Inside the Tavern
The Angel's Share was alive with noise and warmth. Laughter rolled through the air, mingling with the clink of mugs and the heavy scent of ale. Knights of Favonius packed the room shoulder to shoulder, their voices booming in half-drunken song, boots stamping against the floor in time with the music.
And there—balanced atop a table as if it were his rightful stage—stood the bard Orion was looking for. Venti's fingers danced over the strings of his lyre, weaving a melody so light and sweet it almost drowned in the rowdy chorus of the crowd. His long teal braid swayed with his movements, and the ever-present smile on his lips seemed both effortless and deliberate.
Behind the bar, the bartender sighed, his hand working rhythmically over a row of glasses, polishing each one until it gleamed in the tavern's amber light.
"He's such a hard worker…" the man murmured under his breath.
"Are you talking about the bard over there?" Orion asked as he slid onto a stool at the counter, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Oh, also—one apple cider, please."
The bartender nodded. "Yes. I asked Venti to put on a performance to entertain the guests. Thankfully, all he asked for was a few drinks on the house. And tonight, with so many knights here, he's doing us a huge favor."
He reached for a chilled bottle, pouring the cider into a tall glass, the golden liquid catching the lamplight.
Orion chuckled, taking the drink in hand. "If you're treating him to drinks, then I'm not sure I'd call him generous or hardworking."
The bartender gave a small smirk but said nothing—perhaps too polite to admit that the bard had already drained enough mugs to bankrupt a lesser tavern.
Venti's melody trailed off in a delicate flourish, a lingering note that seemed to hang in the tavern's warm air before dissolving into the roar of drunken laughter. The knights didn't even pause their revelry—stamping, clapping, and singing over each other in a messy harmony of joy.
"Looks like an old friend of mine has come to accompany me tonight," Venti giggled, hopping down from the table with the grace of someone who'd had just enough to drink to be bold, but not enough to stumble. His teal braid bounced against his back as he made his way to the counter.
"Venti—have you seen Frieda?" Orion asked before the bard could even sit, his voice tight, catching at the edges. His hands curled on the bar, and there was a heaviness there—fear, sharp and unspoken.
Venti pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Aww, I'm heartbroken. We meet after three whole years, and that's the first thing you say?"
"Answer me!" Orion's voice dropped into a growl as he grabbed Venti's shoulders.
The bard's teasing expression faltered, replaced by something more careful. "Easy, easy. Your wife isn't here. She's outside Mondstadt, looking for you and your son." Venti's gaze flicked away for a moment. "If I had to guess, I'd say she's around Natlan by now."
Relief hit Orion like a wave. He slumped into his seat, exhaling hard. "Oh—thank the Archons."
"You're welcome," Venti muttered, pouting as if his feelings had been mortally wounded.
The bartender, still stationed behind the counter, glanced up from his task. "So, what drink do you want for your performance, Venti?" His hands never stopped their motion—glass, cloth, gleam, repeat.
Venti's mood immediately snapped back to its usual mischief. "Ooh! I'll start with a Mint and Berry Burst!"
"Coming right up," the bartender said, already reaching for fresh ingredients.
Venti leaned over the counter with a grin. "By the way, why are you polishing glasses that are already clean?"
"It helps me look cool," the bartender replied without missing a beat.
Orion let out a long sigh and lifted his glass, the golden cider catching the lamplight as he took a slow sip. "You don't know how tense I've been these last five years… The news that she's alive—" his voice softened "—it's like I can finally breathe again. Even if… in my heart, I always knew she was."
"Five years?" Venti's brows shot up as he tilted his head. "Buddy, are you alright in the head? It's only been three years since you two were separated."
Orion blinked, then gave a faint, humorless chuckle. "Guess I came two years back in time… crossing between realms will do that to you." He waved it off. "Doesn't matter, as long as Frieda is safe."
Venti just smiled and tossed back the rest of his drink in one go. The empty mug hit the counter with a light thud. "Alright! Now I want the real deal." Without waiting for permission, he slid himself half over the counter and called to the bartender. "Bring out the good stuff!"
Orion frowned. "Before you get yourself drunk, answer me—how long to Natlan?"
Venti leaned back, already loosening his braid from behind his shoulder. "For most people? Month, maybe two."
"And for me?" Orion's tone carried that edge—he knew Venti was aware of his capabilities.
The bard's grin returned. "A week. Maybe less… if you get a little help."
"Help?" Orion raised an eyebrow.
"From your dear friend Felix, of course," Venti said with a giggle, swirling a finger in the air like he was revealing some grand secret.
Orion's eyes narrowed slightly. "He is…?" He hesitated, then nodded to himself. "Makes sense. Elynas is alive and well too, after all." He took another sip of cider before fixing Venti with a sharper look. "But… how do you know about that?"
Venti's smirk faltered for just a second—enough to make it clear he was hiding something.
"That's how it is… fine, keep your secrets." Orion drained the last of his cider, the glass landing on the counter with a muted thunk. He rose from his seat. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Venti. May your mugs of beer and glasses of wine always stay full."
"Ha! Now that's the kind of blessing I can get behind," Venti chuckled, swaying on his stool like the music was still playing in his head.
"And before you wander off…" Venti's hand slipped into his pocket. When it emerged, something gleamed between his fingers—the intricate curve of gold and silver, three crystalline gems catching the tavern light, shimmering like frozen starlight.
"I believe," Venti said with a sly smile, "this belongs to you."
Orion reached out slowly, almost afraid to touch it, as if the metal might vanish in his grasp. His fingers closed around it, and for a heartbeat, the tavern's noise fell away. All he could feel was the faint, familiar warmth lingering in the metal—like she'd just been there.
"…Thank you, old friend," he murmured, voice lower, steadier, but carrying a weight Venti didn't comment on.
Back in Natlan
"Another failed search…" Frieda's voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the rushing wind. Straddling Felix's broad back, she let her forehead rest between his shoulder blades, her arms loosely wrapped around him.
"Stop pouting," Felix said, wings gliding lazily as they descended toward the city's warm, amber lights. "I've been doing this for three years. We have to keep hope."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't argue.
The gates of Citlali's estate creaked open as they approached, the wood groaning like it resented late-night visitors.
Standing at the entrance was Citlali herself—a tall figure whose beauty was made sharper by her scowl. Pale skin like moonlight, long pastel-purple hair fading into pink and violet waves, eyes the color of a midnight storm. Her attire was no less striking: a black head ring crowned with purple feathers, a diamond-cut leotard that gleamed in the torchlight, a pink-purple skirt flowing over sleek high-heeled shoes, and a large indigo ribbon trailing like the tail of some exotic bird.
"This isn't a villa or guesthouse, you know!!" Citlali barked, her voice slicing through the night air.
"My apologies," Frieda said, chuckling awkwardly. "But Felix… well, he said we could stay here."
"My house is not a place for people to stay! Why don't you just find a hotel or something?!" Citlali snapped, crossing her arms and turning her face away with a pout.
"Granny, please…" Felix sighed, his voice heavy with fatigue. "Tell us if you found anything yet."