Venti soon discovered that this new world was every bit as noisy and restless as the liveliest taverns of Mondstadt, though far less generous with its wine. Here, Dollar was required for even the simplest needs, and while his powers as the Anemo Archon had transformed into something unfamiliar, "Thousand Wind of Time", they could not conjure food or drink, though he doesn't need it.
Thus, he turned to the one craft that had never failed him: music.
For several days, he wandered from district to district, harp in hand, earning his keep through street performances. The locals were intrigued by his style, captivated both by his melodies and by the intangible quality that seemed to drift on every note. On his better days, his music afforded him a room, a warm meal, and a bottle of wine. On others, he played to sparse audiences, earning barely enough for a loaf of bread.
It was on one such unhurried afternoon that raised voices from a narrow side street caught his attention. He slowed his steps and turned to see two boys cornering a young girl against a brick wall. She clutched a thin book to her chest, holding fast despite their taunting and attempts to seize it.
Venti approached quietly, his boots tapping lightly against the cobblestones. When he stopped a few paces away, the boys glanced at him but did not yield.
"That's hardly admirable," Venti observed evenly. "Intimidating someone over a book?"
One of them sneered. "And what's it to you?"
"Only that I have little patience for poor audiences," he replied, bringing his harp forward. His fingers began to pluck the strings with unhurried precision.
The music began softly, like the first breath of dawn wind, growing warmer and more luminous with each measure. The girl's rigid stance eased, and she glanced up at him. Around them, passersby slowed, drawn to the melody.
"Would you sing with me?" he asked her gently during a brief pause.
She hesitated, but the quiet reassurance in his smile emboldened her. Her voice emerged tentatively at first, gaining strength as the song progressed. The lyrics were simple, a tune about the wind carrying troubles away, yet they seemed to catch the heart of everyone who listened.
By the final note, a small crowd had gathered. Applause broke out, and several spectators dropped coins into the pouch at Venti's feet. The boys, now aware of the many watchful eyes, muttered under their breath and slunk away.
The girl hugged her book to her chest. "Thank you," she whispered.
Venti stooped to gather his earnings and replied lightly, "Sing loudly enough, and the whole street will stand with you. Works better than a sword."
She smiled faintly. Venti offered her a courteous bow before turning back toward the bustling main street, the weight of his pouch pleasantly heavier than before.
With his coin pouch pleasantly weightier than it had been that morning, Venti strolled toward a corner shop whose sign bore the image of a cheerful blue ale mug. He had passed it often, though his means had not allowed for indulgence, until now.
Pushing open the door, he was greeted by the cool, familiar scent of bottled brews mingled with the salty tang of packaged snacks. Behind the counter, a broad-shouldered man with a genial smile glanced up from arranging a crate of beer.
"Well, if it isn't the bard who's been adding a tune to our streets," the man called warmly.
Venti lifted a hand in casual greeting. "Ah, word travels quickly. I was hoping to pick up some beer and perhaps those golden-crisp chips."
The shopkeeper chuckled, reaching for a few bottles. "I've seen the way you draw a crowd. How about this, stand out front for an hour or two, play a few songs, lure in some customers. I'll give you a hundred dollars."
One of Venti's brows arched, but his lips curved into that knowing, easy smile of his. "A paid stage and a ready audience? Consider me interested."
They shook on it, and Venti dropped a few cent coins onto the counter for his purchases. The shopkeeper tucked the items into a paper bag, but Venti left it behind. "For later," he said lightly. "I should earn it twice over first."
Stepping back into the open air, he cradled his harp and began to tune it, each adjustment deliberate and sure, as though preparing not merely for a shopfront performance, but for the start of a tale worth telling.
Oh, listen close, to tales I spin,
The wind invites you to begin
With every breeze, a story calls,
Across the fields, through city walls.
Raise your glass where laughter grows,
Let worries drift like falling snows.
Fly with me, dear friends tonight,
Upon the wings of morning light.
To every joy and song we find,
The freedom's carried on the wind.
A gentle tune, a cheeky rhyme,
I chase the sun, I borrow time
If troubles come and spirits fade,
Just hum along, let worries wade.
Cup your hands and feel the air,
Adventure waits for those who dare.
Fly with me, dear friends tonight,
Upon the wings of morning light.
To every joy and song we find,
The freedom's carried on the wind.
So raise a song, the night won't last,
The breeze will sweep away the past.
And if you're lost, just call my name,
The wind will bring you home again.
Fly with me, dear friends tonight,
Upon the wings of morning light.
To every joy and song we find,
The freedom's carried on the wind