Chapter Text
Angel’s Share had been quiet the weeks following the Stormterror Incident, but Diluc didn’t find himself minding. It allowed him to catch up on business matters since he had been busy galavanting across Mondstadt with Jean, the Traveler (no longer just ‘the Outlander’) and Paimon, as well as Venti.
He had been sitting in his study off the main entrance of Dawn Winery for hours now, carefully reviewing everything from shipments to financials and everything in between. Things were starting to stabilize now that Dvalin wasn’t scaring away civilians and merchants and the people were no longer cowering in their homes. The numbers weren’t back to normal…but it was a start.
The redhead leaned back in his chair, massaging his eyes and running his fingers through his hair. He had made a sizable dent, that was for sure, but there was still plenty to do.
It was then that the glass window to his study creaked every so slightly, a light breeze brushing against him and the papers.
Take a break, it seemed to whisper. Let the wind carry your burdens away for a moment. Rest, for the midnight hour approaches.
He blinked, looking out the window to indeed find the moon had nearly reached its zenith, the grandfather clock a short distance away confirming the wind’s words.
Diluc squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. Ever since he had helped the bard on his quest, the wind had been more…affectionate? No, that wasn’t quite right. The winds of Mondstadt always held a certain ‘life’ to it that other nations lacked, and to him, it was one of the many things that made Mondstadt feel like home.
But now knowing that the Anemo Archon was around and busking around in the guise of a humble bard gave Diluc pause. Was this some sort of divine favoritism for what had happened? Or was there something else at work?
He knew the easiest solution would be to confront the archon, but he had someone else to talk to first.
“Allow me to write this letter to Jean and then I’ll rest,” he requested, and the wind seemed to pause as if in thought for a moment before coiling around him like a hug, petering out of the window and closing it.
He froze. Diluc had never seen the wind act quite like this before.
Was that…Venti’s doing?
Jean had seen Venti a few times since they had battled and purified Dvalin, and each time she found herself turning away, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. What did Barbatos—Venti—both, she supposed, think of her beneath the carefree exterior of the people’s bard? Was she a good Acting Grandmaster in his eyes? Things weren’t perfect right now between the encroaching Abyss, the number of knights and essential figures on the expedition…but she was doing enough, right?
No, she needed to do more. Then…maybe she would be able to face Venti.
Jean had been pushing all thoughts about Venti being the Anemo Archon into a nice compartmentalized box in the back of her mind for the past two weeks. She had been so tied up with the post-recovery efforts that she hardly had any time to herself to digest anything (which she wasn’t complaining about this time).
Push and push she did until she finally had an evening to herself, electing to catch up on the mountains of paperwork she had been neglecting, nursing a now-cold cup of coffee Lisa had brought for her hours ago.
Was it a healthy coping mechanism? No, but it was the one she relied on the most–throwing herself into fixing other people’s problems above her own.
There was a tap at her window. She turned, seeing the familiar falcon Diluc would use instead of his more covert owl.
She knew he would reach out to her eventually. The two of them hadn’t really…talked about what had happened, too caught up in solving the impending crisis to discuss the elephant in the room.
Jean pushed her chair back and opened the office window, whispering a few praises to the bird as she removed the letter and offered a treat. It did not squeak or make a single noise—something Diluc had no doubt trained the bird to do—and disappeared into the night sky.
She slid her thumb over the wax seal in a long-practiced motion, surprised that the Ragnvindr was so succinct with his words yet again.
Meet me at the estate at ten o’clock tonight. We have much to discuss. - D
Jean placed a hand on her chest in an attempt to calm her nerves. It was just a gathering between her and Diluc about what they had been ignoring since the Stormterror Incident.
…or perhaps they should call it the ‘Barbatos Incident’ now.
She sighed, placing the letter on her desk and debated grabbing another cup of coffee to help abate her growing migraine. It was already…one in the morning? The night was still young...perhaps not by most of Mondstadt’s standards (except for those in the taverns and, well, herself), but she could still get a few more things taken care of.
As she scanned through the next document, she felt the breeze filter in through the window she had forgotten to close. Though, she didn’t mind it. It was soothing, carrying the scent of cecilias and something…else.
She swore she heard a melody upon the wind, one her mother used to sing to her and Barbara when they were children. A lullaby passed down by the parents of Mond for as long as they had records.
Sleep now my little ones,
Settle in like sleeping doves,
Dream of boundless lands and starry skies,
Under which Freedom always thrives,
The Wind and I shall guard your rest,
Sleep now, for tomorrow will bring another quest.
Her eyes felt heavy, blinking once, twice. She yawned, folding her arms across her desk and laying her head on top.
“I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment,” she said to no one. “Then it’s…back to…work….”
Jean stood at the front doors to Dawn Winery. Gone was her normal Acting Grandmaster regalia. Tonight, she wore far simpler clothing with a fitted cloak to hide her signature ponytail not unlike a few weeks prior. She may not have Diluc’s signature bright red hair…but the citizens of Mondstadt certainly knew her well enough to stand out in a crowd.
Plus, tonight she was out as Jean Gunnhildr, not the Acting Grandmaster. A distinction she had forgotten as of late…but one that she basked in the familiarity of once she left the city’s walls.
She knocked on the door thrice, the breeze calm and buffeting her cloak in a way that further lent itself to the illusion of her being no one important. Good.
Though knowing Diluc, he had already dismissed the staff (apart from Adelinde, the woman could always be trusted to keep a secret) if he was set on meeting at such a late hour.
Unsurprisingly, it was Diluc himself that opened the door. “You made it.”
“Of course,” she replied, stepping inside and hanging the cloak up on a nearby hook. “I think we both have a lot on our minds regarding…everything.”
A flash of something crossed across the redhead’s face, but Jean wasn’t sure what. “Come into the study, it’s just us tonight.”
“Not even Adelinde?”
“She’s taking a long overdue and well-deserved night off.” Diluc’s crimson eyes regarded her. “Hopefully like someone else I know.”
“A late night meeting with a close friend is about the only reprieve I can get right about now.” She sighed, settling into one of the plush chairs. “Things have been busy, as I’m sure you’re no doubt aware. But we’re not here to discuss that.”
She calmly watched as Diluc pulled a few mixers and bottles of alcohol from the nearby cabinets, pouring her something and mixing something for himself. He held the wine glass out to her, his own beverage cradled in his gloved hand.
“Drinking?” Jean asked, swirling and aerating her wine as the hearth roared. “That’s unlike you.”
“Special occasion,” Diluc said succinctly. “This particular drink is one I picked up from Diona a while back during one of her many efforts to create a non-alcoholic beverage. Though I’d prefer if you keep it between us—it’s bad for business if I’m seen partaking in the libation crafted by a rival bartender.”
The mention of ‘secret’ caused both of them to frown at the phrasing.
“You know that’s safe with me. I’ve long known your secret regarding alcohol,” Jean commented lightly, taking a sip of her own beverage—dandelion wine, her favorite. It was a timeless classic with a simple, refreshing flavor. “It’s not that you dislike the taste, you’re just a lightweight. I haven’t forgotten those nights in the barracks celebrating a well-executed operation.”
“Tch,” the Ragnvindr scoffed. “Nothing much gets past the Acting Grandmaster, does it?”
“Apparently, there are many things that do,” she murmured, crossing one leg over the other. “And I’m not referring to your nightly activities either, though I am grateful for the support.”
“You’re referring to the bard.”
The Acting Grandmaster raised an eyebrow at the word choice in lieu of Venti’s name. “We both know now that he’s far more than just a humble bard,” Jean said, massaging the flute of her glass. “And it’s why you really asked me to come over tonight.”
“We do, indeed.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
The Acting Grandmaster decided to voice her thoughts first. “You had your suspicions before I did and even tried to tell me so. If I had been more involved in the day-to-day tribulations as opposed to being sequestered behind my desk, I could’ve—”
“Jean,” Diluc cut her off. “It’s not a competition.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But it’s my duty to know the ins and outs of Mondstadt, and I feel like I’ve been slacking on that front a lot as of late.”
Diluc hummed. “If it’s any consolation, he tends to hide it well. I think he was still getting his bearings after being gone so long when I first interacted with him, which led me to having more of an idea that something wasn’t quite adding up.”
“But I heard him in the plaza before Storm—I mean Dvalin became more of a direct threat to the people,” Jean lamented, shaking her head. “His playing and singing was nothing like I’d ever heard before. It was almost…”
“Godly?”
Jean’s eyes flitted to his. “Exactly, and the statue too. He was hiding in plain sight. Does…does Varka know? My mother? She’s his second-hand…. What about the church? He’s awfully close to Dahlia. Oh Archons, of course he has to, the deacon is also his herald.”
“Jean,”
“Varka had to have known. Is this what he meant by ‘with you and Lord Barbatos watching over the city, I know Mond’ll be in great hands’?”
“Jean,”
“It had to have been. Oh, how didn’t I see it before? Everything was there—”
“Jean,”
The Acting Grandmaster shut her mouth, surprised. Diluc’s face was serious, drink forgotten and obviously intent on pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. “Sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” he commented idly, setting his glass down. “As far as I know, we’re the only ones that know for sure. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Varka and Dahlia are aware as well.”
“What makes you say that?” He merely raised a crimson eyebrow at her. Ah, his…sources. “Right.”
“Even the best kept secrets unravel in time,” Diluc offered cryptically. “Which is why it’s best to never leave a trace to begin with.”
“Mmm, you know that’s a difficult feat in Mond. Even the wind watches everything.” The Acting Grandmaster swirled her wine. “Speaking of secrets, you’re taking this awfully well. I know you were particularly devout in your youth. You’re not having any…hiccups reconciling the image of the Anemo Archon preached in church versus the reality of him being…well, among us?”
“Oh, believe me, there have been plenty of nights I’ve sat staring at the relics my father passed down depicting Lord Barbatos and just stewing in my thoughts. ‘What would father think of him?’ or ‘Does he know what I’ve done?’ and a slew of other things.” Diluc grunted, tipping back more of his drink. “The short answer is ‘it’s complicated’.”
Well, at least it wasn’t just her.
Diluc red eyes met hers. “Your thoughts?”
“It makes sense in retrospect, but there’s a part of me that’s still reconciling that that omnipresent and intangible archon I’ve prayed to all my life is suddenly the bard singing in the town square.” She ran a hand through her bangs. “Did you know I’ve received six formal complaints from Sister Grace alone about him in the last month?”
Diluc took another sip. “Well, she does have a reputation for being one of the more…uptight nuns.”
“Tell me about it,” she griped. “At first it was Venti climbing into the statue’s hands—which we all know isn’t forbidden so long as you have a gliding permit.” Then, it dawned on her. “Which he doesn’t, now that I think about it. Or any legal paperwork proving his mortal identity in any matter.”
“Does the God of Anemo need a gliding license?” Diluc pondered aloud. “The statue depicts him with wings, so surely he has them.”
“Probably?” It came out as more of a question than a statement. She sighed. “But still, I should work to get him the proper documentation so he’s listed as a proper resident of Mondstadt. That way if anyone looks into him, he has a story to stick to.”
“Jean, fabricating paperwork?” Diluc chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Oh, you know this is a special circumstance. Varka would be proud of me for loosening up a bit.” Then, adding quietly. “At least I think so, anyway.”
She caught the corners of Diluc’s lips rising in a grin. “What else was Sister Grace complaining about?”
Jean blinked. “Why do you want to know?”
“Curiosity,” he said simply. “Though I cannot deny a part of me relishes in the fact she’s admonishing the god of her own church without her knowledge.”
She rolled her eyes at him, taking a sip of her wine. “If you must know, she finds some of the things he says…blasphemous.”
Diluc smirked. “Oh, that doesn’t surprise me one bit. Bards are known for embellishing things but…Venti seems to go the extra mile.”
“I wonder if any of it is true?”
“After seeing the person behind the titles, I’m inclined to believe they are—at least partially. Anemo spirits are rarely seen in Mondstadt and it’s well known that he originally was one. They’re known for being playful, albeit little tricksters.” Diluc shrugged. “Perhaps some habits die hard.”
She had to give it to Diluc there. “Fair point. But speaking of Venti…you mentioned before that when he came to Angel’s Share, he was surprised by the drinking age. Therefore, it leads credence to Barbatos not always being physically present in Mondstadt and only appearing in times of Mondstadt’s greatest need, just as the scriptures note.” She ran her fingers along the rim of the glass. “I wonder where he goes?”
“Well, the legends do imply the Anemo Archon is away for millennia at a time,” Diluc commented, massaging his face in contemplation. “Many accept the fact that Barbatos resides in Celestia, therefore allowing Mondstadt to live freely. But…something about that doesn’t seem right to me. Venti seems almost…detached in a way from his godly persona.”
Now that Diluc mentioned it, he had a very valid point. Venti had been forthcoming about some things during their quest to purify Dvalin, but as soon as the topic danced anywhere near him being an archon, the Cataclysm, or Celestia, he was strangely cagey.
Almost…as if he was afraid for some reason.
“Perhaps there are things he just can’t talk about,” Jean offered. “It would make sense. Discretion is important with many things, and I’m certain it extends to Celestia and the Archons as well.”
“But that doesn’t feel like the full picture, now does it?”
Diluc really should have become some type of spy or detective after his time abroad. He was too good at picking up the subtle nuances now. “What do you mean?
“I wish I knew.”
Diluc tipped the drink back. He was just on the verge of being tipsy–the telltale redness on his ears starting to appear in the light of the hearthfire, though his pronunciation remained crisp. “You and me both,” she offered solemnly.
“We know he’s blending in as just another citizen of the city,” he said as he swirled his drink, dislodging the settled bits and taking another gulp. “It’s a facade—one that he wears well, probably after watching humans so much. Even the scriptures say Barbatos is ‘always there’ and ‘around us’—we just assumed it was to be more figurative than literal.” Diluc looked into his drink, closing his eyes and setting it down. “Now I see my god in the plaza offering songs to the people in exchange for anything, whether it’s food or a simple smile….”
Jean watched, eager to see where Diluc’s train of thought was heading.
“I met her, you know,” he whispered so quietly Jean had to lean forward to hear him.
“Met who?”
“The Tsaritsa.”
The Acting Grandmaster’s blood ran cold. “Y-you did?”
Diluc nodded, his expression becoming distant. “She couldn’t be further from Venti—Barbatos, both.” His shoulders hunched over. “I saw her from afar during an infiltration mission. Everything about her was cold, calculating, meticulous. The kind of person that you would want to avoid at all costs.”
Jean’s stomach sank further and further as Diluc continued.
“She’s the Archon of Love,” he said bitterly. “But she has no love for her nation or anyone around her. All that exists is her agenda and her word is law to those of Snezhnaya. Thinking about her and comparing her to Venti….” He paused, taking a moment to consider her words carefully. “They couldn’t be more different.”
“How so?” Jean pressed, eager to hear from a time Diluc so seldom spoke about. The alcohol had likely loosened his lips up quite a bit, she suspected.
“The Tsaritsa stays locked away in a palace as cold as her heart, sending out her Harbingers to do the dirty work for her. Meanwhile, Barbatos tackled the issue with Dvalin head-on himself, only roping us in once we got too involved. He sleeps on the very streets of the city itself, never seeking a handout. People offer, of course, because that’s the Mondstadter way.” He shook his head in disbelief. “He takes only enough to get by, and I’ve seen him giving away the apple he had saved for later to a small child time and time again.” The Ragnvindr took a deep breath. “He never demands worship or prayer or acknowledgment for his actions, whether it’s as Venti the Bard or as Barbatos and I…”
“I know,” Jean said, feeling the same emotions bubbling inside her. “He’s a wonderful archon.”
“He is,” Diluc agreed gently in a reverent tone she hadn’t heard in years. “It makes me proud to be a Mondstadter. I hope he thinks the same of us.”
“I love all of my children dearly, thank you very much,” a voice said from the direction of the open window.
Her and Diluc’s head snapped toward the sound of the voice. “Venti?!” They shouted simultaneously.
“Sorry for interrupting,” the bard said casually, hopping down from the window. “But I figured it would be good for us to, ah, clear the air, if you will.”
“How did you…?” Jean began, not quite sure how to ask her question.
“Know you were here and gossiping about me?” Venti said cheekily. “You said it yourselves, the wind is nosy, and one can only take hearing both of their names so many times before their curiosity is piqued. Though I was planning to chat with you both eventually, I assure you. This just makes things easier.”
Venti flashed them a disarming smile, closing his eyes as if to show he harbored no ill will toward either of them for not including him in their little chat.
Diluc was the first to move, grabbing another chair from against the wall. “Go ahead and sit, I’ll grab you a drink.”
“Oh, believe me about my age now?” The bard quipped, sliding into the chair.
“For the record, you don’t look your age—fake or real one. Twenty-six is too old to fake with a baby face like that.”
Jean was surprised how…casual Diluc sounded. I was as if he had just flipped a switch and Venti was just another patron at Angel’s Share.
“Hey!” Venti cried indignantly. “Then what age would you recommend for me? I like to think I look good for 2,600 years old, thank you very much!”
Jean made a sound of contemplation. “No more than 20, I’d say.”
“That’s a good number,” Diluc agreed.
“Wait, how old are you two?”
“I’m 24,” Jean replied.
“Twenty-five.”
“Aww, so that means I have to pretend to be younger than both of you?” He moaned, throwing his head back like a child. “Why am I always the baby?”
Diluc rolled his eyes, setting the darker glass of wine in front of the bard. “Hmm, I wonder why,” he said sarcastically.
“How rude,” Venti griped childishly, taking a sip. “Wait, Diluc. Is this…Thousand Wind Wine by chance?”
“Impressive,” the bartender commented lightly, sliding back into his own seat. “It’s an old bottle I’d been saving for a special occasion. Something told me today was that day.”
Venti smiled into his glass, swirling it delicately and fanning the aroma to his nose. “It’s my favorite,” he whispered quietly, all teasing gone. “Thank you.”
Jean watched as Diluc’s eyes widened momentarily, briefly stunned. “Y-you can have the bottle if you want. I have plenty of other ones, though no more from that particular vintage.”
Jean couldn’t believe her ears. Diluc stuttered.
“Then I shall savor it like the finest of brews it is.” Venti took another long sip. “Truly divine. Dawn Winery truly hasn’t changed a bit over the years.”
Diluc gave a noise of acknowledgement, his crimson eyes watching the bard carefully. “Legend has it a strange fox spirit taught one of my ancestors how to brew. It was strangely colored…pale like the moonlight and hints of teal in its fur.” Diluc took a sip of his cocktail. “Long believed by the family to have been the Anemo Archon in disguise, and we’ve always offered the season’s first wine to Lord Barbatos in veneration, though I don’t think any of my family have been so lucky as to hand it to him personally.”
“My, that’s quite the interesting tale,” Venti said with a smirk. “Who’s to say if it’s true? But one thing is for sure, it certainly does capture the essence of the land.” The bard ran his fingers over the rim. “Do you still add dandelions to the first batch every season?”
Diluc scoffed, crossing his arms. “It is named dandelion wine for a reason. May I ask how you know that trade secret?”
Venti merely hummed knowingly, his smirk disappearing behind his glass. “Ah, but enough idle chit-chat. I know you both have questions.” The bard set his drink down, crossing one leg over the other and resting his chin in his hand. “There are things I can’t answer, of course. But ask away!”
Well, Jean supposed this was the best opportunity to ask the burning questions that had been weighing on her mind since she discovered Venti’s status as undercover archon.
“Why hide who you are from the people of Mondstadt?” Jean folded her hands on her knees, unconsciously leaning closer. “They would be…happy I’m sure to have their archon around.”
“Why did you slink here in the guise of a normal Mondstadter? Why does Diluc conceal his actions when on his nightly endeavors?” Venti asked, a knowing smile on his lips. “Anonymity, of course. Plus, living as a mortal is a lot more fun! The world is just filled with all sorts of small things you can’t enjoy when all the world’s eyes are on you.” He took a sip of his wine. “And Mondstadt has been doing just fine without me for millennia. Keep it that way, I say!”
His answer made sense, but now there was another issue on the horizon in the Acting Grandmaster’s eyes. “Aren’t you worried about Mondstadt if other nations will think after what just happened with Dvalin?”
“Pfft, if you had any idea of the number of major incidents that have been solved without my interference, you would sleep so well at night, Master Jean.” He chuckled, emerald eyes sparkling. “You really should give yourselves a lot more credit. Mond has and always will be the Nation of Freedom, so I don’t like to interfere if I can help it. Though, if something truly serious were to happen, I would, of course.”
“I see….” Jean nodded along with the archon’s explanation. “Makes sense, though. Um, I wished to ask how you want us to address you moving forward. I should have asked this earlier, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful—”
The bard raised a hand, waiting for Jean to stop of her own accord. “I’m just Venti. Venti the Bard. That’s…how I prefer it to be.” He sighed, massaging his temples. “I don’t really like people knowing I’m the Anemo Archon because they get all…weird about it. But after everything that’s happened, I trust you both.” Venti looked up at them, and did Jean detect a bit of…nervousness in his eyes? “But I would like for things to go back to the way they were before….”
Before you knew I’m Barbatos, your archon was left unsaid.
The embarrassment on both of their faces was palpable. Venti had read them so easily—why they both had been avoiding him for weeks now.
She schooled her face into a neutral expression in an attempt to spare her archon from seeing the self-admonishment she felt inside. She was a woman that prided herself in tackling issues head on—or at least right away through other means.
This time…she had buried her head in the sand. She had waited for Diluc or Venti to make the first move, worried that if she breached the unspoken silence that whatever seemingly fragile camaraderie they had established saving Dvalin would crumble after discovering Venti’s secret.
Jean closed her eyes and swallowed, taking a moment to compartmentalize her feelings to deal with later. She needed to tend to Venti first.
“Of course, Venti,” Jean reassured, reaching a hand out to grab one of the bard’s, rubbing his knuckles in a soothing manner. “I apologize for not reaching out to you before—I should have. I have no excuse.”
“I will, on one condition,” came Diluc’s deep timber.
Venti gave a halfhearted chuckle. “And what is that?”
“Continue working with us.”
Venti blinked. “H-huh?”
“You know the ins and outs of Mondstadt better than anyone.” Venti tentatively nodded his head to Diluc’s words. “And you’re aware of my…activities and brief sabbatical from Mondstadt.”
“I am,” Venti said flatly, but did not elaborate further on just how much he knew about the Ragnvindr’s escapades.
“I have it on good authority that things will be getting…interesting soon. Not just Mondstadt, but all of Teyvat.”
Jean’s eyes slid between Diluc and Venti’s, the latter looking uncomfortable.
Just what does he know?
“And you want me to do what, exactly?” Venti asked, suddenly serious.
“You demonstrated earlier that you hear things upon the wind, and it’s a long standing assumption that the Anemo Archon can hear anything.” Jean watched as Venti licked his lips as Diluc continued. “If there’s something we should know for the safety of Mond…I request that you tell Jean or I.”
“Quite the interesting condition, Master Diluc.” Venti picked up his drink, swirling it and taking another sip. “I do keep tabs on things through the wind, but I’ll have you know that not every wind in Mondstadt is my own.”
“Oh?” Jean asked. “Then whose is it?”
“Not whose, who. Very important distinction,” he said with a waggle of his finger. “I am merely one part of the Thousand Winds of Mondstadt. My siblings have just as much a role in the peaceful breezes as I do. Though as the youngest…I suppose they’ve always been a bit protective over me—and Mondstadt by extension.”
Jean and Diluc exchanged a glance.
“Youngest, you?” Diluc asked, surprised. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Ah, but it’s the truth you see,” the bard whispered, staring into the fire of the hearth. “Perhaps that’s why I—” Venti cut himself off, biting his lip and looking away. “Never mind. Let’s just say I’ve always been a little different, which has been the most wonderful blessing, even if it comes with its own set of drawbacks.”
“Do you ever miss it?” Jean asked. Upon Venti’s confused gaze, clarifying, “Being a part of the Thousand Winds—a wind wisp, I mean.”
“Ah.” The bard deflated, a melancholic expression taking over his face. “I still am technically, but if you ask if I regret my actions and this form…I don’t and never will.” Venti gave a bittersweet chuckle. “You both know I purposefully don’t have much to my name as Venti...but this form is my greatest treasure of them all.”
Both were familiar enough with the Anemo Archon’s story that he had only obtained a human form after his ascension, but not quite how. As much as their curiosity burned at them…it felt wrong to ask such a personal question.
“Plus this form has many benefits. I can play instruments, sing to my heart's content, and eat more than one apple without being full.”
Jean’s fingers dug into his gloved palms. “Why are you telling us all this, Venti?”
Venti looked at his full glass, his reflection barely visible in the red liquid. “I thought it was evident that I accepted Diluc’s condition. With Varka gone, there are some things you should be aware of.” Jean watched as the bard’s fingers tightened around the flute of his glass even more. “Just…in case.”
So Varka is aware, she noted to herself, her eyes flicking to Diluc’s to ensure he had caught the confession as well. The redhead nodded. “We’re all ears Venti, nothing will leave this room.”
“Forgive me for being unable to go into specifics, but Jean, you recall how the Fatui’s Eighth Harbinger injured myself, the Traveler and Paimon after returning the Holy Lyre, correct?”
Jean’s heart sank at his words. She didn’t like where this was going one bit. “I recall, yes. Though the Traveler insisted that you were unharmed.”
“Technically, yes,” he agreed. “However, she stole something from me. Something that I will not miss, but something important nonetheless.”
“Venti,” Diluc began, voice rumbling with barely-contained rage. “What did she take from you?”
“I can’t say exactly. Just…something that amplifies my abilities a bit is all.”
The way he said it sounded so disarming, so careful, like a parent telling their child not to worry about something that was far more serious than it was.
“Will this pose an issue?” Jean pressed. “Are you or Mondstadt in danger now after having lost this…item?”
“Not…necessarily,” he hesitated, as if figuring how to say the truth. “I may be a bit weaker for a bit, but I’ll recover my strength in time.” His eyes shifted to Diluc. “So it may take me a bit to get up to my normal amount of, ahem, nosiness.”
Jean knew that worried frown from Diluc. “Are you certain? You can stay here if needed or if something happens to Mond—”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. There’s nothing like the open air to nourish the spirit. Plus, I have means of restoring my abilities in other ways if needed,” the bard assured. “Though as crafty as our opponents are, I don’t wish to lay all of the cards on the table until the time is right and we have no other options. So a temporary reprieve for a bard is well-earned rest indeed.” He sang the last bit cheerfully, yet again another tactic she recognize to try and get her and Diluc to not worry about him.
Just what else did Venti have up his sleeve that he wasn’t telling them? Was he truly okay?
“Why did you not defend yourself against her?” Diluc asked, anger rising in his voice. Whether it was from his past with the Fatui or the personal slight against Mondstadt and its archon, she didn’t know—though it was probably both. “Laying her hands on you—on any citizen of Mondstadt, ‘diplomat’ or not—is grounds for immediate expulsion from the nation in most cases!”
“What good would it do besides stirring up unnecessary trouble?” The bard seemed unbothered, looking out at the moon. “A bit of temporary pain to get the Tsaritsa’s eyes off of Mondstadt for the foreseeable future is a victory in my eyes.” Then, quieter, he added. “Things happen for a reason, Diluc. It may not make sense now, but every story is cultivated by the wind in due time.”
…just what did that mean?
“Venti—” Jean began.
“Jean,” he said patiently. “And Diluc, I appreciate the worry, really, I do. But it’s fine, I promise. No need for Mond to take any action. I would prefer for it to stay under wraps, actually.”
“But she injured you,” Jean argued, pushing back her chair. “Signora attacked you in broad daylight, Venti, this cannot stand. She’s a diplomat like Diluc said—”
“She wasn’t operating under the Tsaritsa’s order when she injured me.” Venti cut her off. “That was most likely against her orders, actually. It was about revenge.”
Diluc balked. “Revenge? Revenge for what?”
There was that pained look in Venti’s face again. “For failing to protect someone dear to her during the Cataclysm. Rosalyne may no longer consider herself a child of Mondstadt…but no matter how far my children wander, they are still welcome home.”
“Venti, she hurt you.” Jean stressed. “You don’t need to feel compelled to forgive her. Archon or not, you’re entitled to your own feelings without putting on a front for us.”
“...it was deserved,” he admitted quietly. “I was…late. Too little too late.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “In the end, Mondstadt suffered because I was needed elsewhere. I—” Venti’s jaw clamped shut. It looked as if he wanted to say more, but something was preventing him from doing so.
“...Venti?” Jean asked after a moment. “You okay?”
“M’fine,” he sighed. “Rosalyne—Signora—got the revenge on me she wanted and now she’ll leave Mondstadt alone. Another win.”
It didn’t feel like one to Jean, though. The Fatui were still in the Goth Grand Hotel and whatever Venti lost…she hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt them.
“You mentioned the Tsaritsa earlier, Diluc,” Venti said abruptly. “I didn’t know you had the privilege of meeting Her Majesty.”
“...hopefully never again,” the man gritted out. “You’re friends with her?”
“Was, I wouldn’t say we are now. We had…a falling out I guess you could say.” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “A lot has happened to her…. Her heart carries more burdens than most ever could. I sympathize with her and understand her actions to an extent, but she has grown very jaded of the world around her, thus resulting in everything from her nation and her heart to buried upon layers and layers of ice and permafrost.”
Jean understood firsthand the complexities friendships held. Her own rise within the Knights of Favonius had left a…bitter taste in a few of her peers’ mouths. She tried not to let it bother her (at least externally) for the sake of professionalism, but it still ate her some days that people held things against her simply for being good at her job.
Though she was incredibly surprised Diluc had remained one of her closest friends despite everything the knights had put him through. He was one of the people that had separated the person from the job, and for that, she would always be thankful.
As she looked over at Diluc, she could tell the man still harbored a grudge for the Fatui’s actions not only against his father, but for Venti and Mondstadt as well. The way his arms were crossed, the right side of his bottom lip actively being chewed on by his teeth…she knew his tells.
“So I’m correct in assuming you don’t want any action taken against the Fatui or Snezhnaya?” Jean asked, knowing full well that La Signora had already high-tailed it out of Mondstadt, yet the hotel remained full of Fatui members.
Venti nodded. “Yes.”
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “But at any point, if you need anything, and I mean anything at all—archon business or just citizen of Mondstadt business—you come to me right away, okay?”
The bard chuckled, smiling into his drink. “Since when did Mondstadt become a city full of mother hens?”
“Since its archon is one himself.” Diluc leveled Venti a knowing look, and in a rare feat, the bard looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You know it’s true. We take care of each other—and that includes you too. It’s something ingrained in us Mondstadters all the way back to the first revolution.”
Venti’s mouth opened and shut. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled warmly. “Thank you, both of you. For not just tonight, but everything with Dvalin and Mondstadt as well.” A wistful expression overtook his features. “I think if my friends from long ago were still here…they would be proud of what Mondstadt has become.”
Jean placed a hand on his shoulder in support. “I’m sure they would, Venti. And they would be proud of you, too.”
The bard sucked in a breath, his eyes misting with unshed tears. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat and setting the glass down.
“Ahah, well, I think it’s about time I take my leave. I’ve already intruded long enough.” Venti hopped up on the windowsill, hesitating for a moment before looking back. “Thank you both for the pleasant chat and drink…. Have a good night and remember, so long as there is wind, I’ll be there.”
Jean bit her lip, nodding as Diluc hummed his agreement. The bard gave a more somber sounding ‘ehe’ than usual before dispersing into teal winds of Anemo.
The Acting Grandmaster turned to Diluc. “Do you think I upset him with my words?”
The redhead shook his head. “No, if anything, I think you said something he longed to hear.”
She felt her shoulders slump in relief. “I wish there was more I could do for him—”
“Jean, you’re already running yourself ragged as is,” Diluc interjected. “...you can rely on me too, you know.”
Her hands tightened around her glass. “I know, Diluc.”
“There’s still one thing that he said that bothered me.”
Jean thought there was more than just one thing that the bard said that struck a nerve with the redhead, but she kept her mouth shut. “That being…?”
“That thing Venti was talking about? What was taken from him?” Diluc gritted out, Pyro licking the tips of his fingers. “She stole his gnosis.”
Jean blinked. “His what?”
“It’s called a gnosis. Think of it like a god’s heart is what I’ve been told by my sources. Not a lot is publicly known about them, other than each archon has one and the Tsaritsa has issued a decree for her Harbingers to collect them all.” She smelled burning fabric—likely Diluc’s gloves. “And Venti’s was stolen.”
“But he said it himself! He doesn’t want us to try and get whatever they stole back,” she argued.
“But that doesn’t make it right, Jean!”
“I know, Diluc!” Then, quieter. “I know. I was inside the cathedral when it happened. Thirty feet or so away, right under my nose. I wish I could make it right too, but….”
The Ragnvindr crossed his arms. “But what?”
“Venti didn’t seem particularly bothered by the loss of it, did you notice?” She watched as the other’s crimson eyes widened. “He seemed almost…relieved. He just seemed more upset that she hurt the Traveler more than anything.”
Diluc grunted, looking out the window. “...you’re right.”
“I think the most we can do is just continue to do our best and look out for him. Someone has to, right?” She sighed. “I’m sure Dahlia is in his own way, but with Varka, Alice and the others gone….”
“Yeah,” Diluc agreed. “Guess you better get to work on those identity papers, Acting Grandmaster,” he said while downing the rest of his cocktail. “That way he can busk at Angel’s Share and I don’t lose my license by serving him. Maybe I should offer him a room….”
“He prefers to be a humble, homeless bard, you know. Archon or not, he likes the open sky above him at night,” Jean reminded lightly. “But I don’t think he has much in the way of Mora. Perhaps I should allocate a specific fund for that….”
“That’s a problem for another day. And between us, I have no intention of charging him for his drinks—he’s the one that taught my ancestors how to brew, after all.”
She tilted her head. “He didn’t confirm it, I thought?”
“He likes dancing around answers, as we’ve both noticed.” Diluc shook his head. “I wonder if he picked it up as a bard, or the bards learned it from him first?”
Jean hummed, drinking the rest of her wine. “I suppose only he knows the answer. But going back to what you were saying earlier, I’ll keep an eye on him as well from my end.” She chuckled. “I wonder if other nations look out for their archon like we do?”
The redhead looked out at the moon. “No,” he whispered. “They don’t.”
Jean supposed it made sense. All of the other archons ruled actively, unlike Lord Barbatos, and their feats were well known. While they didn’t know what exactly Venti was capable of…even with his temporary power deficiency, it seemed he could take care of himself just fine.
…not that she or Diluc would stop worrying about him in the first place. Throughout their adventures in saving Dvalin, Jean would even go as far as to consider Venti a friend. And if there was one thing Jean was, it was devoted to her friends (and her home).
She cleared her throat. “Well, Mondstadt has always been trendsetters.”
Diluc snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”
The grandfather clock chimed twelve times. Midnight.
Jean stood from her chair. “If there isn’t anything else, I suppose I should be going.”
“That’s it,” Diluc agreed. “For now, anyway. You know where to find me.”
“As do you.”
The redhead nodded. “Let me escort you out.”
Just as they were about to leave the room, the window creaked open. Both turned their heads in surprise, expecting Venti, but the bard never appeared.
Instead, there was a whisper on the wind, quiet, yet layered as if hundreds of voices spoke at once in a rare harmony.
“Thank you.”