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Author Note:
[ ] = When Twilight is speaking.
{ } = When talking through Telepathy.
' ' = When thinking in your mind.
<< >> = When talking with your Pokémon or Tamed Beast.
--- --- = When describing a certain period OR Another place.
** ** = Point Of View, i.e., POV
/// /// = In Call
" " = System, and when talking to it.
「 」 = Thoughts being heard
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---Mondstadt---
Soon, the Seven Knights returned to their barren city.
They walked in silence, their armor gleaming, swords unstained.
Despite the millions they had slain, not a drop of their enemies' blood clung to them. Not a dent, not a smudge marred the silver of their blades. They had become something beyond mortal warriors—instruments of judgment, unyielding, precise, and terrifyingly perfect.
THUCH!
Each step they took resounded through the air like a chime of fate—metal against cracked stone. Their footsteps did not echo on the ground… but in the sky. As if the heavens themselves bore witness to their return.
No words were exchanged.
They looked into each other's eyes, found what they needed, and turned in unison—toward the north.
Toward the place where Favonius Cathedral once stood.
There was nothing now. No spires. No bells. Only cracked, hollow earth—a monument to what had been lost.
And at the edge, where land dropped into the still waters of Cider Lake, he stood.
Primis.
One step forward and he would fall—but he did not move. He simply stood, as if time itself could not touch him.
His long hair, impossibly white and impossibly black, moved with the wind like a banner torn between heaven and hell. His robe—woven from threads that shimmered with creation and void—dragged across the ground, untouched by dust.
And his eyes…
Eyes that bore the stars within them. Blue Rinne, vast and unfathomable, gazed out toward the distant Stormterror's Lair. His expression was unreadable. Serene. Indifferent. Infinite.
The Seven arrived behind him—and they knelt.
Jean. Lisa. Kaeya. Diluc. Albedo. Eula. Amber.
They knelt for him.
Because without Primis, they would have been dust—lost in the tide of monsters. It was he who showed them the path. Not by handing them power, but by forcing them to rise—through fire, through agony, through failure.
He could have given them the strength to burn the world with a whisper.
But he chose not to.
Instead, he gave them hardship. A mountain with no summit. A sea with no shore. He made them crawl, bleed, suffer. And through that suffering, they found their own strength. He did not forge them. He tempered them.
They had become more than Knights. They had become his chosen.
And they knew it. Beneath their helmets, behind their lowered heads, their eyes burned with reverence.
Jean, voice soft but resolute, broke the silence.
Jean: Your Majesty…
She stopped. Then, all seven voices rose in solemn unison.
Jean, Lisa, Kaeya, Diluc, Albedo, Eula, Amber: THANK YOU.
Primis did not speak. He only inclined his head.
A simple gesture. And yet it carried the weight of eternity.
Silence followed. Not awkward or hollow—but vast. Sacred.
Then, at last, his voice emerged—gentle as wind over water, yet absolute.
Primis: Do you wish to stay… or return?
Jean: …We will return. There is nothing left here for us.
Primis: WE see. Then go. WE will remain a while longer.
Jean: As you command… Your Majesty.
One by one, they rose. They bowed once more. And then, as if consumed by starlight itself, their bodies were wrapped in radiant light and vanished—returning to the Pocket Universe Primis had created.
A sanctuary for those too powerful, too changed, to exist in this broken world.
Now, only Primis remained.
Until space rippled behind him—and from it stepped a golden shadow.
Ais Wallenstein, the Sword Princess, his loyal blade and guard.
She did not speak. She simply stood behind him, gazing in the same direction—toward the black abyss beneath Stormterror's Lair.
Ais: It's a mercy they never sensed it… that thing, hiding in the deep.
Her voice was quiet.
Ais: If they had, they would've stayed. They would've fought. And it would've killed them—easily. That… thing is not like the horde they just destroyed.
Primis: They are not yet ready for Archon-level battle.
His gaze shifted—now toward Dragonspine. A place of ice and ruin.
There, the creature had used ancient curse to steal the power of the Allogenes—those chosen by the elements. A curse meant to turn monsters into elemental beings.
But it had miscalculated.
Because before its creations could rise, Lumine returned.
No longer the Traveler. No longer the Seeker.
She came back as the Abyssal Princess.
And the first thing she did was wipe Dragonspine clean. With her own hands, she erased every abomination. By the time she was gone, there was nothing left alive in Mondstadt for the creature to draw from.
Its army had died before it even joined the battle.
Ais: A Blessing. If she hadn't done so…
Primis: …The outcome would have changed. The Knights might have faced true resistance.
Ais: And the monster corpses still litter the land. What of them?
Primis: Let them rot. In the next battle… they'll be reduced to dust in the collateral damage.
Ais said nothing for a moment.
Then she looked forward—through stone, shadow, space, and time—and her golden eyes met the hidden gaze of the creature that waited in the abyss.
It had begun to stir.
But she didn't flinch. Her gaze shifted once more—eastward. Toward another presence. Ancient. Watching. Waiting.
Ais: The Knights have had their turn…
A pause.
Her voice turned sharp, charged with solemn anticipation.
Ais: …Now it's his.
The wind grew still.
Even the stars seemed to hold their breath.
Ais: I hope you're prepared…
She narrowed her eyes.
Ais: …Barbatos.
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A Day of Silence.
A day had passed.
There was nothing but silence in all of Mondstadt.
No voices of people, no songs of birds, no rustle of leaves in the wind. Not even the distant grunts of Hilichurls or the squelch of a wandering slime. Nothing remained but stillness—and death.
Scattered across the once-vibrant land were countless carcasses: the twisted remains of monsters, beasts, and abominations that the Seven Knights had slaughtered before their departure. Their bodies were strewn across every forest path, every rocky hill, every windswept field—everywhere, except for the heart of Mondstadt, now eerily barren and untouched.
The stench of blood was overwhelming. It soaked the air so heavily that any sane person would have lost their mind within seconds of breathing it. It was as if the very earth had bled—the grass painted red, the trees weeping crimson, the lakes and ponds turned into stagnant pools of gore. It was a vision of Hell dragged onto the earth and left to rot in silence.
That silence lingered.
Until something moved.
It began subtly—so faint that only the earth could feel it. A tremor, like a breath held too long finally escaping. And then, suddenly, the ground quaked. A low, ominous groan echoed across the horizon, followed by a rise in wind. Gentle at first. Then slicing. Then roaring with a ferocity that could shred skin from bone.
The entire nation of Mondstadt was consumed by a storm. Winds lashed the land, tearing at what little remained. Even the corpses were not spared—lifted by the gales, shredded into dust, turned into crimson mist that fed the wrath of the whirlwind.
And all of it… gathered at one place:
Stormterror's Lair.
A vortex formed at its center. A monstrous tornado clawed at the sky, howling like a beast unchained. The air thickened, shimmering with unnatural energy. Then—
BOOM.
A thunderous crack, as if reality itself had split open. The world paused. And from the deepest part of the abyss, within the heart of the ruined Lair, something stirred.
A massive hand—gnarled, clawed, and glowing with malignant energy—burst through the abyssal fissure. Then another. Then more. Crawling from the depths, the creature that had slumbered beneath the ruins began to rise.
The very earth protested.
The surface of Stormterror's Lair shattered. Ancient stones crumbled. Forgotten architecture collapsed into ruin. Bridges split apart like paper. The walls surrounding the lair cracked and fell inward, pulled into the expanding void.
Then—it emerged.
A monstrous, otherworldly entity of unfathomable power and terrifying majesty. It towered like a god of destruction, a malformed humanoid shape wreathed in chaos. Dozens of elongated, spiked limbs writhed and twisted outward, each moving with eerie independence. Its skin glowed with sickly teal and viridian hues, as though the Anemo element itself had been corrupted and now surged through its body like venom in a vein.
Jagged armor plates jutted from its form—blackened, twisted, and ancient. Between those plates, glowing fissures bled orange-red energy, like cursed embers burning from within. These pulses gathered at its core and along its limbs, crackling with the malevolence of a dying star.
The world around it warped and crumbled. Structures floated, suspended in the rising winds. Debris danced in the storm like the remnants of a forgotten dream. The creature's presence alone bent reality—an aura so oppressive that even the land of Mondstadt seemed to recoil in terror.
Its head was crowned with massive, curved horns like a crown of bone. And its face…
A snarling, fanged visage twisted into an expression of pure malice.
It did not speak. It did not need to.
Its very existence was a declaration: the end had come.
Mondstadt—stood on the precipice of annihilation. The beast had awakened.
And it brought with it The Curse.
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Pic: THE CURSE OF THE WIND
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The moment it revealed itself, the winds across Mondstadt exploded into a frenzy of raw, untamed power. What had once been violent now became apocalyptic. The air itself howled in agony as the very land began to crumble. Cracks webbed across the ground from the furthest cliffs to the heart of the city. Ruins and soil rose from the earth, suspended in a chaotic vortex before disintegrating into fine dust. It was as if the world itself was unraveling in the presence of this unholy monstrosity.
But then—
♪
A single note echoed through the storm.
A delicate, divine sound—soft, melodic, impossible.
The cacophony halted.
The furious wind, once savage and unstoppable, slowed… and then stilled. The storm clouds hung frozen in the sky like dark curtains before the stage of fate.
THE CURSE shifted its massive, twisted head. Its many glowing eyes narrowed as it turned skyward. Something had answered. Its adversary had arrived. The one force that dared to oppose its conquest—the only being who still stood between this nightmare and the fall of the land.
Flap!
The sharp sound of wings sliced through the silence. And then, there he was.
Above the chaos and ruin, suspended in the heavens like a promise not yet broken, stood a celestial figure. A being of serenity and light, wrapped in the embrace of divine wind. He floated effortlessly, his silhouette radiant against the swirling skies, surrounded by feathers and ribbons of air that danced gently around him.
His wings were magnificent—enormous and luminous, each feather aglow with iridescent light. The downy softness of his plumage shimmered as if dusted with stardust, casting rays of hope across the ruins below.
Clothed in garments of flowing silk and divine thread, his appearance was both regal and timeless. Ceremonial sashes drifted weightlessly around him, catching light like the surface of a tranquil sea. Upon his chest, a brilliant Anemo Vision pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat—clear and calm, yet filled with unspoken power. A golden circlet crowned his head, its design elegant and ancient, signifying his station as the true God of Freedom.
The air around him was dreamlike—awash with shades of turquoise, azure, and indigo that shimmered like reflections on celestial waters. Petals floated by on unseen currents, and beneath him, ripples shimmered through a pool of starlight that didn't truly exist, as if space itself bent in his presence.
In one hand, he held a lyre, the sacred instrument of wind and song—his voice to the world. His eyes were closed, his expression tranquil and composed, as though listening to the breath of the earth itself. The world held its breath.
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Pic: THE ANEMO ARCHON
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♩
♪♪
♪♫♪
Then, he played.
The melody was hauntingly beautiful—gentle, mournful, and filled with sorrow. It swept across Mondstadt like a divine tide, reaching every broken village, every ravaged hill, every corpse-laden field. The wind carried the song to the furthest edges of the land, a requiem for the fallen and a lullaby for their spirits.
And then, he stopped.
Slowly, his fingers lifted from the lyre's strings. His eyes opened.
The music faded, but the air grew heavier.
And his gaze—his gaze burned.
Though his face remained calm, almost divine in its stillness, his eyes told another story: a storm of pain, grief, and unrelenting rage. The rage of a god who had failed his people. The fury of watching his land bleed. The agony of knowing he had come too late… and the resolve to never let it happen again.
This time, he would not falter.
The CURSE bellowed, its many limbs lashing as black and green Anemo energy twisted around it in a malevolent spiral. The ground beneath it shattered anew. The winds obeyed its scream, building into a new tempest.
But Barbatos did not flinch.
The air around him shimmered as wind gathered in response. Not chaotic or cruel—but fierce, fast, and alive. His wings spread wide, and the gale roared with his will. The winds that once whispered freedom now howled with righteous vengeance.
The skies darkened, and time itself seemed to stop as two forces stared each other down—
THE GOD OF WIND
and
THE CURSE OF WIND.
The final battle was about to begin.
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.
.
.
The Creature moved.
No sound. No warning. No trace.
One moment it loomed across the horizon like a storm given flesh, and the next—it vanished.
Barbatos's eyes narrowed. He felt it—a flicker in the currents of wind behind him.
A claw, massive and wreathed in cursed wind, shot forward at breakneck speed. But before it could even graze the feathers of his wings—
SWISH!!
Barbatos was gone. A blink. A breath. A whisper in the storm.
The claw carved through the empty space where he once floated. And then it struck the earth.
CRACK!
BOOOOOOM!!!
The land didn't just break—it shattered. The claw's force carved gouges into the ground miles long and hundreds of meters deep, cutting through mountain ridges like they were parchment. A blast of pressure rolled outward, collapsing entire regions of the already-ruined nation. Floating islands fell from the sky. The very crust of Mondstadt quaked.
It was a blow that could have split continents. And it had missed.
But the most terrifying thing? It had moved like lightning. Despite its titanic form—larger than cities, broader than mountains—the Creature's speed was on par with the Archons at their peak. A monstrous contradiction of size and grace.
And yet, even as its strike failed, the beast didn't pause. Its other limbs blurred through the air, a multitude of bladed claws arcing toward where Barbatos had reappeared.
Venti's wings flared wide. He darted between the claws, an emerald blur dancing through threads of destruction. The air screamed as the beast's attacks came—each one fast enough to outrun thunder, each one sharp enough to tear through sky and stone alike. And with each swipe, more of Mondstadt perished: forests flattened, mountains split, rivers boiled away. Even the skies grew ragged under the pressure.
He was being pressed. He could feel it.
He couldn't dodge forever.
Barbatos's fingers touched the strings of his lyre. But this time—there was no melody.
Only wrath.
With a sweep of his hand, the lyre pulsed with divine Anemo. And from it—
A tornado was born.
Not a spell. Not an attack. But a manifestation of pure, elemental fury.
BOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!
A storm of unimaginable scale erupted.
A quarter of Mondstadt was consumed. Mountains were uprooted. Villages—already abandoned—vanished like sand in a hurricane. The wind pulled the very land into its vortex—trees, stone, the bones of the dead, whole ruins ascending into the sky like falling stars in reverse. The storm glowed from within, a celestial wrath made real.
SHIN!!
A streak of light burst from the heart of the tornado.
It soared skyward, and from it emerged Barbatos once more—his wings spread, wind curling around him like a crown. He hovered high above, eyes locked onto the churning spiral.
Then—
A hand emerged from within the tornado.
And then another.
And then more.
The creature's claws gripped the swirling winds… and tore the tornado in half.
BANG!!
A shockwave exploded as the vortex was split apart like fabric. The winds howled and scattered, torn into chaos. And from the core stepped The Curse, untouched. Not a single scratch marred its massive frame.
It glared skyward, its many eyes gleaming with wrath.
Then, without warning—it glowed.
Teal light surged from its core. Runes and veins of ancient corruption lit up across its body. A deafening hum rose as it charged.
And then—
TIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
A colossal beam of pure cursed Anemo burst forth, aimed directly at Barbatos. It ripped through the air like a scythe of light, splitting the sky in two.
But Barbatos was ready.
His fingers touched the lyre once more.
♩
A single note. A sharp, resonant chord.
Before him, a dense arc of compressed Anemo formed in mid-air—a shimmering crescent of divine wind.
The beam collided with the arc.
KRAAAAAAK!!
The impact didn't explode—it split.
The curse beam fractured in two, redirected and carved into the horizon in a Y-shape, searing across the land. Everything in their paths—rivers, canyons, entire ranges—were obliterated. The world itself bore the scars of their clash.
As the light died down, silence returned.
There they stood again—Barbatos and the Creature—floating amidst the aftermath. Unharmed. Unbothered. As if the godlike destruction they'd just unleashed had cost them nothing.
Then… the heavens trembled.
Auras ignited around them. Barbatos radiated with vibrant teal and white winds laced with golden embers. The Curse bled cursed wind from its form, darker and denser than before.
Their energy surged.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
Their auras collided with a flash of divine light. It wasn't just sound—it was force, a pressure that cracked the firmament. From afar, it looked like two celestial suns—one teal, the other red-orange—trying to devour each other.
And then they moved.
Again.
FLASH.
BOOM.
FLASH.
BOOOM!!!
They vanished and reappeared, colliding mid-air again and again. Each impact displaced clouds for miles. The sky warped, space bent. Shockwaves shattered what remained of the terrain. Mountains collapsed. The atmosphere screamed with each blow.
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
BOOM!!!!
Below, the once-great City of Freedom—Mondstadt's heart—trembled. It was now barren, its red soil soaked with the blood of its people. Only its walls had remained standing, defiant even after the death of its citizens.
But now…
CRACK.
One section of the wall gave in.
CRACK.
CRACK.
SHHHRAAAK!!
Then another.
And another.
THOOM!!!!
Until finally, with one last distant sound, the proud walls collapsed entirely. Some crashed backward into the deserted city. Others tumbled into the lake, sending waves outward in silence.
The last symbol of Mondstadt's endurance… was no more.
Now, there was nothing in the nation untouched by this Planar War.
Barbatos, God of Wind, and The Curse of Wind—two forces of nature. Two embodiments of the same element. But where one represented freedom, peace, and harmony, the other brought ruin, domination, and despair.
And they would battle until the skies themselves forgot what peace once felt like.
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The battle showed no sign of stopping. If anything, it had reached a new level of devastation.
The land that once was Mondstadt had been utterly erased. The once-proud City of Freedom had crumbled and vanished beneath the depths of Cider Lake, leaving behind only haunting ripples on the surface. Above the ruins, amidst the cracked sky, the war raged on.
Now airborne, the two titans clashed in the heavens—THE CURSE, a monstrous force cloaked in cursed Anemo energy, and Barbatos, the last breath of divinity clinging to a land already lost.
The creature radiated corruption, its massive limbs now wielding weapons forged from its very essence: a Bastard Sword, Warhammer, Battle Axe, Mace, Halberd, Ringblade—each weapon shimmering with malevolence and impossible density. It was an arsenal meant to annihilate gods.
Opposite it, Barbatos floated silently, still gripping his sacred lyre. But above him, suspended in the sky by dancing ribbons of divine power, hovered a colossal bow and a shimmering arrow made entirely of concentrated Anemo. The air hummed, reality strained.
FWOOOSH!
The arrow fired.
It moved faster than the eye could follow. Even THE CURSE, with its grotesque instincts and reflexes, had no choice but to cross its weapons in front in defense.
BOOM!
The sky shattered. A mushroom cloud of pressure and light erupted in the heavens. THE CURSE was launched across the horizon, a meteor crashing through clouds and silence. When it finally halted, it looked down—and paused. Three of its weapons were shattered into fragments. The rest were cracked and trembling, barely holding their form.
But worse—it had been wounded.
The divine arrow had lodged deep into its shoulder, punching through the hardened exoskeleton and drawing thick, dark blood. Despite everything, it had been pierced.
The creature snarled, but within that rage stirred unease.
Barbatos—no, Venti—was growing stronger. That was undeniable. At the beginning of the battle, they were equals. But now? The tide was turning.
A chill ran down its spine. If the fight continued at this pace, it might lose.
Unwilling to accept that, THE CURSE roared, its cursed Anemo flaring like a storm. Its broken weapons regenerated in bursts of energy and flame. It no longer cared for defense. This was now total offense. It would end this in one final, relentless charge.
Venti's expression darkened. He understood. Evasion was no longer an option. If he ran, he would be hunted down—cut down. THE CURSE's unhinged assault would overtake him eventually.
He raised his lyre. And charged.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
They vanished.
The sky became a canvas of destruction. Every collision sent shockwaves so violent that clouds vaporized, winds shrieked, and the very sky tore open.
The ruined earth trembled as the air above churned with godly wrath. The crater that once held Mondstadt collapsed deeper with every strike, as though the planet itself sought to flee the conflict.
A day passed.
Then, silence.
They reappeared—both bloodied, both ravaged.
THE CURSE's body was maimed. Only one arm and a half remained, the rest severed by divine strikes. One horn was shattered, its tail ripped from the base. Chunks of cursed armor had been torn away, revealing pulsating, blackened flesh beneath. Blood poured freely, painting the air with red mist.
But Barbatos… looked worse.
He hovered weakly, the sacred lyre clutched in a mangled hand. One arm gone. His lower body completely severed—nothing remained below his chest. Wings torn off. A cursed bastard sword was embedded clean through him, jutting from his back. His divine robes were soaked in his own blood.
THE CURSE grinned, a sinister curl of triumph tugging at its cracked jaw.
It had won.
Barbatos began to fall.
SWOOSH.
He plummeted like a fallen star, body limp, his glow dimming. His life force flickered, fading. The Curse could sense it—one more moment, and the Archon would perish.
But it wouldn't leave anything to chance. With the last of its energy, THE CURSE raised its arm, channeling every remaining shred of cursed Anemo into one final blast.
As its core lit with power, it looked at Barbatos for the last time. And then—it heard something.
Barbatos's lips moved. The wind carried the faint whisper.
Veni: I… w.o..n…
The creature froze.
A terrible, ancient instinct screamed inside it. Danger.
FWOOSH.
THUCH!
Too late.
From behind—out of nowhere—a divine arrow tore through its back and exited through its chest, splitting its ribs and lungs apart. Blood exploded outward, painting the skies crimson.
Its eyes widened in horror.
It turned its head. Below, hovering just above the now-drowned ruins of Cider Lake, was the divine bow. Still held in place by floating, celestial ribbons.
The same bow from earlier.
It never vanished. It had been there the entire time.
While Barbatos fought, while he bled, he'd secretly channeled power into the arrow—fueling it, feeding it, hiding it within the turbulent winds of their battle. The creature had assumed the bow had been destroyed, had stopped watching the battlefield below. That… was its fatal mistake.
The arrow had waited.
And now, when THE CURSE had let its guard down, gathering all its energy into one point…
Venti had given the silent command.
The bow fired.
And it struck true.
The arrow glowed. So did THE CURSE. The cursed Anemo within it clashed with the divine might of the Archon. They spiraled. Then—
BOOOOOOOM.
The explosion was catastrophic.
All of Mondstadt was consumed. The lake evaporated. The land cracked. Mountains bowed. The sky screamed.
A blinding column of teal and black light erupted upward like a second sun, swallowing everything in its path. The war had ended in a divine detonation.
At the epicenter, Venti floated quietly, eyes closed, smiling faintly.
It was over.
He had avenged them all—his people, his home, his legacy. Though his own body was broken beyond recognition, and the light was rising to erase all, there was a strange peace in his final breath.
The light came.
And the world turned white.
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---Pets---
The golden sunlight filtered gently through the canopy, its rays scattering between swaying leaves before landing softly on the figure resting atop a sturdy branch. It was quiet here—peaceful. A breeze rustled through the forest, stirring the leaves in a rhythm that felt almost like a lullaby.
The warmth of the light fell across the face of the slumbering bard. Irritated, the figure instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting as he slowly awakened.
Venti: E-Eh...?
Barbatos blinked in confusion. His surroundings were unfamiliar—lush trees, birdsong in the air, laughter in the distance. Looking down at himself, he realized he was wearing his familiar bard's attire. The sacred lyre rested comfortably in his hand, undamaged. Not a single wound scarred his body. Everything felt... whole.
As he sat up, scratching his head with a puzzled expression, a gentle wind blew across his face. It was different. Not the torn, bitter wind of a ruined Mondstadt, but something purer—gentler. It carried with it whispers of joy, of freedom, of peace. Emotions that had long been buried beneath the ashes of war.
He closed his eyes, allowing the breeze to wash over him. Carried on the wind came birdsong, rustling leaves, even the distant echo of children's laughter. For a moment, his heart ached.
He never thought he'd hear such sounds again.
???: How are you feeling… now that your revenge is complete?
The voice—measured, quiet, yet powerful—pulled Venti from his reverie. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned toward the speaker.
Standing a few steps away, with his back turned, was Primis.
Venti offered a soft chuckle before answering, his voice subdued.
Venti: To be honest… peaceful.
A pause stretched between them.
Primis: …
Venti: …
Primis: …
Venti: …
He exhaled a long, heavy sigh. His gaze dropped to his hands resting on his lyre.
Venti: Or… that's what I wished for. But the only thing I truly felt was… emptiness.
Primis did not interrupt.
Venti: I got my revenge, yes. But for what? The people, the city, the laughter… they were already gone. There was nothing left to protect.
Primis: …Is that why you made that choice?
Venti nodded silently.
It was during the battle that Barbatos began to burn through his own life force, pouring every last ounce of divine strength into the final blow. THE CURSE never realized it—not with the whirlwind of chaos blinding it—but Primis had seen through it from the beginning.
Primis: Dvalin would be angry.
Venti gave a small laugh at that.
Venti: Let him be. If he knew what I planned… he would've tried to stop me. I couldn't let him throw his life away too. I've already lost everyone else… I couldn't lose my last friend.
Primis: WE understand.
Venti had made sure Dvalin would never awaken in time. When the dragon was still recovering, Venti placed him under an enchanted slumber. Not to harm, but to protect—to spare him from the war's cruel end.
Primis: Even now, you chose to carry the weight alone.
Venti: …It's always been that way, hasn't it?
Another long silence passed between them.
Primis: There are survivors, you know. Jean… and the last remnants of Mondstadt. They're here. Don't you wish to see them?
At that, pain flickered across Venti's face. He looked away.
Venti: No… I can't. Even if they forgive me… I don't think I could bear to look them in the eye.
Primis regarded him quietly. Then, without prompting, Venti spoke again.
Venti: I know it's too much to ask after everything you've done, but… can I request something?
Primis: You want US to watch over Dvalin… and the Four Winds.
Venti: Yes. Mondstadt is no more. They have no home left. Maybe… just maybe… you could help them find a new one.
Primis: You're right. You are asking too much.
Venti bowed his head slightly.
Venti: Sorry…
Primis: And yet… you can give US something in return.
Venti blinked.
Venti: Oh? What could I possibly give you?
Primis turned his gaze toward the horizon, where a gleaming city—Teyvat Reborn—rose in the distance.
Primis: WE won't ask you to go there. But it's a new city… and you are a bard.
Understanding dawned on Venti's face. A gentle smile spread across his lips.
Venti: I see. Well then… I think I can do this one last thing.
He stood gracefully on the branch, raised the lyre, and held it close. With a wistful look, he murmured:
Venti: This will be… my final song.
His fingers danced over the strings.
♩
♪♪
♪♫♪
A melody—haunting and beautiful—rose into the sky. The wind caught it and carried it far, far away, over mountains, oceans and finally Teyvat. There, people paused. Whatever they had been doing—walking, working, fighting—they stopped.
Heads turned. Eyes lifted.
They could not see him. But they felt him. And so, they listened.
Not a word was spoken. The entire city fell into silence, enraptured by the song echoing through the skies—melancholy, yet hopeful. A song of farewell. A song of love. A song of freedom.
As the final note faded, Primis heard a whisper on the breeze.
Venti: Thank… you…
The branch was empty.
Only the lyre remained—resting gently where the bard once sat.
And with that… Phase II of the War of Mondstadt came to an end.
The Anemo Archon—Barbatos—was no more.
.
Primis stood still beneath the tree. Even long after the music faded, he did not move. Time passed like wind over stone.
And at last, as the horizon blazed with the golden light of dawn, he looked up.
His eyes—deep, cosmic blue, etched with the circles of time and fate—stared toward the distance.
Primis: It's time to leave.
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*A/N: Please throw some power stones.
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