Archive of Our Own

As the summer heat advanced, each sweltering day offset by an evening breeze from the sea, Venti hurried up the city's staircases. The sun beat down too fiercely for the poor bard, so he merely glided up the steps, mimicking a walk in case the deserted streets weren't deserted enough. The city was quiet and lived at the pace of the rare cool spells; even the few guards hid in the shadows of the buildings and mostly lazed about, numbed by the heat. The entire country moved slowly; very few catastrophes had struck, though they were spreading elsewhere in the world.

This was precisely Venti's predicament: to his knowledge, nothing was happening in the country, yet he was summoned to the Knights' headquarters ! The return of Varka and the envoys had already been celebrated; seemingly, no event was imminent. Except for Dorian's birthday, which Venti had adopted as his own, but nothing could justify SUMMONING someone because of their birthday, which was still a week away ! So it must surely be Barbatos who was being summoned, for a problem that hadn't even arisen yet!

Reaching the landing, Venti turned around: entering through Varka's office window would raise fewer suspicions about his presence; at least, that was the "protocol" they followed when Varka needed an archon. To his surprise, Venti saw the guard, hiding inside the building to escape the heat, calling to him from the half-open door.

"Mr. Venti, don't turn back! You are expected and on time, you may come in!"

Was it just a need for a bard? Venti knew he was the only bard in the city summoned, and showing favoritism like that seemed strange.

“Ah, pardon me, I was just a little intimidated and almost scared!” replied Venti, feigning embarrassment. “It’s not every day that a mere bard gets a one-on-one conversation with the Grand Master of the Order of Favonius!”

"And it's not for today either," added a familiar voice accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, taking him by surprise.

“Herald, you’re here!” exclaimed Venti, feigning surprise; he had felt him approaching very quietly from behind. So the Church also had a part to play in this mystery.

"I don't know what brings you here, but it is undoubtedly that the opinion of Archon Barbatos is required," said Dahlia politely, with a smile that barely concealed his malice.

“Certainly, since YOU are here,” added Venti, amused. “Now I just need to know the purpose of my being here. Let’s go in, the sun isn’t going to get any cooler and it would be a shame to be late!”

The office was hot and dark, all the curtains were drawn, and the piles of paper obscuring the furniture proved that Varka couldn't even air the room without risking an avalanche. Venti and Dahlia sat down on two chairs borrowed from the library for the occasion. Varka sat in his seat, looking gloomy like someone who regretted coming back from vacation to work; knowing how homesick he'd been, the paperwork must really be killing him slowly.

The door opened and Jean entered, carrying a box full of paperwork, seemingly diminishing the knight's joy even further. She closed the door with her foot and stepped forward, meticulously placing the sheets of paper pile upon pile, in a sorting method as rigorous as it was unfamiliar.

"Two more and that'll be it for your delay, not to mention the current files that need to be kept up to date so you don't fall further behind," Jean declared in response to Varka's silent complaint. "Don't pay any attention to me, though."

“Okay,” Varka began, his voice cavernous and devoid of all enthusiasm, a stark contrast to his usual tone. “Excuse the mess, I still have some work to catch up on…”

"Probably the other side of the coin" Dahlia muttered, having been holding back laughter since the beginning.

Venti remained silent, intrigued by Varka's seriousness. It always gave him a pang of sadness to see one of his babies in such a bad way, even for reasons as trivial as piles of documents.

“And even then, if there had been a coin” Varka sighed before clearing his throat, dismissing the deacon’s joke. “Anyway! Although I’m obviously busy, I’ve now covered the bulk of the events that have shaken the country.”

His gaze fell on Venti, then on Jean. “I regret not having been more present at that time, even if it was for a good reason. You know my immense gratitude for everything you did. And even though it’s in the past, and the people have managed to recover and even continue to celebrate the Windblume festival as always, I fear that the disasters have wounded people and that little or nothing has been done to heal these invisible wounds. No one is to blame; all of this was completely exceptional, but that requires an exceptional solution.”

It was lovely to see Varka like this. Mondstadt had no throne, but if a choice had to be made, he had already won everyone's hearts. Venti was proud and happy. He hadn't raised any of his children; he had let them grow up on their own and always placed his faith in Dorian's words. Despite the centuries that had passed, he was still right: freedom had shaped people toward self and others interest. Mondstadt wasn't a powerful or imposing country, but by far no one had a sweeter and more beautiful life than here. It was so long ago, and yet it was as if his words were everywhere. Perhaps every breeze Venti sent carried a little of his memories, and that was what made Mondstadt so beautiful.

“And naturally you have a solution to offer us, I imagine?” asked Dahlia, never doubting for a moment that he was right, thus interrupting Venti’s reverie. He was often a little lost in thought as Dorian’s birthday approached, memories resurfacing and a tender bitterness filling him. Venti had been in mourning for a long time, and even the sadness of the moment was now tinged with nostalgia, strangely almost pleasant, so steeped was it in a time when Dorian’s name was still on everyone’s mind.

“I have an idea to submit to you, yes. Venti, to be honest, I don’t know if you’ll like the idea, which is why you’re invited to the discussion as well. You have a say in the matter.”

“I’m just a bard, my word is worth as much as that of any other inhabitant of the land” Venti corrected him. But it was mostly out of politeness; in reality, he was afraid to hear what would come next, a fear reinforced by Varka’s visible discomfort, who sat up straight and clasped his hands under his chin.

“Mondstadt is fortunate to be rich in culture and traditions, but recent events will undoubtedly leave their mark on its history. That’s why I would like to transform this dark stain into a better memory. So, I plan to set aside a day next week to allow time for preparations for what I hope will become a new annual celebration.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, so why worry about my reaction, Grand Master ?” Venti ignored the fact that it fell on his birthday; he didn’t want to be embarrassed by such details. And besides, no matter the day, it was bound to fall on someone’s birthday anyway, so it might as well be his and Dorian’s.

Dahlia then took Venti's hand, his expression unusually serious and compassionate, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. It's true that this isn't exactly his place either, so his presence doesn't make any sense! Unless…

Varka spoke again: "I would like to hold a celebration in honor of all the winds, including Barbatos."

Venti instinctively rose from his chair, seized by both a terrible terror and a burning anger. Dahlia's hand tightened, as if to hold him back. He probably didn't know the reason for his visit, but he had clearly guessed quite quickly what Varka was up to.

"What do you mean, celebrate Barbatos ? Mondstadt never celebrates its archon, and you know very well why ! There's no way the nation is going to start celebrating his... I refuse ! I don't want a pedestal ! The people shouldn't kneel before anyone, least of all me !"

Venti hasn’t been crying in a long time; even seeing Dvalin suffer hadn't moved him enough. Surely his advanced age was gradually making emotions easier to manage in his heart, thus draining him of all tears. And yet this time, tears welled in his eyes. Despite Dahlia's insistence, Venti freed himself from his grasp.

"Of all the things Mondstadt can celebrate, why make the worst choice ? It goes against everything the people want, nobody wants this !" Venti shouted, gripping the desk so his voice could be heard.

“I’m sorry,” Varka said softly. “But it’s not without reason, and it’s not just you. Dvalin, Andrius, all the wind wisps, they all deserve respect. The people have been terrified, immensely so, and doing this will ensure that no one feels terror at the thought of Dvalin anymore, that people will have faith in Andrius’s wolves. There will be no kneeling or subjugation; this is an act of gratitude and a way to bring us closer to the winds of Mondstadt. And to Barbatos. You always maintained that the nation could be built without an archon, but you’ve heard the reality time and time again. The people yearn for a figure to turn to in times of chaos, and how can we turn to you if we have nothing more than a statue and a church to bind us together ?”

“All we can promise you is that we will not turn to Barbatos alone, but to all those beings protecting the country from dangers against which we were unable to defend ourselves” added Dahlia.

Venti was outraged. It went against everything he believed, but they said the people wanted it ? How could he have missed that ? And poor Dvalin, who had suffered so much, was also a source of nightmares for his children. Even Andrius might be associated with it, perhaps even his own name ! But it was unacceptable; he couldn't bear to think otherwise. The future Dorian painted was attainable; a country without an archon could survive. He knew it. But what if he was wrong ? Or what if he wasn't capable of offering his children, whom he had watched grow up, a sufficient sense of security ? And what if they truly needed it to continue living free ?

Thoughts, doubts, and memories jostled and pounded in Venti's head, who remained silent, his head falling towards the ground. Defeated.

“Very well, for the good of the people, of Dvalin and Andrius, I authorize it. But do not count on me to witness this betrayal of my values.”

Venti left, ignoring the calls, and slammed the door. If they wanted to pray, let them pray, so be it. But their archon wouldn't be there to listen to anything. He had always listened without prayers and didn't want to see his children corrupt their minds by thinking he was greater than them.

It had already been six days since Venti had stormed out of Mondstadt. He hadn't told anyone, but his absence must have been noticed long ago. It was hard not being there; he felt like he was abandoning his babies, but seeing them turn away from everything Venti believed in wasn't easy either. At first, he kept in touch through the wisps, his brothers and sisters, but seeing the decorations being put up, even the mere rumors about them became unbearable.

Dorian's memories became increasingly intertwined with his every thought; his ghost, which never left him, which repeated the same words he had spoken centuries ago, remained silent. There was nothing to be done. To actively combat this festival was against his principles, and to do nothing was as well. He was a prisoner of his convictions. And all his children sought to cradle their fear in his arms, unaware that they were already cradled in it at every moment, and that doing so would only create distance between them.

"Are you planning to stay in bed again today?" Zhongli asked, opening the curtains to reveal a commanding view of Liyue harbor. "I was kind enough to let you stay with me when my place is only big enough for one person; I'm not going to let you become a fossil in my sheets."

Venti muttered a few words, blinded by the sun, and hid under the covers. He hadn't really known where to go; he didn't want to go too far so he'd be ready to return at any moment, and his only true friend in Liyue who could put him up was Morax, but he hadn't considered that Zhongli lived in a tiny apartment, although it was ideally located to offer a splendid panorama of the capital.

It was true that he had challenged his nation's ability to do without him, to let them fly on their own, whereas previously he had carefully guided them and led them to become one of, if not the greatest, world power. He had succeeded.

“Do you think Mondstadt would have been better off if it hadn’t been me ?” Venti finally blurted out. This idea had been tormenting him for days, and he was terribly ashamed to think it, but his feelings of being an imposter had begun the moment he was imbued with power. He considered Dorian the true archon; he himself was merely there to fill the void left by the one who was truly in charge. He had never felt like he had made any real decisions, always relying on the bard’s teachings. He knew he was the weakest archon, and he had never been ashamed of it, yet he was also convinced he was by far the least suited for the role, and recent events showed he had failed to guide his people toward aspiring independence.

Zhongli stared at the bulge under the sheets, trying to hide it from view as much as possible after finally beginning to unburden his feelings. A heavy silence hung in the room. Zhongli then sat on the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t failed. You know very well what your children are capable of; they passed the recent tests brilliantly. Did I fail by handing over the reins of my nation by faking my death ? It’s simply the logical next step. The world has evolved more in a few years than in previous centuries; it’s normal for things to change. It’s this, and your country, that inspired me to let them find their own way.”

Venti opened up a little, observing the ever-composed and profound expression of his old friend. Most found him stoic, cold, and unapproachable; Venti found him terribly deep and genuine. It showed on his face; he too was in complete uncertainty and didn't really know what the future held. He had very rarely shown weakness, but since his "death", Zhongli had been displaying less and less of the stature of a great leader and warrior, allowing himself more and more to show his struggles: he would never have admitted to drawing inspiration from anyone but himself in the past.

"You've been at my place for days, but you still haven't made any progress on your problems. I'm not sure this retreat is doing you the good you thought it would."

"Yes it is !" Venti panicked. He saw where Zhongli was going with this and it was out of the question.

“Do you really think your children would be so weak as to change completely because of a single celebration ? You mistrust them that much ? Especially since you’ve always boasted about being the archon closest to his people ?”

Venti was trapped once again. Of course, he had almost blind faith in each of his children, but he was simply afraid that all his words, all his convictions, would be put to the test. He had never feared that his people would truly turn away from freedom; in fact, doing so would be a form of independence, and as long as it didn't affect anyone, it remained true to Dorian's preaching of always seeking new paths. Faced with this doubt, once again, the bard remained silent.

“Their festival will be held tomorrow. You will go and see for yourself what the people of Mondstadt desire. And I will accompany you so that you don’t fly away before even seeing with your own eyes where the path you have chosen has led you.” Zhongli said calmly, standing up and preparing to leave. “I have work waiting for me. Stay here and mope, or prepare yourself. Just know that even if you run away, I will find you and drag you back by force.”

His coldness on that last sentence sent a shiver down Venti's spine; if he said it like that, it meant he really intended to do it. So he remained there, doing nothing, without moving.

Zhongli opened the door to leave, then quickly closed it again.

"And for goodness' sake, get dressed!" Then he left, slamming the door, without turning around so as not to show his anger. Or his embarrassment, it was hard to say from Venti's point of view, who hadn't really left the apartment for days, which had dulled his perception of people.

Zhongli seemed determined to drag Venti along to witness this disaster. Or perhaps not; Zhongli, on the contrary, seemed to believe in the people of Mondstadt and was certain they wouldn't resign themselves to praying to their archon again and again. Venti envied this faith a little. No, rather: he wondered why he didn't share it. Was it the memory of Dorian, to which he clung so tightly, that terrified him so much of his own children ? He couldn't abandon this ghost, for without it, who would remember the true liberator of the people ?

No one was left to bear witness, and even the archons, he knew, thought Venti was exaggerating the bard's role in the liberation. They were wrong; Venti had always made a point of downplaying it. After the liberation, Venti spoke at length with his fellow revolutionaries, and the discussion was unanimous: no one should reveal the true importance of each other. One crown should not be replaced by another, even one made of laurels. Venti respected this wish and always has, but having followed Dorian, words sometimes burned on his tongue as he longed to express all that Dorian had done, how nothing would have been possible without him.

Venti knew he was doing the opposite of his own doctrine, that he was deifying and would place Dorian above all else. And it was precisely because he lived with this contradiction that he could protect his people. But Morax was right: he couldn't look away. He had to witness it himself, otherwise how could he consider them his children if he disowned them when they misstepped?

Venti had spent all day pacing, knowing the decision was the right one, but that didn't calm his anxiety about confronting his fear like this. Besides, living with Zhongli wasn't easy for him; he could count on him for advice or conversation, but whether it was playing or just reassuring him, it clearly wasn't his strong suit.

The night was endless; Venti couldn't sleep a wink and spent hours at the port, admiring the city lights reflected in the choppy sea or watching the sailors at work. Life here was very different; even after sunset, the giant machine that is Liyue never truly stops. This was the price to pay for all the wealth the country possesses: everyone worked and contributed to it.

It's a very different morality from Mondstadt, where the country is more modest but more tranquil, the nights rather lively with a less laborious nightlife. It was strange to see two neighboring countries, almost always allies, behaving so differently. It's a beautiful balance, and surely that's how peace between them has been able to endure for so long.

Venti finally succumbed to curiosity and flew higher, into the darkness of the moonless night sky to find his kind and learn more about what was in store for the next day. Up there, in the summer wind, he found a wisp.

"Good evening, summer wind, you who come from the north and have crossed our land, tell me I beg you, what is in our city ?" Venti whispered to him in a calm breeze.

The small spirit whirled around the bard to greet him, but offered no reply. Wind spirits are capricious and playful, but also very sensitive. Even Venti, who remains one at heart, couldn't understand this refusal to respond. They all shared the same beliefs, Venti having preached Dorian's word to all his kind, so it's not surprising that the other wisps were also worried about this religious celebration being held in their honor.

"I'm not forcing you to answer; if you wish to remain silent, I understand. May your path be without ill omen," replied Venti, returning to the ground.

He felt guilty knowing the stress his fellow humans were experiencing, to the point that he didn't even want to answer him, but tomorrow he would finally know the truth behind it all and he would be able to comfort them all. It was a great ordeal, but Venti had to be strong for them, and for his children too.

Zhongli still had some business to attend to, so much so that they couldn't leave until midday, probably at the height of the festival. Venti couldn't wait any longer, so he followed Zhongli around, fulfilling his obligations. Nothing particularly interesting for the bard, just duties to attend to, a few contracts to sign here and there, other documents to deliver elsewhere, and ensuring the proper upkeep of a few establishments. The morning was deadly dull, but this boredom was only amplified by the pressure of knowing what awaited him at the end.

Venti was still frightened to see his children praying to him, but Zhongli was right: if they decided to pray, what kind of archon would he be to not even lend them a listening ear ? If they felt this need, it was because the desires of their hearts were too secret to reveal. It was certainly a failure on his part, but he shouldn't flee in cowardice or doubt his course. Venti knew he was on the right path; he simply had to humbly accept his children's doubts and adjust his course for their good, even if he disliked having to do so. They would know the difference between confiding their fears and doubts and relying on Barbatos, thought the optimistic part of Venti. The defeatist part was not to be listened to.

When Zhongli finally finished his work, he went to apologize for his absence for the rest of the day, and then they set off for the outskirts of Liyue. Even the walk seemed endless to the bard, especially compared to Zhongli's calm gait, which tried to temper Venti's eagerness.

The moment they finally emerged from the outer guards' sight, they both changed and then flew at full speed toward Mondstadt. Their flight lasted barely fifteen minutes, so rushed was Venti. Even Zhongli, in his semi-dragon form, struggled to keep up. This was it; he didn't want to wait any longer. He wanted to confront his fear head-on.

They landed at the edge of the Whispering Woods and resumed their human forms. Finally home, the wind was much more pleasant, even nature seemed friendlier here. Venti rediscovered the scent of flowers to which all the inhabitants of Mondstadt are accustomed.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay ?” Zhongli asked, finally breaking the silence of the journey. “We don’t really know what to expect, and I don’t want you to suffer more than necessary.”

“I’m still scared, yes, but I can’t choose their desires and needs for them. You reminded me of that and I have to face my fear, I’m too old to stay hidden in my bed forever !” Venti reassured him, facing the stress with a big smile.

"If you say so... oh, happy birthday by the way, I almost forgot. You can put that on top of the hundreds of other birthday presents I didn't get you."

"Oh, thank you."

Venti felt strange; he'd never forgotten his birthday, or rather, Dorian's. He'd been so preoccupied with other things these past few days that it had completely escaped him. Now that he thought about it, he realized he hadn't been caught up in daydreams about days spent with Dorian as much as he usually is; his worries had largely taken over.

They walked in silence to the city gates. Venti felt strange, as if caught in an invisible ocean current. He kept thinking about Dorian's face. His last words. His last smile. His raised fist in battle. His last sigh. His gaze when he saw Venti take on his appearance. His peaceful expression before he closed his eyes.

These were no longer painful memories; seeing him so passionate about his beliefs until the end and being reassured that Venti would take over, that was what had motivated Venti all these years.

Venti absently greeted the guards posted at the main gate of Mondstadt and they entered the city.

The contrast was striking. The city was teeming with people, locals and travelers alike; food stalls and games were everywhere. It felt like a Windblume festival, but on an even grander scale. Banners, signs, and signs were plastered all over the place, bearing the colors of Mondstadt and its symbols. The two archons were barely able to move through the city.

"I see. People really needed it !" Venti said, laughing.

He went back and forth, from stall to stall, greeting and congratulating the few merchants who had time to chat. It was good to be home, even after a week. Venti's anxiety eased somewhat; the worst-case scenario had been horribly exaggerated in the end.

The city was a veritable mixture of scents of all kinds. The trade wind festival usually carries a floral scent that the wind spirits and Venti amplify, but here and without the slightest action from the archon, the city has a mixture of food scents of all kinds, coming both from Mondstadt itself but also more exotic notes deeply reminiscent of other nations.

They climbed higher into the city, watching the few water features and children playing in the fountain to cool off. The staircases were covered in tapestries ranging from azure to forest green. If the other city festivals were already impressive, this was a true showcase of all that Mondstadt is, even displaying its wealth. It was a monumental task to organize all this in a single week. Even on balconies and at windows, people joined in the celebrations, tossing streamers and party favors. The people were in a festive mood, celebrating for the sake of celebrating. Venti wasn't even sure many knew what they were really supposed to be celebrating, but they were doing it anyway.

Venti was, however, demystified. Behind the fountain, in the shadow of the city's upper floors, a group of children had gathered around a bard. Without even noticing, Venti immediately approached to listen to what they were saying.

"As the terrible Durin landed on the highest of the windmills, his claws piercing its roof and his acidic breath piercing the canvas of its sails, another roar shook the city walls. An even greater shadow fell over Durin's, and a gigantic blue dragon with wings of light landed right here! Barbatos, our archon, at its side, simply pointed at Durin with the tip of his finger... And Durin was hurled with all the might of the wind into the Cider Lake !"

Venti smiled. It was a truly wonderful story, the one about Dvalin's battle, even if his version differed. It was fortunate the battle hadn't taken place in the heart of the city, considering how long it had taken to clear the Dadaupa Gorge afterward, that would have been a disaster. But it was good to see the legends of Dvalin resurface; he would be pleased to know that no one would forget him or all his efforts to save the people.

"Don't you want to hear the rest ? Barbatos seems much stronger than what's being said in Liyue." Zhongli asked with a slightly mocking smile.

“I already know this story; I’m a bard, after all. And if you only remember Barbatos in this tale, you’re not listening closely enough.” Venti replied simply, already heading elsewhere. It’s true that in the usual story, Barbatos doesn’t play such a large role, but he’s not going to interrupt this bard, even if it does slightly unsettle him about being overly deified.

They continued their ascent through the city, passing a few acrobats or musicians here and there. If he had known, Venti thought, he would have brought more moras for all the performers, who seemed to come from every corner of the world. It was still a pleasure to see all sorts of tricks and dances in Mondstadt; it would surely further expand the repertoire of the city's street artists. Another bard, in fact, had gathered a crowd in the small garden just below the knights' headquarters. Venti went to pay closer attention to see what legend he might be telling.

“Finally, they arrived at the land where Boreas had fought. Far removed from the snowstorm he had once unleashed, he struggled to recognize the place, now ablaze with a majestic green. Advancing to Springvale, the man asked him, ‘Great Wolf, you who once ruled this land, would you have been able to bring the joy of life that is here?’ And Boreas was speechless. Barbatos’s work had spread the joy of spring where he himself had only known how to bring icy winters.”

Venti stormed out of the garden. His work ? What does he mean by his work ? All he had to do was clear the snow so the grass would grow; it took him less than a day. Boreas, on the other hand, had fought fiercely and still watches over the inhabitants today ! It's true that his temperament means he doesn't even mention the threats he wards off when no one is looking, but as a payback, Venti will have to write long eulogies recounting his friend's exploits !

But all the same, it's still nice to see that Boreas's name is uttered without causing anyone to shudder, even if Barbatos once again gets the best part. It's true that this festival is fantastic and seemed necessary, however, it seems clear that anyone coming here would leave with only an impression of grandeur and of Barbatos brilliantly steering the country's ship, so the very opposite of what Venti was doing.

It was sad to see, but Venti still wanted to look elsewhere, to know what was being said among the bards. He no longer even paid attention to the other performances, and even Zhongli could feel the heavy atmosphere emanating from his friend.

They moved forward, listening to local legends here and there, often featuring Barbatos. Then they arrived at the large, ornately decorated statue of Barbatos. Venti felt a knot in his stomach seeing it, but he was even more frightened to see a bard at its base, surrounded by a crowd much larger than any he had ever seen today.

Luckily, and to reassure Venti, this man had no legends; he sang. From the first notes he managed to hear, Venti recognized the tune immediately. He was one of the few in the city who still played it. It was an old piece of music he had composed before his long sleep, when he hadn't yet mourned. Venti was surprised; although the tune remained part of the country's bardic repertoire, few actually used it in such occasions. It was a slow ballad, but there was little else to it. Venti was sad; he had composed sad music, without thinking beyond that. Even the lyrics, which are nothing more than a song about the ruins of old Mondstadt, and which at that moment seemed merely descriptive, took on a new meaning for Venti when he heard them like this, from another's mouth.

Dorian's memory was clearly there, in every word. Venti struggled to grasp how unhappy he was as he composed this. For the second time in such a short time, tears came to his eyes. The collapsed tower, the bright flames replaced by old ivy, the echoes of battle in the silence of the ancient city's hollow. It all brought him back to that time, when simply being in these places conjured up mirages of the final battle. Where each of those mirages inevitably ended with Dorian's death. There was only that ending, and the ballad ended the same way. Even though he knew the words, Venti was still terribly moved.

"As I close my eyes to the past, turned towards the sky

The fight can end as the birds arrive.”

This song was a pleasant surprise to hear here. The locals felt it was important to remember their origins, even if those origins weren't necessarily linked to Barbatos. Evening was beginning to arrive, and Venti went around the whole city.

"What do you think?" Zhongli asked.

“The festival keeps the nation’s origins at its heart. I don’t like Barbatos’ role in all this, but they leave room for other wind spirits, that’s something. I’m going to write better songs and stories about them; I’ve always avoided doing that, but they deserve more space than this. I’m a little reassured, but still…” Venti’s voice shut.

"Still disappointed ? I can understand. At least you were able to cope, and it's less terrible than you feared. There's no grand prayer organized in your name, that’s a good start."

And as if Zhongli had defied fate, a few town criers gathered a crowd on the church steps. A crowd was already there, but it was visibly growing.

"Oh no... what were you saying?" said Venti, already filled with apprehension.

"I admit, that might be worrying. But you trust them, right?"

“Yes, I trust them… I just hope they don’t overdo it,” said Venti, stepping forward.

Dahlia stood on a small platform, surrounded by some of the church sisters. He stood as usual, straight and proud, with the serene air that only crowds seemed to know, a stark contrast to the mischievous side his closed ones knew. He clearly noticed Venti in the crowd and greeted him with a simple nod. The crowd continued to gather, a relatively respectful murmur, without any real jostling, no doubt due to the imposing church before him. Then the bells rang three times, silencing all the chatter. Venti's heart pounded in his ears: what else awaited him in this speech ? An ode to his greatness ? An invitation to collective prayer ? Or something even worse ? He knew that Dahlia didn't really want to be zealous about religion, especially in Mondstadt and knowing how much it went against the archon he preached, but he also knew that this was the role expected of him and that he could only prevent it to a certain extent.

Dahlia took two steps forward and began to speak. Venti swallowed hard, hanging on his every word as much as the rest of the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is with immense honor that I thank you for attending this entire festival, the organization of which, moreover, was brilliantly carried out by all the inhabitants of the city. But I also know the question that runs through all your minds and that has been on everyone’s lips throughout the day: what is the purpose of this festival ? And above all, what are we doing today ? It is unconventional to celebrate without even saying what we are celebrating. To answer this, we must return to the very origins of our nation, the thing that allowed us to create ourselves as a people in our own right. You all know that I am obviously speaking of the great revolution that took place 2,600 years ago.”

Venti's head dropped. It was that story of Barbatos saving the people again. He knew it would always come back to that moment, the one that haunted him so much. The day he led the people outside, certainly, but also the day he lost the one who was his guardian, his teacher, his guide, but above all, his one and only friend.

“The liberation of Mondstadt is a fantastic epic that still resonates today, its traces still everywhere, and its memory permeates every inhabitant, every stone of every wall, and the entirety of the fauna and flora of the whole region. It is the day that Archon Barbatos revealed himself to us.”

Venti wanted to leave. He already knew everything, both what had happened and what he'd been telling himself. This day was a tragedy, not a celebration for him. There was no point in listening to what came next. As he turned, he felt Zhongli's strong hand on his shoulder. Turning away, he saw him gently shake his head and turn toward Dahlia.

"But despite everything, that day was also a tragedy."

Venti turned around immediately. Dahlia was looking him straight in the eyes. This was absolutely not the church's version, nor anyone else's. Not even Venti dared to shatter the memory of this sacred day for his children. Murmurs spread through the crowd, from strangers to the city's oldest inhabitants.

“I know you think I’ve lost my mind to speak like this about the liberation of the people, but it’s too easy to forget the cost it incurred. The Church of Favonius doesn’t just share legends; we dust them off, we delve into what lies behind them, and it now seems relevant to bring the echoes of the past back to the forefront, now that we can learn from them. Do you think it was a people with fanfare, singing and dancing, who crossed the still-frozen fields for the first time back then ? No, these people were in mourning, terrified, wounded by the fighting, and whose only beacon of hope was Barbatos. The texts have always been clear: Barbatos revealed himself at the very end, but it’s too easy to ignore all those people who fought against a god. Not all have had the chance to embrace a new land, not all have had the chance to see the sky stretch to infinity, not all have had the chance to taste freedom. The people of Mondstadt have suffered recently; a multitude of catastrophes have occurred, all over the world. People have suffered, and some still suffer now. Sometimes they suffer physically, but most suffer in secret and silence. I myself am uncertain of what the future holds. But unlike in those times, the people have not fought alone; Barbatos watches over his children. It is our duty to thank him by being our own beacon of hope. Mondstadt is no longer the grieving people it once was. That is what this festival is about: a festival for all the spirits of the wind and of freedom ! For Barbatos, Boreas, Dvalin, and all the wisps who protect us, but also for each and every one of us, bearers of freedom ! We can thank the spirits every minute of every hour of every day, but this day is a day of freedom ! The day of the revolution ! In short: it is the day of the free people !”

Venti was speechless. The crowd cheered, whistled, shouted, sang, celebrated, and surged. Venti stood motionless, staring blankly ahead, unable to utter a word, still in shock. Zhongli remained by his side, visibly less surprised. Clearly, he was already aware of how the day had unfolded and had been amused to see Venti unable to find a word to criticize.

It was perfect. Ideal.

“I suppose you enjoyed it ?” asked Dahlia, who had had time to go downstairs and find the bard. “To tell you the truth, it was a surprise we had planned, but we didn’t think you’d run away from the country for a whole week. Luckily, we had some help” he said, turning to Zhongli. “However, there’s something else you should see; I think you’ll like it even more.”

Dahlia then took Venti by the hand, still processing every word that the deacon just declared in front of his very church. A whole day for the people, celebrating all their accomplishments and the freedom they had won and kept despite all the time that had passed. A day for the revolutionaries, a day for the blood shed. A day for all of that. Venti didn't even know where they had come up with the idea, but nothing could have been better.

Dahlia dragged him to the side of the church, without saying a word, while Zhongli followed them.

"You knew absolutely everything about all of this ?" Venti asked his friend.

“When you arrived at my door, I asked Xiao to investigate. He didn’t have too much trouble, since Boreas had sent a message delivered by a wolf to tell me everything. It seems that almost everyone knew and had kept it from you; all I had to do was make sure you were here. It must have taken a lot of effort to convince even the wisps not to tell you anything; I have no idea how much work that must have been.”

“On the contrary, from the moment we said it was to surprise you, they immediately sided with us.” Dahlia corrected.

They continued to the back of the church. There, in the small clergy cemetery, a simple table with glasses, a pie, and a handful of people were waiting for him: Varka, Jean, Diluc, Kaeya, Durin, and Albedo. The people who knew Barbatos, in short.

"Happy birthday, Venti !" they celebrated.

Venti's eyes welled up again, a sight that had become less rare in recent days. As drinks were exchanged, pies eaten, and conversations flowed, Venti finally asked Varka:

"But how could you do all that ? A people's festival, celebrating revolutionaries, all that. I never said a word about it."

Varka laughed, a frank and lively one in contrast with his exhausted look, and pointed to one of the graves, a new one. It had an old book on it, one of those the church keeps locked away in its storeroom. Venti approached and recognized it immediately. He fell to his knees, his legs buckling. He clutched the tombstone, tears streaming down his cheeks for good. He hadn't cried in centuries, but finally seeing a grave for Dorian was all he had ever dreamed of. Venti had always been the sole bearer of his memory, his conviction, his message. But he also thought his journal had been lost, the book containing all the bard's thoughts. He no longer had to bear this burden alone; he would no longer be the only one to see Dorian's ghost. Varka approached him, crouched down to his level, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"You can wish him a happy birthday from us too. We have some 2000 years of catching up to do."

Time passed. The sun set, and everyone eventually left. Venti stayed there, weeping bitterly, leafing through Dorian's journal. He could hardly breathe, so strong was the emotion at seeing his handwriting again, seeing his words once more. All that time had passed, but each of those lines was still just as powerful. Some brought a smile, others were unsettling, but all of them moved forward as he read. Venti knew this story by heart too, but after all this time, what story didn't he know ? At the end of the book, on the last written page, the final entry said so little compared to the others, which were covered in words.

“The weather is still the same today. I could have said that the weather isn’t improving, but what could be better than this wind of revolution ? The people are ready, I am ready, even Venti is ready. We will reach the sky. The buildings may burn, but the fire of revolt has been smoldering for too long. I don’t know if my words will last longer than they do today, my life may end, my writings may burn, my voice may be silenced, but that doesn’t frighten me. For the torch will be passed on to someone else. And if the same thing happens to them, there will be yet another. It is this endless cycle that will prevent a tyrant from ruling us. I am only carrying the flame for the moment; all I wish is that one day, everyone will carry it together.”

That was his only wish, Venti thought, and they did it for him. Happy birthday, my only friend, rest assured I have many more now, and each one has inherited your passion.