Chapter Text
The bells of Mondstadt rang bright and clear, scattering sunlight across the cobbled streets. The city pulsed with life: children darted between market stalls, merchants shouted cheerful bargains, banners flapped like wings in the wind, and sightings of the Acting Grandmaster chasing a child with a bomb filled the gossip forums of the day.
Inside the Cathedral, Dahlia, deacon of the Church, stood at the altar. His robes catching the sun through the stained glass molded into the appearance of the anemo archon. He lifted his voice, rich and dramatic, carrying over the congregation:
“Great Barbatos, god of freedom, who fills our sails and lifts our hearts, bless this city with joy, laughter, and safety. Let no chain bind us, and no shadow dampen our spirit!”
The people responded with a chorus of “Amen!”—laughter slipping between their words as they got up to leave for the day. Children skipping over to one another, their parents already getting lost in conversation, and the knights of Favonius already chatting amongst themselves about what the day may bring. Dahlia’s chest swelled with pride. Yes. This is what it should feel like—lightness, music, freedom!
Yet, even in the midst of this joy, a sour twitch of irritation curled in his stomach. The upper clergy murmured behind him, whispering about “careless devotion” and “improper celebration.” Dahlia flung his hands to the air, unable to contain a theatrical sigh.
“Oh, the chains of decorum! The weight of pious heads pressed upon me!” The deacon muttered under his breath, loud enough to make a few of the Sisters snicker. How can they breathe in joy and call it disorder? It’s Barbatos we worship, he’s not exactly known for being uptight!! Have they not seen his attire??
A ripple of laughter carried from the square outside. Dahlia strode toward it, flourishing his robes as if in a stage play. At the fountain below Barbatos’s statue, a crowd had gathered around a bard with a lyre. His voice rang teasing and bright:
“Oh, the Lawrences strut in their velvet and lace,
But stumble and tumble all over the place!
With noses so high, they cannot see the street,
So mind where you step, or you’ll trip on their feet!”
The crowd around him roared with delight. Dahlia smiled as he sauntered over, clutching his chest and swaying dramatically. “Oh, sweet chaos! A bard mocking nobles in broad daylight! If only the Church could see their folly!” He twirled on the cobblestones, drawing a few amused glances from passersby. He couldn’t condone the bards actions per se, but oh it amused him so much to catch the angered glances of the nobles of the Lawrence Clan. And the church was so…stifling, he couldn’t help but mock the clergy!!
Then, of course, the fun couldn’t last. High Priest Corvin appeared, robes stiff, expression as sharp as a blade, and rigid with a rage only a sour old man like him could produce.
“You!” Corvin barked, pointing at the bard. “This insolence will not be tolerated in the shadow of the cathedral! Move along, or face the consequences of your arrogance!” He hissed.
Dahlia gasped, clutching his chest like a wounded actor. “Alas! The tyranny of propriety! The tyranny of… order!” he moaned, throwing his hands to the sky, leading to the amused giggling of the crowd behind him. “Oh how you wound me, dear Corvin! This is the city of freedom, is it not? At least I’m not singing about you today~” the bard cooed as the crowd giggled and agreed. The church, try as they might to keep a tight reign in Mondstadt, always failed. The people did not fear them, and the Grandmaster Varka always kept them in check. Even with him being gone, his daughter had stepped up to the mantle to keep the clergy in line.
Dahlia stepped back, sighing in contentment. Corvin was by far the most up right member of the clergy. Dahlia and some of the sisters even had a bet on when the stick in his ass would fall out, and he’d loosen up a little.
“Think of the consequences, bard.” Corvin hissed. The bard laughed, twirling away. “Consequences? I merely sing what everyone sees. If your noses are too high to notice, that’s not my fault!”
Dahlia stepped forward, voice ringing with mock indignation: “Corvin, you wound us!! Are we not allowed to have a little fun? It’s not like you have the authority to ban it~”
And then the bard’s gaze met his—teal eyes flashing with something Dahlia could not name. A shiver ran through him. “You look like a man who could use a song instead of a sermon,” the bard said, voice teasing yet gentle.
Dahlia smiled in response “Is that an invitation to your next show, dear bard?”
”Maayyyyybeeeeee~”
The crowd laughed as the bard vanished, leaving coins and applause in his wake. Dahlia adjusted his robes with a dramatic flip, rolling his eyes at the High Priest Corvin. “Really, you should try smiling sometime,” he muttered, voice dripping with sass. “It does wonders for the complexion.”
Corvin’s lips thinned. “Deacon Dahlia.” His glare could have cut glass. “This city is not a theater for your mockery.”
Dahlia grinned. “Oh, but it is—the whole city sings and dances, doesn’t it? Maybe I’m just keeping pace.” He flounced toward the fountain, following the retreating crowd, giving one exaggerated shrug to the merchants who were trying not to laugh.
Amid the chatter, Dahlia caught snippets of conversation from a small cluster of cloaked figures hovering near the cathedral steps—familiar, sharp-faced members of the upper clergy.
“…the bard again,” one whispered.
“…mocking the Lawrences in broad daylight,” another said, voice low, bitter.
“…he cannot be allowed to undermine their influence.”
Dahlia’s eyebrows shot up. The Lawrences? Already? Even now, centuries after Barbatos had undone their family, they were whispering, scheming, watching. No wonder the upper clergy fumed so often.
He strolled closer to the fountain, scanning the crowd, half-expecting the bard to appear again. A group of children ran past him, giggling as they sung the bards tune from earlier.
Dahlia’s lips twitched into a smile. He really does get under their skin. He could almost hear the Lawrences huffing behind their curtains.
Then, without warning, a gust of wind carried a playful chord, high and teasing, straight to his ears. Dahlia spun, following the sound like a fox on the trail, and caught the bard once more, perched on a low fountain ledge, strumming casually as if the world belonged to him alone.
“Caught you,” Dahlia said, snapping his fingers, sass in every movement. “You owe me a bow—or at least a warning before you steal all the city’s attention again.”
The bard laughed, tilting his head, teal eyes gleaming. “And risk boring everyone? Never. Besides…” He strummed a soft, rising chord, and the leaves around the fountain danced in the wind. “…the city likes a little chaos now and then, don’t they?”
“They do,” Dahlia admitted, leaning against the stone edge, smirking. “But the clergy hates it.”
The bard’s grin widened. “Ah, then I’m doing my job properly.”
“Alright, enough banter,” Dahlia said, hands on his hips, brow quirked. “Who are you, and why does the city adore you more than they do the sermons?”
The bard leaned forward, tilting his head with a grin. “Adore me? I think that’s your imagination running wild.” He plucked a high note, and the leaves around them swirled in a playful eddy. “But if you mean, who am I…I’m Venti. Bard, occasional mischief-maker, and sometimes—well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. “Venti, huh? Fitting for someone who seems determined to blow through every bit of order in this city.”
The bard chuckled, hopping down from the fountain with a light, graceful step. “Oh? And you are?”
“Dahlia,” he said, curt but with a hint of a smirk. “Deacon of the Church. I follow rules…loyal follower of Barbatos~ And right now, I’m following you.”
Venti’s grin widened, eyes alight. “Ahh, a deacon who doesn’t clutch his chest at every breeze. Delightful! I thought all the Church types were rigid, proper… and dreadfully dull.”
Dahlia smirked, leaning casually against the fountain. “Dreadfully dull? You’d know, wouldn’t you, if you’d been chased off the square by the upper clergy yet?”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” Venti said, letting the wind lift his cloak in a dramatic swirl. “I live for their outrage. But you,” he tapped Dahlia lightly on the shoulder, “you’re… different. You actually seem to enjoy the city. Maybe even like a bit of chaos yourself.”
Dahlia raised his chin, lips quirking in a playful half-smile. “I won’t lie—I do enjoy it. I admit…I like a bit of drama now and then, and your little stunt at the church was certainly entertaining~ though it doesn’t suit the High Priest, apparently. Or the Lawrence-leaning types sneaking in their whispers over there,” he added, nodding subtly toward a cluster of cloaked figures watching from a distance.
Venti’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ah, whispers of the mighty! How very boring. But you, Dahlia—you might just be the first person in Mondstadt who doesn’t look at the wind and see only trouble.”
Dahlia’s cheeks warmed slightly, though he tried to hide it behind a dramatic toss of his hand. “First person? That’s quite a claim, bard. You better be ready to prove it.”
Venti laughed, tilting his head to the sky. “Oh, I think I can manage. But first… shall we give this city another song?”
For the next hour, Dahlia trailed Venti through the streets. They laughed at children chasing the wind, helped a street performer untangle his puppet strings, and tossed small coins to beggars who smiled in gratitude. Each interaction revealed the city’s vibrant heartbeat and Barbatos’s touch in every corner.
Even so, Dahlia caught glimpses of shadowed eyes in the cathedral steps and the upper floors of nearby homes—members of the Church muttering, cloaked figures whispering, and a few sharp glances from familiar faces hinting at the Lawrence Clan. Not yet trouble, but a subtle reminder: chaos is sweet, but it has enemies.
The sun leaned toward evening, golden and warm, though still high enough to chase shadows from the streets. Dahlia walked beside Venti, careful not to trip over the bustling city folk or his own overly dramatic robes.
“You really do enjoy this, don’t you?” Dahlia asked, half-scolding, half-smiling, as Venti helped a little girl untangle her kite string from a fountain post.
Venti grinned, tossing the kite into the wind. “Of course! What’s life without a little laughter, some chaos, and a touch of mischief?” He winked. “Though I think you secretly enjoy it too, Deacon Dahlia.”
Dahlia snorted, flipping his hair back. “Secretly? I may enjoy it, but the upper clergy would have my head if they caught me openly laughing with a bard.” He glared at a distant group of stiff-robed priests glaring at them from the cathedral steps. “And judging by their expressions… it’s best I keep my enjoyment subtle.” He grunted, turning away from the group in a sort of pouting motion.
Venti’s laughter tinkled like wind chimes. “Afraid of a few stiff old bats?” Eugh, I swear anytime I get near them I feel like they’re sucking out my youth like a bunch of vampires!” The bard whined. “I hope I’m not the same~?” Dahlia hummed. “No, no not at all!! You still have a personality.” Venti giggled, flashing a wide toothed smile to the glaring priests.
Dahlia gave a half-bow, one hand over his heart. “Flattery will get you far, bard. But don’t think it excuses you from avoiding the Church’s notice.”
Venti twirled a strand of his cloak around his finger, eyes mischievous. “Notice? They’re always noticing. Better I be noticed for my songs than their sermons, don’t you think?”
Dahlia chuckled, shaking his head. Even as he played the dramatic part of the worried deacon, he felt lighter than he had in years. “Perhaps. But don’t forget—there are whispers in the upper floors of the cathedral. And in some quiet rooms, a Lawrence ear or two is always listening.”
Venti’s grin faltered just a fraction, then returned with even more sparkle. “Whispers, shadows, plots… sounds boring. Let’s stick to the fun part, shall we? Besides…” He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially, “…I like that you don’t look at the world as though it’s all rules and judgment. You’re… rare.”
Dahlia felt his cheeks warm. He waved a hand flippantly, though a small smile lingered. “What am I, a steak?” He snorted. “Maybe I just appreciate a good song more than I should.!”
Venti’s laugh floated on the wind, and Dahlia found himself following it as they parted ways at the city’s edge. “Tomorrow,” Venti called over his shoulder, “we’ll see what other mischief the city holds. You’d better be ready.”
“I’ll be ready,” Dahlia replied, smirking despite himself. “And I’ll be watching for trouble, of course.”
As Dahlia walked back toward the cathedral, the whispers and sharp glances he had noticed earlier tugged at his mind. The Lawrence Clan… the upper clergy… they were quiet now, but patience was not their virtue. The bard may have vanished from sight, but the city would not forget him.
And Dahlia… well, Dahlia felt a thrill in the knowledge that he had found someone who made even the careful world of faith feel like wind in his hair.