible, so the boy can’t really blame him if he’s confused over that.
“Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you,” Diluc says suddenly, setting down his sandwich so he can address the boy directly. “Moco let me know earlier that your clothes have been cleaned up, and she mentioned that they stitched up a few rips as well. They’re on the table in your room.”
The boy nods and thanks him absently, but inside, his mind is calculating. It’ll have to be tonight that he leaves – he’ll change into his old clothes, slip out the window after the household has all gone to bed, and he’ll be halfway to his destination by the time anyone even realises he’s gone.
By the time evening falls, his plan is set into motion. The boy replaces the frilly blouse with his usual white top and green vest, noting the tiny, careful stitches that now cover up one of the tears along the hem. The colours of his clothing are brighter now as well, no longer dulled by the layer of dust and dirt that had come as a result of the situations he’d found hismelf in. There wasn’t much time to do laundry during a revolution, after all. Aside from his shirt and vest, he wraps the cowl of his cloak around his neck and shoulders once more, though he opts to leave his shorts behind in favour of holding onto the well-made pants he had been lent.
Diluc had lent him a pair of secondhand lace-up boots as well after seeing how ill-fitting and battered his own were, and it isn’t difficult to make the decision to leave his old shoes behind and hold onto these better ones. They’re just his size and far sturdier than his previous pair, so just like the pants, he incorporates them into his outfit and leaves the old ones resting neatly by the door.
Now dressed and ready to go, the boy nudges the window open and climbs up onto the ledge, judging the distance from his vantage point to the ground. He could probably make it if he tucks and rolls on impact, but there’s another room right below this one, and he doesn’t want to risk being seen hopping out of the window.
Instead, he turns around and lowers himself out of the open window, and begins to climb to the left, calloused hands gripping the wood siding with some difficulty. Once he’s far enough away that there’s no risk of anyone seeing him from the first floor, he lets go and drops down, landing hard on his feet. Luckily, he doesn’t hear or feel anything crack, so it seems that all his time climbing buildings back in Mondstadt has paid off. He’ll have to rub that in Gunnhildr’s face when he gets back – after all the time she’s spent telling him to stop climbing things, now that’s the skill that’s coming in handy!
The entire vineyard is dark except for the lanterns lining the porch, and the soft glow of the crystalflies in the grapevines. The boy doesn’t see a single other soul anywhere, so after one last cursory glance towards the house, he walks into the woods, trusting the path of the stars overhead to lead him home.