Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The moonlight reveals millions of dust strands dancing in the air. Aimlessly, meaninglessly, twirling in circles, and gazed down by a cold, lifeless moon. 

A thought etches its way into Dahlia’s mind, innocent and dainty, as the pink haired boy hides himself in the Cathedral’s confessional. What if—cold hands huddled around his knees— his prayers were such as strands of dust? Sent out by him, cradled by nothing , and cast down by a cold, unmoving light?

He can't tell how long it’s been since he’d wandered into the long-empty cathedral. Rosaria, an aloof and secretive girl who somehow gets along with him, revealed in passing how she’d ditch choir practice for the confession booth.

Of course it isn’t the most creative way to do it, but toying with the sisters’ fear of disturbing a prayer while skipping songs made Dahlia giggle at least.

It seemed like an escape earlier this night. Lying in bed, the passing tics of his clock slowly driving him insane, and the sight of the cathedral just a mile or two from his home. 

He practically left straight out of bed save for making sure to grab his bathrobe. Every step towards the hallowed building felt like relife from the eerily silent apartment. Each step closer to what he had imagined at that point to be a safe haven…

The small confessional space quickly left him with another suffocating boredom.

The oakwood smelled nothing of the seas of his old home, and the intrusive sounds of cars passing by gnawed his ears. 

Truly, the capital of Mondstadt, “Favonius,” can’t compare to the seagulls of Port Dorman. Petite and silent in his new single apartment, Dahlia felt betrayed by his Favionius-local friend(s) (It was just for Barbara) who eagerly insisted he’d enjoy it here.

Living here is absolutely boring. Granted, days spent volunteering at the Favonius Cathedral are refreshing, and school life at Windrise University is relatively peaceful for him. It’s all too peaceful perhaps? He’d call what he’s experiencing the “greed” mentioned in his lord’s scriptures. 

Nonetheless, the cathedral somehow feels more homey than his own apartment. The days brought mirages of colors from its stained glass windows, and nights brought a haunting enrichment to the hallowed structure.

Whether or not he's a mere strand of dust floating beneath his unfeeling light, Dahlia turns to his lord, Barbatos— the god of anemo, songs, and freedom, one of many finding solace in the lord’s grace.

But it’ll never be enough, no matter the prayers or nights confessing his sin-like suggestions— all to the perhaps unhearing no less. So he clawed against that emptiness, that boredom angrily and desperately, frivolously and humbly, praying to the faceless image on the cathedral walls. 

He prays it’ll show him the blind devotion Barbara feels staring up at it. He prays the glass might reveal eyes and lips that’ll show him how a life doused with “happiness” can leave him longing for more.

 Greedily, he’ll waste more precious prayers begging for those answers.

As he begins to ask once more, he hears a sniffling across the wooden walls, “I’m sorry…”

Dahlia’s heart jumps, and his light purple eyes dart to his right. The sound comes from the wall behind it, connecting it to the priests section of the confessional.

  A nervous grin crept up Dahlia’s face. Barbatos above— How had it taken this long for him to notice someone else was there??? There’s no way they could’ve arrived after, and wouldn't he have heard their breath at the very least?

‘Is this true divine punishment for my antics?’ Dahlia questions himself, sweat rolling down his face… Whatever. There's an obvious other in the box, and whether they realize it or not, Dahlia is now another pair of ears to their awkward confessional. And who is he to interrupt?

“I'm sorry… so so sorry…” the voice continued. The pitch is high— similar to Dahlia’s— but carries a lightness he’d describe as a hurt bird. Woeful words spoken, delicate tone broken: 

“It’s all my fault, from the very beginning. My birth brought curses to the world, and my end will surely birth praise the thousand winds shall hear… I swear by that!”

Dahlia’s face falls. ‘..Am I seriously listening to a ballad right now?’ he deadpans to himself. Barbara is the only girl he knows who’d bash herself in such a dramatic display, and even then it was melted into her vehement piousness. He’d simply give her the space to work it out on her own (while watching intently and repeating it all back to Rosaria but no one needs to know that now do they—)?

Moreover, to refer to Barbatos as such as “the thousand winds,” something he hadn’t even heard the priest call him, is a tad off putting. Just who is this guy?

“Am such a worthless thing…” the mysterious voice continued through tears, in desperate whisper, “When one has done wretched and surly brought calamity on this infant world, the divine only extends one’s sentence as the maiden of misfortune. Pray thee, cometh the swift demise of this dreadful blemish on the world.”

‘Ah… what’s actually going on here?’ Dahlia wonders to himself. ‘Calamity? Maiden of misfortune???’

And while turning his head, Dahlia acknowledges the bitter smell of alcohol seeping in from that direction— which definitely wasn’t there before. 

So currently sitting across from him is a young man about his age (judging by the pitch of the voice) who’s wasted in the priest’s confession stall. He wonders whether to call the police the next morning, or simply let a sister take care of it (worst case they’ll exercise him before he’s let out).

All the other voice bring— which Dahlia is partially certain to be a boy’s at this point— are curiosities on curiosities. Not boring at the slightest.

“And yet, you still believed in me.” the voice continues softly. 

Dahlia’s attention goes back to the speaker. There's no way the “you” in question could be him (surly. Hopefully. Please don't be him—), yet a connection to him quietly weaves itself like spider webs.

  “You still possessed a strange liking for an impure being. You drenched yourself in my filth and all, followed me across the world. and considered me ‘good’ in the end.”

Dahlia wouldn’t describe himself as good either. Surely, he’s a good advisor and brother to many of the lord’s children. But how sure can he be with his devilish gossip streak, or the blunt fact he’d never had a brother, sister, or parents at that.

No matter what love he’s shown even by Barbatos, that’d never change, because—

“I’m ungrateful as I am, greedy as one can be, and can’t begin to describe that somehow, someway with all I've been blessed with…”

‘There’s forever a disgusting loneliness here.’ Dahlia lowers his head.

Seconds of the silent Cathedral, …well.” The voice continues in the stronger voice, “I know you’d follow me anyways. Regardless of if the world is saved by the hand of god, scorched by hell, that blind faith of yours will always follow. Aren't you a bit tired?”

Dahlia listens, uninvited. The words practically walking themselves out of their mouth, “Not if it’s devout belieth.”

“Eh? Are you seriously back Anemos???” the other voice cuts itself off, “Wait...who’s there?”

Dahlia’s face reddens, and he can't help the sheepish smile that arises to his lips, “S-s…someone you didn’t hear from…?”

The boy on the other side becomes nonchalant, “Ah… sounds right then. Next time~” 

Dahlia’s face reddens as he climbs to his feet, “I-I was kidding! Seriously it’d be best if you talked to someone—”

But the priest's confession stall was empty. 

“--tomorrow.” Dahlia’s eyes scanned the Cathedral, but not a soul was in sight. Not even the giant church doors were open. All that lingered was the smell of alcohol in the air. 

Upon further inspection, a lone bottle of booze lies at the floor of the priest’s confession stall. Dahlia squints his eyes as he lifts the bottle up to him, “Maybe I'm the drunk one here…” he throws his head back to swig of what’s left of the bottle.

Pitiful drops fall into his mouth— too bitter to be a dream, and just enough to prove that man may have been legit. But… where could he have gone this quickly? Perhaps he’s part of the church already? …maybe he’ll be at the service tomorrow.

Rosaria or Barbara might know someone that eccentric.

Abandoning the empty bottle in a trashcan near the exit, Dahlia adjusts his bathrobe, and begins his walk back to his apartment, hoping to run into the man the next day.

It almost immediately begins to rain the moment he steps outside. 

Chapter Text

Morning came for Dahlia, yet it’s as if he’d never left the cathedral to begin with.

It’s sunday, meaning Dahlia doesn’t need to be on school campus till the next day. Hadn’t truly slept a wink (the intriguing confession as well as the traumatizing 40 minute walk home in the storming summer rain kept him up), the 19-year-old returned to the cathedral to help with afternoon mass(gossiping with Rosaria when no one is looking), redeeming the past night with a good day.

The lively morning atmosphere is in striking contrast to the brooding night. 11am now, the sun greatly compliments the stained glass, and the vaulted ceilings and high columns echo every song and praise to stream in.

Right now, while Dahlia sits in the back rows discussing with his two friends, a young man about his age plays an acoustic guitar, surrounded by children who sing along to his songs.

That drama-addict in Dahlia couldn’t help asking Barbara and Rosaria about who the voice could've been (leaving out the doomsday i-kind-of-relate-too-well parts of course).

Rosaria, dressed in her usual leather jacket, tight-pink dress and nets was more sarcastic about it (what a friend), while the more modest Barbara, dressed in her usually blue frilly blouse over her hand-me-down varsity jacket, was quick to admonish him (again, what a friend).

“You were probably visited by the divine presence of Barbatos.” Rosaria sarcastically offers after the story. The choppy-magenta haired girl has a sucker in her mouth, a fresh one in her hand, and a tired look in her pink eyes, “Barbara taught me it was possible if you’re devoted enough.”

“Hey! That was a serious matter…” Barbara puffed at the other girl. Her ash-blonde hair in pigtails swayed as she hung her head, “I thank Barbatos every day for saving me from that 1000 year wine…”

“Yea… still dont think it was wine…”

It’d been over a month since Dahlia first moved to Favonius. Rosaria had accompanied Barbara that day, the tall 20-year old girl in leather a stormy sky amidst the shorter 19-year-old's sunshine.

Gloomy and uninterested, Rosaria always comes off the shadow to Barbara’s more pious light. She supposedly volunteers her time at the church for 30 day community service gained from a street altercation. Nine months prior to meeting Dahlia as written on her official volunteer form .

It’d crossed Dahlia's mind whether or not to point it out to Barbara (who he can only guess has long forgotten this in her efforts to bring Rosaria closer to the lord), but decided against it after noting their strong friendship.

Barbara’s gold cross necklace jingles as she points at Dahlia, “Back to the topic, you should never break the privacy of a confession!” her scolding is light as always, but the emotion is still there in her high pitched voice, “Honestly, i feel bad even talking about this! May Barbatos bless whoever made that confession last night…”

Dahlia would call himself a cross between the two. His argyle vest(that one diamond pattern you didn’t know the name of till now) over a white-formal shirt is what Barbara would call modest, but the chain loop on his jeans, and black-wired cat ears would encourage Rosaria to edge Barbara into an argument on “true freedom.”

Most days (today), Dahlia just needs to be more Rosaria, “Ever the truest follower of the Lord,” he singsonged, “...But would you consider as a friend—“

“No, I will not speculate who it is!” Barbara flushed, eliciting a giggle from Dahlia. “Seriously what's gotten into you?? Is what he said that important…?”

Rosaria took her sucker out, and pointed it at Barbara, “Judging actions with unfounded proof is sin miss deaconess~” leaving Barbara bemused, “What if he just wants to help?” Rosaria tilted her head towards him, “He mentioned… what, crying i think …?”

“Cried rivers of archaic god speak so rough, it reminded me of a certain pigtailed ‘deaconess’ after she ran over a squirrel.” Dahlia teased, eliciting a smile from Rosaria.

“Yea Barbara. The guy might need a box of hot wings and a prayer too.”

“Will you two be serious? We don’t even have a deacon of the sorts…” Barbara scolds unamused, while Rosaria hands Dahlia a lollipop. The piety in the group turned her head away, “While I understand the thought… in you guy’s own special way , That doesn’t change how wrong this is…”

“Ah, the hierarchy of kindness…” Rosaria muses

“Now I know that’s not a thing!”

While Barbara explained that invading someone’s privacy is wrong, Dahlia’s attention goes back to the music. The boy wears a cropped leather jacket rending him of Rosaria’s. Black tights under jean shorts, he wears matching loafers like Barbara.

It’s as if he’d created an echochamber of pure light, where the sun's rainbow-rays past the stained glass only shines on them, while the shadows of the back rows shine on the three young adults.

Dahlia’s enchanted by him.

“The kids practically worship him.” a new voice inserts.

Barbara and Dahlia jump, while Rosaria remains unphased to the arrival of a blue-eyed blonde. 

“How blasphemous to say in church.” Rosaria deadpans.

Barbara looks as if she agrees, but also doesn’t wish to start something with the off-putting man slightly older than them. Holding it all in, she brings back her kind greetings,“We don’t see you much Albedo. How’s Dragonspine this time of year?”

Dragonspine— the snowy mountain region of Mondstadt, had always interested Dahlia. The view of it was immaculate from the cathedral , and the pictures he’s seen almost convince him to embrace the year-long snow.

And as eccentric and curious as his home, is Albedo. The blonde dressed in black sticks out like a sore thumb in the bright cathedral, and immediately unnerves the nuns of the cathedral more than Rosaria ever could. Given the four hour trip to Dragonspine by tram, it’s no surprise he doesn’t come too often. And when he does, he’ll never fail to make peculiar comments in the lord’s wake.

But though strange(one way Dahlia would put it), he’s polite. And Albedo answers Barbara’s light question in Albedo-fashion, “As treacherous and bitter as ever, though a nice trip.” he raised his eyes to the sunrays through the stained glass, “I almost forget the errands i cane to the city for…”

“Errands…” Barbara ponders to herself. Her eyes then light up, “Ah! I was supposed to print out sheet music for sister Annette!” 

With quick apologies to Dahlia and Albedo as she scooted past them, she quickly bowed her head to the two, “Dahlia distracted me! Sorry Albedo, let’s talk more at afternoon mass!”

And with that, the fellow 19-year old left the three together in the back rows.

..

For two seconds. Then she returns hurriedly, and points at Rosaria, “And you’re coming with me, Rosaria! Sister Jillian has been begging me to get you to practice for days , so you’re sticking with me.”

The taller woman looks as if she’s getting ready to find an excuse. Then— Dahlia catches— her eyes find Albedo’s, and the woman's face falls to unamusement “Sure.”

“Ah, really?” Confused, Barbara welcomes the cooperation as the two walk towards another set of double doors. There’s a resounding slam amongst the sound of children songs.

Dahlia and Albedo sit more than 3 feet apart. The doors, wide open, emit a fresh breeze that entangles their silence.

Very awkward silence.

It’s Albedo that speaks first: “Please excuse what I said earlier. I wish not to suggest that man is the hand of indoctrination.”

“Oh, that…” Dahlia collects himself, “I’m sure you didn’t mean it. It… was just an exaggeration right?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s eyes remain firmly at the source of music, and its beams of light, “It’s just very beautiful. Music. Light. All blessings of God.”

That eccentricness returns, and Dahlia turns to Albedo, “You… never say ‘Barbatos’ like any of the sisters. Or ‘Lord.’”

“Yes. I have reasons too?”

“Really?”

The blonde turns to the other, confirming his interest, “Hmm. Well…” he begins, “In the days before houses of worship, and all the followers of the anemo archon were scattered, prayers were made in the breeze.

“Hopes and desires cradled by something as chaotic as the winds…” Albedo explains coolly,“‘God’ is simply a grand title for such an existence.”

“Ah…” The words just stream out of Dahlia's mouth “Really separates yourself from the church then.”

Albedo pauses before resuming, “My logic differentiates us as praises to authority vs praises to miraculous existence. I don’t see why I should call an authority by their name, and additionally, I don’t see why I should connote the god of freedom with a suppressive concept as ‘lord’ is to ‘authority.’”

He turns back to Venti, “But the church teaches good values. That’s why I like it.”

He leans further into the row, sighing to himself, “Ah, look at me rambling...”

Dahlia smiles sheepishly, “I was the one who brought it on first, no worries. You even explained yourself after that inappropriate topic. But…I think I know why the sisters don’t like you much, haha…” 

“…Huh.” Albedo turns his head to Dahlia, slightly startling the other, “Barbara asked me that exact question two months ago. She didn’t think it was inappropriate.” 

Dahlia knows he’s turned red. The breeze blows, uncertainty as the previous night returning.

Blue eyes boring into Dahlia’s, smile now fallen: “Perhaps you’re different yourself. Are you?”

Yes. No. Maybe? Maybe not. He’s pious as Barbara when it comes to his lord, and disengaged as Rosaria when it comes to the suffering of others. 

Dahlia’s over exaggerating. He’s sitting alone in the cathedral, hours after his friends, and even Albedo had left. The sun has begun to go down, and the heavy rain creates a cacophony of disorder around him.

… it’s getting late. Dahlia decides to head home.

The weather is right again. Dark storm clouds distort the sky to a murky mess. The rain makes his wired-black cat ears slippery, and soak his vest down to his shirt. Lord, why didn’t he bring an umbrella?? The rain comes down, just as Albedo’s words from earlier berate him.

Why does he feel so strange discussing the lord he knows?

Or wants to know, atleast. Hands clammy from being clasped together for so long in prayers, he wonders if that was the true warmth of someone he’s never touched. Mind running circles, he wonders if this is the conversation of someone who’s words he’s never heard of.

He wanted to meet the voice, but the voice never came. At this point, feeling this, letting another’s strange words affect him this much, it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d made it all up. To give the questions he finds sinful a voice, and to give the person he wishes he’d exist a face.

A person who could relate to his woes. Or solve them. Or even hold him. Atleast he’s not the picky type.

…but he hates walking through the rain. Maybe he can wait for it to stop in a shop?

Chapter Text

He thought it’d be awkward to wait in an empty shop, so Dahlia walked into the nearby tavern instead. 

Angel’s Share is a semi-historical tavern in the heart of the city. Along with its good reviews, the atmosphere is nearly always lively with jolly laughter, and drunk merriment

Dahlia’s only ever been to Angel’s Share once with Rosaria (it was mainly to guarantee a safe ride home (Barbara was the first choice, but she mainly stays away from bars all together)). This isn’t to say he hates drinking (he actually won his cat-ears in a drinking game at the bar), but there’s always a time and place. 

A packed humid tavern filled with the loud racket of music and laughter doesn’t feel like it. 

Deciding to sit down at the bar island, Dahlia pardons himself as he jostles through the crowd. Everyone either too drunk or occupied to notice him, makes it easy for him to make it to the front counter— wooden with a modern and smooth finish.

As he sits down, he notices a group of drinkers around a table, with one man in the middle telling a story. Dahlia can’t hear the story or describe the voice over the ruckus of the bar.

 “What are we having tonight?” The bartender says in a low and eloquent voice. It’s a man with long red hair and matching red eyes. 

His slightly-toned build and bigger stature strikes Dahlia as someone much older than him. Ah, it is a bit awkward to not buy anything, right? Taking his attention back from the crowd, he quickly skims the board propped up on the bar.

Unsurprisingly, alcohol runs the top of the list. A disgustingly 4500 mora priced dandelion wine is placed as the most expensive item on the menu. Rosaria bought him a glass on their outing. Back to the menu, there really isn’t anything else worth mentioning…

 “I guess I'll go with the white grape cider?” Dahlia finally replies, “The cocktail glass is fine.” the bartender nods, and begins his drink

Mindlessly, he opens his phone as he waits. 8:01PM, alarm set for 5:30PM the next morning, storm meant to last till 11PM…

Loud cheering begins behind him. Tuning into the crowd, they cheer for someone to continue playing a guitar, their strumed melodies adding to the forever-bright atmosphere Angel Share holds. 

Back to reality, his drink is done. Just as he’s about to take out his wallet—

“No need.” the Bartender interrupts, “Your drink’s been paid for.”

Dahlia slides the drink to himself, perplexed. The bartender continues as someone sits down two seats to Dahlia’s left. “The guy who ordered before you started a pay-it-forward.” his tired eyes lowered more, “God knows I wouldn't do that…”

“Huh…” Dahlia notes as he brings the drink to his lips. Maybe the stormy day isn't so bad after all. If he’s being passed goodwill, Dahlia see’s no other reason to continue it.

“God really knows I wouldn't do this.” The bartender mutters under his breath as Dahlia takes out his wallet. The pink haired boy before him simply smiles, and takes a sip of his glass as his card is taken. The cider fizzles his tongue, melting just some of that worry in him.

The bartender moves to the next customer, catching Dahlia’s attention. Ah, paying for a drink already> sipping his own, he accepts it and lets the act of kindness warm him

Tonight is in stark contrast to 24 hours prior. He’s not one to worry others, letting the peak of his controversial thoughts happen where no one would be subjected to them.

They’ve manifested since he’d moved to Favonius, perhaps even earlier…

Stamp stamp stamp it out. The drinks are nice, and the bystanders are happy! He swirls his drink, already planning his lunch for school tomorrow. He takes a sip, thinking of the mishaps he’ll address as a school dorm’s official peacemaker.

  ‘Maybe… Some downtime is all I just needed.’ Dahlia thinks to himself.

“Six dandelion wine glasses please!”

Dahlia nearly spits out his drink.

“And a mocktail!” the customer beams. He stops, contemplating before changing his order in his all-too familiar voice: “Mmh, scratch that. The sparkling white wine doesn’t have too much going on right? I’ll take two glasses of that, the dandelion wine and uh… oh! An apple fritter!”

“Hey!” Dahlia yells, “What are you doing??”

“Eh?” the man turns his gaze to meet Dahlia’s. His dark hair with blue-tipped braids swayed as he shrugged, “Oh alright. Scrap the sparkling for the berry mist please…”

“Not the order—” Dahlia backtracks, his face turning red, “No, yes the order. Why are you drinking that much?? You’ll even kill your liver before you kill my wallet!”

The other man gives Dahlia a perplexed expression, before smirking slyly, “So you’re the tab.” he crosses his arms, “Why? You’re afraid I'll have too good a time?” he laughs, “Honestly, don’t dig your own grave and get mad when you fall in~”

“What the hell is your actual problem?" Dahlia fumes. In passing glance however, he notices the tab his drink was on is already signed. What's more, it and a pen both sit suspiciously close to the man next to him.

The other man notices Dahlia’s gaze, his smile faltering a bit. Just as he’s about to grab the tab, Dahlia snatches it just in time, quickly skimming the signature.

“What the—” Dahlia fumes as he holds up the signed tab, “You we’re the guy who paid first, Venti!”

“Ehhh…” Venti presses his fingers together, and gives a light smile to the dismayed man “They say what goes around comes around right? I pay for your drinks, you pay for mine~”

Venti? Really? Dahlia remembers earlier in the day, listening to the man's bright music, and listening to his light words as he thanked the cathedral’s sisters for their efforts. All the while, infecting everything around him with a certain peace that rivals Barbara’s…

Venti’s really trying to pull one right now??

“Maybe if you bought *one* drink.” Dahlia grits. He then holds up his own tab, cringing at the tall order, “This shit isn’t even human… and you chose the dandelion wine on purpose??… gah...”

The pink haired boy flicks both tabs back to the table, “Refund me so I can pay my own tab. All the scholarship money in the world won't get me to pay this much.”

“Oh… about that” Venti smiles cheekily.

“So you tried to play me into dropping almost 50K mora on your drinks, but did not think to bring enough yourself in case it backfired? Is that right?” Dahlia notes he should recommend the church be less lenient when it comes to people like Venti (Rosaria will always hold a place in his heart).

Venti’s face falls, “Ah, such harsh words~” the other man composes himself, sliding his signed tab towards Dahlia, “But lets say— which isn't admission— that I was taking advantage of this pay-it-forward… I~ still paid my share. Which in theory makes me better than you.”

“Your theory is heinous.”

“Your vocabulary is so much more colorful outside of church.”

Something snaps in Dahlia “What. ever.” He takes a pen from the bar table and begins to sign his name, “I’ll sign the tab—”

Venti beams, “I knew you had a strong sense of moral duty—”

“--Take a picture of this egregious order…” Dahlia picks up his phone.

“Eh? What?” Venti’s smile remains frozen.

“With your —smile” Dahlia holds up the tab to Venti’s shocked face in the frame, and snaps a picture, “--Alcoholic, swindling butt in the frame, and show sister Victoria~” 

Venti sweats, as Dahlia gains a sly smile of his own, “You’re right, my vocabulary is sooooo different outside of church. Pales in comparison to, y’know, tricking me into paying over 50K mora in alcohol for you alone. She just gets really picky about who she lets be an important member of the cathedral…”

Dahlia shrugs, “Don't take it to heart. Like you said, I have a strong sense of moral duty. It’s just manifesting in honesty this time.”

“Hm.” Venti smirks and crosses his arms, “And I thought you were the pious type.”

“The Lord teaches justice, fairness, and moderation— never to take ‘freedom’ for granted.” Dahlia’s eyes lower, “Or? Do you mean to suggest you’re  somehow righteous screwing around with me like this?”

Venti’s eyes widened at the claim, his smile disappearing for a small blush. It catches the other by surprise, Dahlia’s serious demeanor quickly falling for a perplexed one, “Uhm, that was a serious question?? Barbatos above, don't tell me you’re actually into that.”

“I-into that—?” Venti laughs allowed, “Hah, only you assumed that! Woe to you, unable to make up your mind about me~”

“You’ve annihilated everything around the bush, weirdo.”

“Ahem.” Both of the younger men look up to the bartender, who’d spent far too long listening to their bantering. His red eyes are flat as he doesn't meet either glaze, “Not just because i'd like to break up whatever on god’s green earth this is, but should i actually begin this anti-liver order?”

Dahlia glares at Venti before he can answer, leaving the other man with sheepish grin, “Hold on now! W-we can work something out…” he glances around the table, “...uh…ah!”

He grabs two small glasses of beer shots from an unbeknownst customer beside him. He turns around holding them over his head in grandiose fashion, “Care for a drinking game~?”

“There is no way that’s a real person.” the bartender listless mutters, earning a nod from Dahlia.

Venti moves to the seat closer to Dahlia, slamming the drinks down in front of him, “You’re a trickster in bore’s clothing who has the means to blackmail me.”

“At least I don't wear leather and jeans in summer.” Dahlia mutters.

“But~ you’re still as bored as they come, and talking to me was the best thing that’s happened to you tonight.”

Completely moving past the admission of Venti watching Dahlia practically the moment he entered the tavern, “Almost getting scammed was a good thing?”

“You act as if you were ever in danger of that,” Venti’s eyes teal eyes practically flash at him, “Don’t worry, i’m not scared of you either~”

Dahlia’s eyes remain low. Then, they glance at the red and black phone on the bar, “I assume that picture is part of the game?”

“You can do whatever you want with it if you win.” Venti cooly replies. He sits back down, crossing his legs on the stool, “And if I do… hmm…”

Venti gives Dahlia a sly smile, “You can put all this, and a glass of dandelion wine on your tab.”

‘Who could possibly enjoy wine while drunk?’ Dahlia bemoaned to himself. But he does have an extremely good liquor tolerance for his size, and went hand-and hand with Rosaria who’s seemingly a bottomless pit when it comes to alcohol.

Dahlia groans, making Venti jolt slightly, “Why are you even suggesting this?”

“Huh…” Venti’s smile falls. It peaks Dahlia’s attention, as the other man ponders to himself.

“Barbatos… taught Mondstadt to make wine to make the world more friendly.” Venti smiles slightly, “He thought spirits were broken in the war, and it’s only natural to need a boost, right?”

He slides one of the glasses to Dahlia, “It’s just a buzz really~ only to get that raincloud away from you even for a little. I’ve had to see it all day… aren't you tired?”

… Venti knows way too much about him for everything he’s saying to be right. And yet…

Dahlia’s face turns red, as he takes the shot glass. The little reflection of himself squiggles in the light of the glass.

…maybe a few drinks and stakes as all he needs.

Chapter Text

It’s simple: whoever passes out first loses.

Bar-held games at Angel’s Share usually involve card games like Poker, Blackjack, and even TCG if players had a deck. All run by the bartender passively (Dahlia learned his name to be “Diluc” from Venti), it’s a pretty quick contest that ends rather smoothly.

But Venti was a whirlwind, jumping from one game to the next whether winning or losing, dragging Dahlia along for the hectic ride. Perhaps it was due to learning of Dahlia’s drinking experience that drove Venti further and further…

Their first game was a single round of black jack between the two of them, where the “busted” had to take as many shots for how close to or over 21 they were, and the winner just had to take one (Venti took two). The second was a simple dice game where the winner with the bigger numbers took two shots while the loser took 4(Dahlia lost that one). 

It was during the poker game where Dahlia asked why every outcome involved more and more drinking. Venti was too tipsy to give a valid answer, simply calling it the “charm of the game.” In any case, Dahlia finally felt it after having to take two shots for winning, while Venti took three for losing.

Tipsy Dahlia’s live reaction to the new game, coin flip: “How in the Lord’s name is this even a game?”

Tipsy Venti’s live reaction to Dahlia’s live reaction to the new game, coin flip: “It’s a game if I want it to be. You said you wanted to play the drinking game~ Dahlia.”

Venti sits at the stool across from Dahlia, pale face now donning a bright flush. The bar beside them was already beginning to stack with turned-over glasses. Tired as ever, the red-haired bartender passively refills them for the games to come.

“Besides~” Venti continues slyly, “it’s so hard~ to be such a confident and clever game master. It’s not a game if we’re not having fun.”

Dahlia smirks at Venti, his sharp words making the other boy jump slightly, “Being an alcoholic isn’t fun.”

Coin flip: pick heads or tails. Winning side gets one drink, while the loser gets six. Atleast, that’s what Venti comes up with.

“And luckily~” Venti sing songs as he holds up a mora coin, i have one here~ you ready?”

“Absolutely not.” Dahlia deadpans, snatching the coin from the other’s hand. The boy with braids cries out for his coin, while Dahlia sticks out his tongue distastefully, “Jeez… how predictable. It’s not just a game y’know. It’s a social experience— even if said experience might put you in debt to me…”

The pink-haired boy flips the coin, “The losing side takes three shots. The winning side takes just one, and…hm…” Dahlia’s eyes lower mischievously, “You have to tell a good secret~”

“Elementary much?” Venti’s eyes fall flat despite his smile, “I didn’t take you for the gossip type. ”

“And I thought you were the pious piper.” Dahlia’s sighs to himself, “I think we can both agree we were both pleasantly surprised tonight. I mean, if i knew there was a rambunctious drinking partner that made me feel better about everything I have going on, I'd take hangovers to school everyday…”

Venti’s eyes go wider, “So you get nicer the further you go.”

“Trying to read me so quickly? I actually get meaner…” Dahlia rests the gold coin on his thumb, “Now pick a side smartass.”

The coin makes a resounding chime as it flies into the air. Venti trails the coin, a calm smile on his face “Heads.”

“Tails.” Dahlia chooses. The coin falls down to earth, and Dahlia slaps it onto his opposite palm. The two leaned in, as Dahlia uncovered the results.

“Tails! Thank Barbatos!” Venti cheers. He slaps his hand onto the bar, eliciting a tight frown from Diluc, “Another three shots, Diluc!”

“Good lord you're insane.” Dahlia mutters coolly. He quietly brings over another shot glass to his side, and quickly gulps down the bitter sweet liquid. He turns it over, sliding it back towards the bartender with a sigh, “What a boring outcome.”

“Eh? What’s that~?” Venti sing-songs with an arming smile, “Heh, you really wanted something out of me, didn’t you? I do suppose I have that presence…”

“What? The presence of a drunk narcissist?” Dahlia jeers. It makes the other man hesitate to finish his drink, “I just don't have that good of a secret planned out.”

“Meh. I don't mind...” Venti finally finishes his first shot, and slides the second one towards him, “It was your idea right? So spit it out! Anything that comes to mind~”

“Eh… if you say so…” Dahlia crosses his legs over the other, “Well what comes to mind is that I’m not a virgin.”

Venti spits out his drink.

“Spent time with three different guys back home.” Dahlia puts a hand to his heart as if he’s hurt, “It really sucked too…embarrassing.”

“Why—“ Venti slams down the glass, “Why would you say that????”

Venti’s beet red as he swipes the beer dribbles off his lips, “Made me waste a perfectly good drink on your bullshit secret!”

“You said anything…” Dahlia crosses his arms, “And we’re both adults. Why’re you acting like a kid about it?”

“Maybe cause you hang out with Barbara?!” Venti scoots his chair closer to Dahlia, “She’s THE most innocent person i know. How do you get away with that around her? No honestly, how are you of all people—” Venti’s face melts to an even deeper red.

“What? What did you think of me before?” Dahlia narrows his eyes at the other man, “ Veeeery interesting how intrigued you are.”

Venti pulls the final drink towards him, swirling it around in it’s glass, “I recall a certain pink-haired gossiper bringing all this up to begin with.” he takes a sip of it, the smile returning to his face, “Why, he may perhaps have another motivation all together~”

Dahlia’s face goes red with a wry smile, “I only meant—”

The man with braids leans in closer to Dahlia, making his smile fall. He can feel the other’s breeze-like breath tickle his ear. “He wants my~ grand secret.”

Venti backs away from Dahlia, an amused grin on his face, “But I’d have to be on the edge of knocking out to say something like that. Guess you’ll have to beat it out of me~”

The glass is so small in Venti’s hands. He smiles at Dahlia, both now already pushed far past buzz, “So, care to continue~?”

It’s as if a rush is still steamrolling down his spine. No, more breeze like. But ultimately, what reason is there to stop now?

Dahlia grins back, clinking a fresh glass to Venti’s, “You still have to pay for those drinks!”

Miles away from Dahlia’s tavern dilemma, Barbara and Rosaria are sitting under a gas station roof while painting each other's nails.

“Awe…” Barbara bemoans. She’d already given Rosaria a fresh coat of baby-blue paint, “I can’t believe I read the weather report for Favonius and not Windrise. If I knew better, we could've stayed in the cathedral with Dahlia~”

Rosaria usually drops her friends home via her motorcycle. Dahlia appreciates the efforts (though looks far paller after getting off), but energetic Barbara has spent so much time riding with her, she revamped one of Rosaria’s old helmets with blue streaks, stars and stickers to make it her own.

Barbara’s home town of Windrise is far from the city. From rain, to a heavy deluge, the blonde had strongly elected the two to stop at a lonely gas station, the only structure for miles in the plain environment.

Rosaria holds Barbara’s hand in hers, and with the other, paints a fresh coat of black polish on her last finger. Bored for the last hour and a half, she broke her makeup kit out of her motorcycle’s compartment, “We can always rough it, y’know. Or atleast, you can call your sister...”

“Barbatos above, Rosaria!” Barbara gasps appalled, “I haven’t gotten married yet! D-don't even suggest risking our lives like that.” she pouts sarcastically, as Rosaria’s about to finish “in any case, I’m here with my dear friend Rosaria! So if anything, it’s a happy accident~” she glares at her with a tight frown, “And who do you think I am? Taking the car over a cool motorcycle…blegh.”

Rosaria smiles at Barbara, making the other girl smile warmer. The taller woman lets go of Barbara’s hands, allowing her to marvel at the black coat, “So pretty…!”

The taller woman stands up to dust her dress, while Barbara blows on the fresh paint, “It’s like a girls trip! Though if we were at my house, we’d have ice cream, hehe...”

Barbara turns her hands to view her nails at all angles. “I saw an icebox outside the gas station that reminded me of it… but it’s been out of order for a few days now…”

The woman takes in her words. Rosaria knows what she’s talking about. A short walk around the station later, and the broken ice box sits quiet and deserted, with a pitiful “Broken, Sorry :( “ sign hanging limply.

Pushing open the dead-box’s lid, she’s greeted with steamy humidity radiating off of the treats. Her magenta, yet sharply icy eyes stare down into the hot container.

“Hey,” Rosaria greets her friend minutes later, “Guess who lied?”

“R-Rosaria—!”  Barbara gapes at her soaked friend, “You’re soaked! No way you actually went back there!” she takes a cold ice cream container from her with the edge of her palms. She slightly cringes at sharp ice shards around it, “And I thought I said it was broken…”

“Ah, Miss Deaconess was wrong~” Rosaria reveals quietly with a smirk, “Ice cold all over. It even had that chili bullshit you like somehow.”

“It’s mango chill rush thank you~” Barbara admonishes, “But still, thank you for checking. I would've never guessed it’d actually be working…” she smiles at Rosaria warmly, “This feels kinda like a miracle.” 

Her smirk falls, eyes falling further, “...Mm,” Rosaria voices, ripping open her own ice cream lid, “All I did was 'check.'”

Windrise, as clear and breezy as it can be, reveals the dark storm clouds as they pass overhead. The sunset peaks over and under the earth, as if it’s simply hiding behind the darkness, and simply lying at the end of a long road ahead of them.

“It’s a really beautiful day, isn't it?”  Barbara marvels, “I wonder if Dahlia can see something as beautiful right now!”

Chapter Text

Actually, when was the last time Dahlia’s had a good time like this?

A time where he can forget everything— where the events of the day feel like a dream, and those of 24 hours prior seem like another life? Where wholly transitory sensations were enough to raise him high over the earth?

Everything looks so small when he’s over the earth with Venti.

It’s further into the night where they practically forget what they’re drinking for to begin with . Everything Dahlia says is seemingly sharp. Everything Venti does was seemingly amusing. It’s funny how on the first day they truly met, they could feel so “one” with each other. 

TLDR: They were drunk off their asses.

“Wah! You're almost as good as me!!” Venti laughs at Dahlia during a game of darts.

They had spied the dart board while Venti was telling a story, and elected on a game for fun. Venti hit a bullseye with all three darts(effortlessly), while only Dahlia missed one. The pink haired boy smiled sarcastically, “You only got a lucky shot.”

Or maybe it was just the alcohol. There's no way Venti could have actually thrown all three at once and made a bullseye, right?

Dahlia’s competitive edge from earlier in the night however is nearly gone, and Venti merely smiles cheekily at the other, “Dahlia Dahlia… succumbing to jealousy isn’t a good look on you~ You wanna stay pretty as me for a long time, don’t you?”

Dahlia doesn’t have a chance to address the flirtatious comment before Venti steps closer. The boy with braids cups his hands around his ear, breathe as warm as the summer winds, “But if you wanna talk about someone good at darts: ever hear what our bartender did to his brother during a game?”

Dahlia’s smile quickly grows at the notion, “The one with the eyepatch??? You’re kidding…!”

“Listen…”

Of course the two happen to still be standing near the bar while gossiping about its tender (and Diluc doesn’t even play darts mind you). He lethargically reprimands them, eyes focussed on the newspaper he now has a chance to read. “Usually rumors are spread when the subject isn’t in earshot.”

Both of the younger boys turned to him, faces red and smiles wide. Dahlia waves it off with a mischievously, “Eavesdropping much? What makes you think we were even talking about you, Mr Diluc~”

A devious smile curls ear-to-ear on Venti’s face “Please don't embarrass yourself, Bartender sir…” he gaslights, “Don’t you know there are many bartenders? ” 

“Lots of bartenders have brothers y’know, Mr. Diluc~”

“Bartenders with brothers in many many bars…” Venti smirks, “Though, i dont think they’re nearly as nosy.”

Diluc slaps his newspaper shut, and sighs furiously to himself. ‘Thank god the shift is almost over.’ He says more self calming words and walks away, as the too-drunk-for-a-responsible-adult-on-a-sunday-night boys laugh amongst themselves.

Venti turns back to Dahlia with tears in his eyes, “You’re a wild one aren't you? I can't believe you go to the cathedral too!”

“Well I can’t believe you’re the symbol of purity at the center.” Dahlia deflects, “You always have this light around you… everywhere. Barbara too actually...” Dahlia squints his eyes at him, “You don’t have the sun in your back pocket, do you ? Are you contracting the sun, Venti??”

“I can try~” Venti shrugs. He smirks at Dahlia, “Though, why should one need the sun’s gaze? You’re perfect in my eyes~”

The other’s face turns a bright red, “I’m not jealous of it! ” with a huff, he brings it back to a somewhat normal, “Well if we’re still talking about you , i still haven't heard a secret from you.” Dahlia’s eyelids lower as he presses the other, “I’m sure I've beat you enough already.”

“Oh,” Now it’s Venti’s turn to blush, “Didn’t I just mention one?”

Dahlia frowns“That was Diluc’s secret.” he sticks a tongue out at him cheekily, “Avoiding it, huh? Venti Venti, oh so embarrassed…”

“Am not—”

“Adorably insecure.”

“Positively absurd.” Venti’s composed expression has completely disappeared, “I have many secrets. We can sit here all day talking about them.”

“Oh, so there’s a list to choose from…” Dahlia smirks to himself. He rests his hand in his palm, and gazes up at Venti, “I’ll simplify it then: tell me how the sun is in your favor.”

There’s really no answer to such a coincidental phenomenon. Really, Dahlia would be happy to see Venti quickly make up a random story about striking a deal with stars. That’s the type of person Venti’s revealed himself to be after all.

But instead, the boy in front of him hesitates, pensively. It admittingly throws Dahlia off guard, the other’s state being a harsh deviation from his manner in the past hours.

Then Venti leans in, voice low, and gaze serious : “Because I'm Barbatos.”

Dahlia lightly punches Venti’s shoulder, “Blasphemous much?”

Venti genuinely looks confused, “Huh? I thought you said you wanted my secret.”

“Not enough to accept bullshit.” Dahlia crosses his arms, eyes shooting daggers, “I don't care to fact-check whatever you give me. But come on, Barbatos?” he scoffs to himself, “No worries. I'm actually Dvalin…”

“But I'm serious! I've been using anemo to make shots the whole time. Beer pong, darts… im shit at all of it otherwise!”

Dahlia raises an eyebrow at the other man.

Venti fumes as he grabs Dahlia’s wrist. He props his attention back to the dart board, still tacked with the two’s near-perfect shots, “See— I won't use it this time! Watch what happens.”

Dahlia gives his attention as Venti takes a leftover start from the bar’s table. The boy with braids squints at the board and aims his shot— something he hadn’t done the entire night. Woefully, Dahlia’s intrigued.

Venti throws his arm all the way back, and hurls the dart towards the board with all his might. The two trail the dart as it soars towards its target…

… and pitfully misses. And ends up lodged in a bald man’s head.

Dahlia and Venti watch in horror as the man cries out. Fuming, he sets his sights on the unassuming man sitting close behind him. An argument quickly ensues, and one of them accidentally knocks over someone’s drink.

It takes seconds for fists to start flying.

Diluc rushes back out in seconds panicked, “What the hell?!” Then the man’s red eyes go down to the two. Dahlia sits terrified, while Venti’s hand is still outstretched from the toss, “You…!”

“...ehe…” Venti breaths with a nervous smile. The next second, he’s grabbing Dahlia by the wrist, and rushing him out of his seat, “Gogogo—!”

Dahlia hears Diluc swearing at them over the fight, but it quickly dies down as the bartender is now tasked to stop it. Meanwhile, Venti jostles the two through the packed room, and up the tavern's stairs.

It’s doing as well for Dahlia’s beer-filled stomach as one could hope. “Where—” he huffs, “Where are we going??”

“J-just somewhere while the bar cools off.” Venti sheepishly replies, “Like…”

They reach the top of the stairs, speed down a hallway, and into another room. Dahlia’s head is spinning as he stops in the room. The sound of Venti slamming the door shut, and the flash of white as he flicks on a light switch is overwhelming to register, but his cheery voice cuts through like a knife, “The tavern inn!”

Dahlia’s eyes slowly begin to take in the room. It's an average sized room with vintage drawers, chairs, and two windows with wood casement around a king-sized bed. The light switch had connected to the room’s chandelier, illuminating his world with a harsh white light.”

“Luckily there’s a lighting stat.” Venti notes allowed as he messes with buttons on the wall. The room dims to a more soothing darkness, “This place has everything.”

Dahlia squints, “Why does a bar have an inn to begin with?”

“Bars and taverns aren't the same thing. Both sides of this tavern are wholly separate too…” he closes one eye with a mischievous grin, “And it’s the ‘brother’ who runs the inn.”

“Aaahahahaha…don’t—” another wave of nausea returns. Dahlia leans over on his stomach.

Panicked, Venti goes to his side eyes wide, “You ok, Dahlia??”

“Don’t drag me around like that ever again.” Dahlia rasps with a shaky smile, “I won't hesitate… to throw up on your jacket.”

It’s absurd. It’d mortify Dahlia if he’d actually done it. But Venti seems nowhere near as concerned. Laughing as he helps him back up, joking as he teases the other to aim for the bed instead.

Inviting as he flops onto the bed's royal-blue blanket, flicking off Dahlia’s headband with a knowing grin. It’s as if Venti’s eyes flash beneath the shadow of Dahlia’s body, forged innocence in his smile as he hands caressed the others thigh.

His whole body goes hot as Dahlia melts into the kiss. His hands mindlessly wanders the boy under him, taking a hold of his waist, and trailing his body.His thoughts are quiet— if there are any at all. All he can do is chase after his partner

 And it’s Venti that pulls him closer— legs wrapping around Dahlia, and fingers finding a place in his pink hair. Even the small gasps made all work to beacon Dahlia closer. He’s kissed people before, but it’s as if Venti’s trying to devour him— lips, tongue and all…

Actually, when was the last time Dahlia’s been tugged along like this? Where he didnt think practically or realistically? Where getting hurt wasn’t an option, and fucking someone he’s never truly met was? Every tug on his hair and bite to his lip drags him further along; the other’s cold fingers find their way up his shirt while leaving behind the taste of alcohol. It’s all sweet now, And all Dahlia can do is keep up…

And it’s Venti that breaks the kiss first, cheekily gazing up at Dahlia’s flushed expression, “You’re the best thing to happen to me in centuries.” he pushes more of Dahlia’s hair back, making the other blush harder, “The worlds i’d trade for you to be the first~”

“We’re still doing this then?”  Dahlia’s grip tightens slightly, taking in the other boy with dazed eyes, “Likening yourself to the divine after a few drinks? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Mean.” Venti smuthers through another kiss. His hand slithers up the other’s hair, gasping as the other explores his mouth. Breaking away to breathe for moments, he mumbles cooley, “I have lots to be embarrassed about… but not this. Not you…”

He anchors himself to Dahlia, hooking a hand around his neck, sending shivers down his spine as he kisses it lightly, “The thousand winds will hear you tonight~”

.

wait…

“It’s you…” Dahlia slowly realizes. He raises himself up slightly, shadowing the other below him, “You were in the confessional last night.”

Venti’s eye remained on his. Endless, widened, tearing into him with the sights of both a frightened deer, and contemplating predator. And finally, he stares with an answer, “And it was you who heard me.”

“...Huh.” Dahlia hadn’t ever truly processed the musing from that night. What stood out were specific phrases and wording, but that did little to address the implications behind the words.

But again: they’re both drunk off their asses. And surely Venti was drunk off of his that night as well? “Ok ‘Barbatos…’” Dahlia starts over, “You're, uh… strong, aren’t you? This can’t be that bad.”

Venti tilts his head, pale neck exposed melodramatically, “Calamity. Doomsday…”

“Ok, leeeeeet’s unpack this for two seconds—”

“The anger of thousands of powers at once; I alone take the globe down to my grave.”

“...I see.” Dahlia mumbles. Bluntly, he feels out of place next to Venti’s big… “presence.” Failing to put a finger on it only makes his face go redder. What is there even to say to this?

Sheepishly, Dahlia offers in a low tone: “If there’s any room… I could help.” 

 Venti laughs bitterly at the suggestion, making Dahlia redden. He stiffens as the other’s pale fingers move up to his face, every sensation of Dahlia’s sending waves of heat down his spine. Venti’s eyes glare up at him as he cups his face, “You’re just like him. Hopeful, optimistic, naive…

His eyes soften with his words, “You wouldn’t know of anything hadn’t I run away from the problem in the first place. You were simply a bystander in this perfect mess— a faithful pleaser to the losing side.” he smiles softly, “Blind faith won’t help me right now.”

Dahlia stiffens, “But I'm not Barbara.”

The stark comment rattles Venti. Dahlia goes on in soft musing, taking Venti’s hand in his, “I don’t pretend to have faith like Rosaria. I don’t have nuanced views on it like Albedo…”

Dahlia presses Venti’s hand at his lips, kissing into it with reddened cheeks. “But instead, I’ve always had unwavering belief in the anemo archon. So I'd gladly assist you as you inevitably save us all.”

The dust strands dance across his vision.

His alarm innocently charms as if it’s not knives to his head. If Dahlia were in his own bed, he’d at least have the luxury of waking up to a dark wall, rather than the morning sun. At least these tavern sheets are a godly feather-soft.

It’s like Dahlia slept under a bag of bricks.

Then the previous night rams him like a freight train— literally. Random fragments all out of order come and go, but the memory of the endless shot glasses stay centered. Of course, Venti’s face is there as well— flirty, witty, and enchanting all the way.

With a sluggish groan, Dahlia finally sits up in the bed. His stomach screams, and his exposed body shivers with every movement. Oh and of course he also had sex with the cathedral’s proud musician. May Barbatos grant him more fortune on this perfect hang-me-over. 

In grogginess, he turns his head to see if Venti’s already left. 

Only to find the cathedral’s volunteer musician with hulking-white wings.

Dahlia screams as he jumps away. He lands on nothing, and falls to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs, and the bed’s thick-indigo  blanket. He might as well have landed on a slab of ice, as chills of the floor shoot through his body like arrows. 

But that’s the least of his concerns

The noise must've woken Venti up, as Dahlia’s heart races faster as the wings shift on the bed, the inhuman creature who slept beside him finally waking up. His breath is running away from him. His brain is, no, HAS to be melting for this to be true.

There is no way this is true.

Venti finally peers over the bendy, sending another shiver through Dahlia’s body. He’s naked too, with vibrant teal chest- tattoos on full display, and matching teal eyes both glowing faintly.

His white wings adorned with golden disks hover over both of them.

“It…” Dahlia quivers, light-purple eyes shaking, “It’s true…”

Barbatos blinks to himself, his eyes going softer “This is the second time you’ve met me exposed like this.” he hesitates forcentrty-like moments, before softly grinning, “It’d be a disservice to lie to someone as charming as you, Dahlia. So yes, it’s true…”

The white wings de-materialize into teal feathers. The tattoos lose their glow, and his eyes go back to their every-day hue, “I’m actually— ”

“N-not that!” Dahlia interrupts. He bunches up the blanket sprawled around him, bringing it closer to cover his chest, “So all that calamity talk? Dooming humanity?? Taking the world with you to your grave???” Dahlia stares into his god’s divine eyes, disenchanting hollowness behind them , “Is the world really about to end?”

“...oh.” Venti’s eyes turn away as if he’s going into thought. Then finally, they go back to fearful Dahlia with the same ambiguous look, “Yeeeeeah… that’s true too.”

Chapter Text

It’s ungodly sunny.

Which is completely ironic right now. God, the lord, the Anemo Archon birthed in the heart of Mondstadt, is all around him. In the wind; in colors expanded by rays of sunlight; in the sheets embracing him with shameful intentions. Truly, as the scriptures and church nuns praised, the presence of Barbatos can be felt everywhere.

It’s too fucking sunny.

And Windrise University takes pride in their large glass windows. Lecture halls are likened to coliseums, surrounded by the faint rustling trees outside its high walls. Amongst the 400 students, Dahlia couldn’t care less about wearing light-rejecting sunglasses in the middle of class.

The trees shadow and shape sunlight all across Dahlia’s small frame.

“I actually had a hand in this subject, y’know.” Barbatos chimes next to Dahlia.

The other boy leans back in his seat, feet crossed over each other on the row-long wooden desk. He sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the student body— loud and boisterous musings amongst a studious group paying attention to their professor.

His audience is but one, “‘Freedom in its home nation against the rest of the world.’ Mondstadt as a country is the birthplace of Barbatos and worship towards him. Philosophically and historically meanwhile, paints its people as warriors fighting for their own freedom time and time again, rather than satisfied with it being simply granted by their god…hah.”

He turns to Dahlia with a light grin, “I’m glad you’re a philosophy major. It suits you well~”

The immortal deity is following Dahlia for Barbatos-knows what, sitting next to him in class, rambling mindlessly in the halls… all seemingly invisible to all others. Dahlia’s head is already splitting thanks to him. Dahlia split his head in the first place thanks to…

He hardly even remembers how he got out of the tavern. What the ticed bartender sarcastically quipped on his way out, or how late he was to his first class. Running his hand through his hair at one point— blocking the sun for even short moments to soften his migraine— he realizes he's left his headband at the inn.

Everything comes in one ear and out the other. Is a lab important enough to come to school? Every second that passes leaves him feeling more and more battered... If Barbatos cares, it’s unapparent. If Barbatos has something important to say, it’s omitted between giggles and incessant tales…

A little over half an hour into his first class, Dahlia leaves the chatter-box of a one night stand to take another bathroom break. His voice still echoes behind him as he opens the huge lecture doors…

Barbatos is the first thing he sees— hanging upside down in mid air,  glowing braids and eyes and all, staring at him with a cheeky smile.

And just like early morning, it sends Dahlia flying backwards, eyes wide, and heart reeling from the display. His scream hurts his chest and ears—another bag of bricks crashing down on this damned day. A room of 399 adults and one professor, they all drop to a whisper just to stare.

As cruel as hours earlier, no one can see Barbatos but Dahlia.

“And when the Anemo Archon extended his hands, he spoke in a powerful voice heard for hundreds of miles:”

“Oh mighty snows of the north, part thyself in my wake.

“I have come to the aid of the children of freedom, liberating the world from cold Solitude.

“Saplings under the old lord; sprout tenderly with angry cries and blood. Extend thyself, dance to joyous euphony witnessed by the whole of the worlds.

“Hark! Truly the land’s destiny of freedom arrives, cradled in the winds, and nurtured by fate.”

“And with that, the snows receded upon the flaps of Lord’s wings, revealing the land’s planes and pastures, and brought life to the Mondstadt we know today.”

The orphanage’s teacher closed her book, a warm smile on her face, “Pretty cool, huh? Now we get to enjoy all the summer days we’d like.” 

The biggest orphanage in Port Dorman is a religious one. Built upon a church admittedly less grand of Favonious’s, Dahlia was raised under the light of stained glass.

The first songs he learned were that of the lord. The first words he read were prayers to the Anemo Archon. Raised in a home reminding him well of his parental absence, his first praises were to Barbatos as the father of freedom.

To some point in his youth, he’d seriously answer his parental figure being that of the lord— a faceless beauty draping him in brilliant hues through stained glass. It was peculiar to the orphanage's guardians, but not “strange.” Cultivating children in a religious sphere, the rambunctious four-year-old came off as nothing more than devout follower finding meaning in faith.

But it wasn’t simply that.

For faith is the belief in the unseen, and going on to say blind faith is the devout faith in a mere concept. But Dahlia knew Barbatos was there. His belief was always of the winged deity in the winds, always caring for his children, and always a friend. Barbatos wasn’t an “Archon,” “Lord,” or anything of grandiose nature

Barbatos was Barbatos. So until a certain point in his youth, Dahlia was the first to applaud stories of his feats, and first to lead prayers in his name in reverence.

Being a day-time peacemaker for the Windrise dorms was a cop-out of having to actually stay in one. Having long already resolved all possible conflicts, and even lessinging the job of the person on night shift, time at the circular desk at the front of the dormitory elevators turned into a study session.

But the words mesh and disfigure on his page. Every stroke from his pen feels laborious and sloppy. His eyes threaten to close with every minute…

It’s around 3PM. Most of the day turned into a slug fest, with the most memorable being falling asleep during a small lab quiz. This job of his will only extend his day till 6PM. And by the looks of it, Dahlia will spend it replaying lesson recordings from throughout the day.

Barbatos still stays, sitting on the desk as he plays with Dahlia’s pink curls. His demeanor could be compared to that of a cat endlessly looking to satiate its curiosity.

“So… they’re basically giving you free money.” Barbatos surmises quickly, “Honestly, respect to you considering rent right now.” His smile fades into a frown, “If only it could be less boring~”

Ignoring him doesn’t work. Looking away when Barbatos turns to him doesn’t work. Holding in his reactions to the other’s provoking antics doesn’t work. One can only wonder if he’s looking for the breaking point in Dahlia.

“… I can still use the time to get work done.” Dahlia lethargically replies. None of this is doing his headache any favors, and none of what he says lines up with his views on the task, “This is fine.”

It appears to have some effect, as the other boy simply hums to himself for a moment. Barbatos twists Dahlia’s hair around his fingers, “But if there’s no peace to be made, and all the other activities are carried out by others… studying at home would be the better option.”

It’s as if Dahlia’s eyes get heavier by even the reference of his bed, “We… I can’t just relax whenever I want. I need to relisten to the lesson anyways…”

“Mmmm.” the deity lightly tugs at the hair.

“And in any case, it’s a half-hour away by bus…” his eyes slowly close, “So it’s not like ditching is convenient any—“

But when Dahlia reopens his eyes, he’s sitting at his own desk at his own home— an hour away from Windrise University.

Dahlia falls out of his chair in panic— landing on his own rug. The Anemo Archon’s sitting on the desk quietly as if it was always that desk. In front of the bright light of the single window in his bedroom, Barbatos’s eyes can be seen glowing faintly.

The pink-haired boy got up hurriedly, quickly pacing around the room. Venti watched on with a smile of assurance, “Now you can listen to them at home. And you get out of a tiresome bus ride with all the other unfortunate souls.” Barbatos nonchalantly smiles, “This is the part where you thank me”

But Dahlia isn’t listening. Atleast, it doesn’t seem that way huddled tight in his bed,shadowed by its thick covers. The bed sits right next to the desk, right next to the Anemo Archon taking a look around his room.

His bedroom itself is square shaped, with thick black curtains framing the window. In front of it is the aforementioned desk stacked with textbooks, a small bookcase, and other scattered clothing lying about.

“You’ve got a cozy room.” Barbatos compliments lightly. He turns to the wall left of the window harboring his large closet, “A little messy, but I like it. Reminds me of myself , haha!”

The wall to the right of the window is the rickety bunk bed Dahlia now lies upon (belonged to the previous tenants(Dahlia turned the top bunk into a makeshift storage space for suitcases)).

Barbatos catches sight of Dahlia, and grins cheekily. “It’s not even 4, y'know.There's no reason to go to bed when you have soooo much to do~”

No reply. But that’s never stopped the Anemo Archon, “Actually, the break would do you good. Ah… walking around with that gloomy expression all day is tiring. How long can a strong person pretend to be stronger after all—“

“What do you want?” Dahlia questions from under the covers. 

The divine eyes widen, at the question.

“Are you here to torment me? Are you here to punish me?” His voice is weak beneath the blanket, frequented by sniffles through the onslaught of tears, “You told me the world is going to end, and went out of your way to follow me. No one has to deal with this but me…”

He slowly rises from his ball, yet still clings to the hulking blanket. Too afraid to face the god, he turns to the wall to hide his tears, “Isn’t that enough? Feeling even more alone than I already am? Having to go on with my day as if nothing’s happened between us? How… how do i even go to church anymore??”

Dahlia questions with all the animosity he can muster, “Why did you sleep with me, Barbatos?”

What comes next is a long pause. Dahlia’s heart is still racing from the flood of emotions amplified by his state—the nightmare-like state ever encompassing his world.

But the world still has the Lord standing a few feet away.

“I…” he begins in a calmer tone, “I haven’t talked to anyone in centuries.”

The fear around Dahlia breaks. He feels a shift on his bed, assuming it to be Barbatos beside him. He feels a heat rise in his chest with the other heavy sigh.

“I haven't talked to someone in centuries. Exposed and vulnerable in my wake, yet can listen wholly and purley to my words.” his face becomes warm. “You’re just… comforting, y’know? You just see things as easily as I can, and not afraid to talk back! Like last night!”

Barbatos smiles brightly, “You’re the most amazing person i’ve met since—”

“If you can’t understand how distressing your actions are to me— a *human,* how can you possibly convince me to see my reaction as comforting— to a *god?*”

For the first time this day, Barbatos’s smile disappears. 

“…I’m being childish.” Dahlia sheds the blanket quietly, “I promised to help you prevent the ‘calamity…’ So I'll do that. I’ll help you, Venti.” he turns to Venti with a tired look in his eyes, “For everyone I care about at least… Barbatos…and...”

His vision begins to go dark. Another wave of the pesky headache returns. The last thing he sees is Venti extending his hands to him, just as he extended his hands to the lord of the snow. This first instance of concern he’s seen on the god’s face since…

Since…

…

“Human beings are so fragile…” Venti murmurs to himself, holding the sleeping boy in his arms, “And yet…”

“...”

“... I was just a little excited. That’s all.”

“...I hope the world may serve as an apology, Dahlia.”

Hours later in deep darkness, a voicemail is made by “someone” in the cathedral’s tall piers.

[Riiiiiing] [Riiiiiing]

[This is Varka. Leave a message and I might reply back, hehe.]

[click]

“Hey, Varka, it’s me.”

“How are things? We’ve been getting alot more rain on our end…”

“Weinlesefest will be amazing this year.”

“...”

“They've both graduated highschool by now.”

“He even moved to Favonius as you hoped— sad you never got to actually see him here.”

“The sister’s have also long taken over the church in Seamus’s place.”

“And the city’s fine, so I guess the public security force is in good shape too.”

“What I would give to see your reaction to the office. Jean’s the better commander in every way… even at cleaning her desk.”

“Haha.”

“...”

“.....”

“...This is the 15th unanswered voicemail in three months”

“If I had it my way, I'd go after you.”

“But you’re a headache with lofty ideas, so I'll let you get your way just this once.”

“...”

“So this is the ‘worst to come’ huh?”

“Three years up north for your ‘grand war on fate.’”

“At the end of that uphill battle… the final price falls on Mondstadt to pay.”

“Or…’me’ if the plan goes right.”

“...It’s a memorable struggle for sure. Useless, but memorable.”

“...”

“I regret never getting the chance to thank you for what you've done for me too.”

“It’s pointless to admit now, but I've always avoided it to get out of your long-winded conversations— A useless headache in the making.”

“I’m gonna need a clear head for what comes next, huh?”

“...”

“But… when it’s over, and if I’m still around… I’ll definitely come after your body.”

“And if Seamus is still alive, I'll bring him home to them.”

“And if not…”

“...”

“Well, none of this was your fault to begin with. And Seamus was just trying to be a good person.”

“No idea how I'll explain *that* though. She hardly even asks about him anymore…”

“...”

“No one deserves to be buried away from home. If this is all i can grant you, I'll see to it.”

“...”

“Goodbye…Varka.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done for Mondstadt… and the world.”

[Click]

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, Barbara faces the horrors of minimum wage. 

At least it's empty—as the college Supway© store closes at 5PM. So time spent at 4:50PM is training the fresh recruit, Albert.

“S-so we just stand here till closing?” the newbie questions with a sarcastic smile.

The two stand behind Supway© 's counter adorned with sandwich ingredients. Dressed in the forest green uniform shirts, black cap and aprons, and boring name tags (Barbara put a sticker on hers), the two have as much aura as garden gnomes.

Albert has short blonde hair, and purple eyes Barbara notes to be darker than Dahlia’s, “Not to ride on you for doing your job, but we atleast got on our phones at my last place.” he breaks a slight sweat, “This place is really boring…”

“If it wasn’t your first day, we’d be playing Snakey(or doing really anything else).” Barbara addresses with an equally sarcastic smile, “But I have to come off as the responsible one on the first day at least. You should see the manager when she’s mad… (you really shouldn’t ;-;).”

If there’s any upside to working at Supway©, it’d be the miraculous work ethic instilled by Barbara’s sister to get things done right away. She’s patient enough to deal with the rude(r) customers, quick enough to make cleaning the bathroom feel like wiping tables, and chill enough to not convince anyone to quit on her.

A true miracle that can only exist in fiction— but that’s just Barbara. Her goal is to only let herself get sad for 30 seconds after all! “Monday’s usually busy anyways~”

Barbara smiles softly, “Atleast, more people are on campus that is. Better not to get caught off guard, right? I had a horrible first day when that happened.”

“I guess you're right…” Albert turns away from her, “Though if we’re being honest, 1000 mora for a footlong is criminal.”

“If only the world was kinder to us poor college students~ ahah…hah.”

Though she’s reluctant to admit, they are past their busiest time of the day. Morning classes at Mondstadt Community College have long ended, and those spending their entire day at campus come from around noon to 2PM.

She used her bathroom break earlier to text a group chat with Rosaria and Dahlia(cause billion-dollar industry Supway© can’t afford a 20 minute break to a community(!!!!) college student???). Maybe they can hangout after work? It’s been a while since Barbara had properly hung out with Dahlia at least…

With the cleaning done and dishes washed, there's really not much left to do at the Supway© on MCC campus. Her curls bounce as she turns back to the taller man, “You go to school here too, right? I don't know what your weekly shifts are gonna be, but downtime like this will be a good time to study.”

“That’s probably some good advice. Especially with my major…” Albert scratches his head talking about it, “What’s yours?”

“Nursing!” Barbara beams, “Technically my third semester here, but my first year in the program! We’re even starting clinicals this week~”

Dahlia’s aggressive late night study sessions online, Rosaria’s harsh criticisms of her test results, and Barbatos’s grace landed Barbara a spot in her school’s nursing program. Was there a better way to do it? …mayhaps.

“Really? Same!” Albert turns to Barbara with bright eyes, “I probably just didn’t see you in class today. I don't think I'll ever get over 400-student lectures, hehe…”

“I usually sit in the back…” Barbara breaks a sweat, “I always wear my sister’s old Windrise varsity…. so I end up giving people the wrong vibe when I'm in the front…”

She raises her pitch dramatically, “It looks like I'm the studious type taking notes, when really I'm just drawing or jotting down anything I imagine the teacher’s saying…!”

Her hands go to her reddening face as her speedster of a teacher comes to mind, “Eugggh…not to mention we can’t get a 75 or below in any three classes to stay in. Barbatos all mighty…”

It makes Albert laugh, the taller coworker smiling sincerely, “Well, I guess I'll make sure to sit next to the frantic girl in pigtails on Wednesday.” he arches a finger at his cheek, “I’m doing really well right now, buuut i guess i can compare notes with a study partner. After all, I still need a partner for Saturday clinicals.”

Clinicals would involve the class working under actual nurses in hospitals. Just as she’d done as a prerequisite to apply, she’d get the chance to help real people once more!

“Thank Barbatos for smart cookies like you.” Barbara sighs, “Would you believe me if I said I have a friend at Windrise? He tried helping me study last summer while I was on vacation. Right over my head… and he wants me to dual major in social work! ”

She often wonders what it’s like being on that academic level, where writing can get you into the best school in the country! And to thing he would pass it off if not for her convincing~

“Ivy leagues are on another level.” Albert’s smile softens, “Though, dual majoring at MCC can be easy if you invest in your classes. I’m actually starting a music theory class next semester for a minor in music therapy. I think you’d like that!”

‘If I didn't know any better, it’d say you’re stalking me.’ Barbara jokes to herself with a mischievous grin. Shaking the Dahlia-like response out of her head, she smiles sincerely, “I-i’ll think about it for sure! Thank you for the idea, Albert!”

Just then, the doors to the Supway© swing open. Barbara and Albert jump at their first appearance in over half an hour, A single man in a hoodie and backpack dramatically stands at the entrance. Head lowered and arms outstretched, he lets the pose of throwing open the doors echo through the quiet shop.

It scares the day-lights out of Albert, leaving it up to Barbara to hold the appearance of somewhat professionality, “C…can i help you, sir??”

The man hesitates dramatically, building up suspense with every second. Finally, with a deep and dramatic voice, “...Are you guys open?”

‘All that to just ask that question???’ Barbara bleats to herself. And to think she was even considering it to be a robber! “Y-yeah till 5 so…” she squints at the clock on the other side of the room, “...five-ish minutes?”

The guy takes in her words, gasps quietly, then grins. A grin no minimum wage worker wants to see five minutes to closing: the grin of sheer malice.

The man stands up straight, eyes darting to something behind him, “It’s go time boys!”

The next minute is a whirlwind of confusion, despair, and anxiety to the coworkers, as the entirety of the 40-membered MCC mechanics club rushes into the restaurant at once. The store goes from a sound vacuum to a hugbox of pandemonium— Barbara and Albert the head of this hectic ship. 

The man who let them in is first in line, a sure smile on his face (Barbara can now see oil smudges on it), “We’d like at least 40 sups© with drinks, chips...” he lowers his voice, “And a few fruits for this one freak.”

“Isn’t the community cafe still open?” Albert bemoans to himself with a single tear. Barbara pats him on the back, but there’s only so much comfort one can give for this type of shared hell.

“Don't get scared yet!” the guy soothes. He points to a slightly younger redhead far behind him, who smiles nervously at the new attention “It’s this rich kid’s treat after we finished this huge job on his grandfather’s entire vintage garage!”

Then four notes come out of the red-heads wallet, and they get passed around the group till they finally make it to the front man’s hand, “I think this will be a passable tip.” he smirks confidently as he slaps them on the table. 

Albert and Barbara look at each other with the same “What do we have to lose?” in their eyes. Slowly, they check the numbers on the four identical mora notes. 

Their eyes go equally wide as they count four zero’s behind the one.

“Albert!” Barbara barks frantically, “Get the cheese from the back and start the bread oven!” 

“Already on it—!” Albert calls from the back room, “Get the orders coming!” 

“Of course!” The girl grabs old menus from under the table, and shoves it at the guy in front, “Pass these to the guys in the back! Make sure they have an order ready when they get up here!” 

Barbara straightens her cap, “May Barbatos bless this 40K mora tip!” Finally, she tightens the strings on her apron, slams hands on the counter, and smiles with a determined glint in her eyes that brings the restaurant to cheers, “Welcome to Supway©! Can I take your order?!”

“If this is how we get tipped everyday, i’m never quitting this job…” Albert breaths as he pockets his wallet, “Though… I wish there was less of a mess to clean after.”

It took almost 30 minutes to finish the whole order. After the hectic storm, Barbara sweeps over spilled lettuce, and any other ingredients lost to it, “There’s a cost to everything in life~ but goodness are the rewards worth it…!”

‘Maybe we can go to the country fair with this!’ Barbara hopes to herself. If she remembers correctly, it’ll be open till next friday. Dahlia doesn’t have school the next morning, and Rosaria can pause her odd jobs for one night, right? This can be the second group day out since Dahlia’s move!

The fantasy motivating her, the floor is swept in a flash. Albert gapes at the girl as he still works on the counter. 

Barbara smiles at her coworker, “I have the keys anyways, Albert. You should go home!” her smile goes shy, “It’s past closing anyways…” 

“Y-you sure?” Albert scratches his hat as Barbara walks up to him, “I can catch up to your uh… speed if you want me to.”

She puts the broom down, and takes the rag from Albert’s hand, “I’m serious! People usually accept when their seniors give them a break~”

“There’s not much worth in that when it’s minimum wage.” Albert deadpans with a smile.

Barbara’s just about done with the counter as Albert’s at the door. He smiles earnestly at her while he assesses her work, “You’re scarily good at this minimum wage thing.”

“I figured out a long time ago to just focus on what Infront of me.” Barbara responds coolly, “The negative will only demotivate me if I let them. Just sticking to the positives is the right way!” she smiles cheekily, “Plus, it comes with a backup career if nursing doesn't work out~”

Finally locking the door to inventory 5 minutes later, Barbara puts back on her varsity jacket. Slipping her phone into the pocket, she lets the fabric warm her as she sets out for the day. Just as she’s about to leave however, her phone vibrates against her, followed by a familiar chime.

‘Right, I texted the group chat!’ Said group chat uses instachat as a third party to assist default SMS features. It was after an argument with her older sister involving her not replying to Barbara’s texts on her downtimes (and the audacity to lie! Barbara even accidentally caught video evidence of her almost robotically dismissing her chats!).

Dahlia hasn’t been online all day however, but she has seen Rosaria on a few times. Expecting either response, her phone opens to the familiar cathedral wallpaper.

Only it isn’t Rosaria, or Dahlia. It isn’t Sister Victoria… any of the church sisters, and not even her own sister (who should be at work right now anyways).

But her father, the priest of the church of Favonius, who’s last message to her was 3 years ago followed by 378 text messages left by his daughter. 

She can see the date on the top of the message. She feels ill reading the previous message of hers revealing last year’s digits. 

The vacuum of sound returns.

Her fingers on autopilot immediately expand the message. It’s an audio file— exactly 30 seconds long, and tall audio lines expand the majority of it. 

The message alarms her. She’s never heard her father shout in years. The last was with her mother over a decade earlier— authorative and and commanding individuals in all ways, using their strength against each other amongst their two growing girls.

She hadn’t even heard it when her father left three years ago. His forever stoic face was calm when he revealed his plans to go on a long trip; when he told her her sister she hadn’t seen in years would live with her from now on; when he told her he’d probably miss her High School graduation.

When he told her how he didn’t know what his trip with the Grand commander would end.

He never truly told her anything, and that deeply upsets her. So deep, she merely had to bury it with the moral and religious principles he expected of her. But it’s blasphemous to suggest her faith in Barbatos was in part crafted to her father’s wishes. It’s one of many things she’d claim was for herself first.

In 30 seconds, her one true negative thing upon her a message. 

She clicks play, heart ramming into her chest.

Crunch static fills her ears first. She quickly rules it to be snow by the harsh winds of the north, as well as the frosty breathing from the speaker.

It goes on for seconds. 6 go by, at this point sending a chill down Barbara’s spine. Then a raspy static occurs, a deep voice cutting through like a butcher's knife.

The voice takes her back to being scolded in his office: “BAR—B—RA—“

Memories of the Grand Commander reveal a man cleaning up spray paint, and directing her to a “quiet” room to calm down. Memories of Grand Commander Varka reveal a cheeky smile— many times she heard be called a bastard’s grin—and strong heart to a teen girl’s antics.

The audio reveals a man stripped of insured agency, and panicked words between static and growing winds, “You’re fa—er — e to message you o— —ast time—

Too long a pause between. The words are disfigured and painful. The 16 second mark comes, “He made— gr— eat sacra— nd wanted to c— — home!”

23 seconds, “T— — mother and sis—, ‘I w—s wro— —‘ nd apologizes for — an — —anted to se— Jean again before—” 25,  “—! Barbara—!”

27 seconds. The static breaks:

“Keep the Lord's kindness in your heart, and happiness! That’s his last message to his—“

The file ends, and a cruelty-timed message banner from Rosaria pops up right after: “I’m busy tonight.” 

  A heavy heave escapes the girl, as she falls to the floor. Her phone topples from her hand, knocking into the counter, and touching the fabric of her sock. It accidentally replays the recording, and the static re enters the room. 

The 31st second passes by.

The snow surrounds Barbara, biting cold racing across her body. A siren-like ringing comes to her ears, muffling the sounds of Varka’s broken voice in her ears 6 seconds in. 

It’s now she can internalize the pain in his voice, the heaviness in his breath. What was the trip for? What’s happened out there?? She doesn’t even know where they went, what motivations they could possibly have…

16 seconds in, and her father hadn’t appeared. He’d never appear for the whole audio. There’s never even a mention of what led to his desperate requests; what led to the shattering of his stoic facet; what brought the church of Favonius priest to his end! Dahlia stopped asking about him thanks to her own silence, what kind of daughter does that?

23 seconds in, she hears her sister’s name. The divorce led her sister— who stayed in their mother’s home— to become a figure for her to emulate in every way. By separating their ties, priest daughter “Barbara Pegg” became an ordinary inferior to the prized “Jean Gunhilder” in every way— as a decade was all the time needed to wither their childhood bond.

27 seconds. The questions, the regrets, the storm around her accumulates. The tears fall as she desperately tries to remember her father’s last words. To wonder if she at least  sent him off with the Lord’s kindness he wished for her to maintain.

To wonder if the hypocritical priest of the Favonius Church could have his last wishes observed by his abandoned daughter, Barbara.

The audio file ends, and so does Barbara’s lowly 60 seconds of bereavement.

Chapter Text

Venti is Barbatos, and Barbatos is Venti.

The anemo archon is the lord of the winds and bar games, freedom and tricks, ballads and songs…

Dahlia is back in his first church in the orphanage. It’s like his younger days, like he’s still in the front row in their choir, the littlest voice reading prayers, the most naive brat claiming god to be his friend…

Yet he now holds scriptures reading off doomsday, and sings praises of the apocalypse. Faceless and steadfast, his belief in the lord’s wisdom remains strong, despite the disastrous tolls ahead.

The deity of the walls smile down cheekily, inviting the boy to another drinking game as the sky falls.

Despite the nightmare, it’s interesting how Dahlia’s best sleep in the past anxiety-fueled days is via a hangover-induced hibernation.

Moreover, that hangover was in part due to the deity he fretted over to begin with.

Dahlia wakes up to a warmer light— morning light? The bitter chills from before are gone, and his head feels feathery light. Slowly but surely, the world wakes up from its extended darkness.  Pondering on it, his last memories end with…

Pink hair in messy tangles, Dahlia turns his head to find a familiar figure at his desk. The sunlight kisses the figure softly— especially with his leather jacket off. His legs are crossed over the table, as he leans back in his chair carelessly. Can he even fall out of a chair? The thought is young and flippant. 

Propped in the anemo archon’s lap is a brown paper bag of apples filled to the brim. They sparkle a certain ruby red under the divinity's possession, the one in his hand especially basking in the sunlight. 

A painting of a perfectly mundane beauty. As if natural to such a sight, the deity takes a gruesome bite into his apple—core and all— leaving a little less than half left. The disturbed corner of Dahlia’s heart and mind still remains.

But that corner is also a member of the solo choir.

Mid-bite, Venti notices Dahlia’s slightly disrupted expression. 

His eyes widen “A-ah, you’re awake!” Venti self consciously wipes dribble from his lips, “Well It’s about time… ”

Dahlia blinks as the deity comes over to him, every step light and feathery. His voice is low and timid, “Goodmor— ah!” he’s cut off by the last chunk of Venti’s apple being shoved in his mouth.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, y’know~” Venti lectures, while Dahlia spits out the disordered chunk. His eyes go to Dahlia’s hair for a moment, and twists its strands around his finger with a newly born smile, “Good thing I don't mind watching you sleep~”

“Venti…” Dahlia then realizes his missing vest, and instead finds himself to be wearing his (one) soft pajama set hidden in the back of his closet. His eyes go back to Venti, who blissfully smiles as he runs through his hair.

“Did you… not leave?” Dahlia wonders.

“It’d be wrong to.” Venti frowns slightly, “Dolling you up in something comfortable for your 18 hour rejuvenation is the least I could do. Especially with that hell of a night we had…”

It’s now when Dahlia realizes the room being overall brighter than usual. The pulled open curtains and cracks in the blinds welcome sunlight in, and pigeons coo outside the open window. 

All Venti’s doing most likely.

Taking the apple with both hands, Dahlia brings the fruit back to mouth, ready to take a bite, “Thank you Ven—”

.

Pause.

“Did you let me sleep for 18 hours??!” Dahlia exclaims.

“And to welcome you back to the land of the living~” Venti ignores with glee, “I ordered Good Hunter(the cheesecake factory of this fic) off your credit card~!”

“VENTI YOU—”

A shower, outfit change, and a call to the bank later, Dahlia sits down with Venti for a bite of stolen breakfast. 

…At least Dahlia likes pancakes :/

Venti finishes off his 5-stack of berry pancakes with a thick slatter of apple slices marinated in cinnamon and sugar, followed by a thick stream of maple syrup from Dahlia’s cabinets.

…It’s comparable to a kid in a candy store with no concept of diabetes.

Knife in one hand, and fork in the other, the deity cuts straight down the middle, takes a huge bite, and beams with fruity delight with his fork still in his mouth, “Mmmmmmhhmhmhmhmhm~” He takes the fork out with a blissed-out expression, “Requiem to the joyous feats of humanity!”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this 10.4K mora meal,” Dahlia sarcastically dead pans, chewing bitterly at his own berry stack, “I’m sure the boys at the bank also enjoyed hearing the stolen meal arriving at my house…” he smiles to himself sarcastically, “I’m gonna be the laughing stock of the day for sure.”

Dahlia’s apartment isn’t particularly big, so the dining table they sit at is practically in the living room. Including already-set bookcases and sofas, lots of the decorations are either gifts(fairy lights, a pillow and couch cover set, a few paintings of the sea) or cheap enough for him to buy guilt free.

To the university student at least, it’s cozy enough to let (human) guests in on a whim.

“I know this sugar is mostly natural, but good grief…” Dahlia picks at his plate with a grim look in his eyes. It really is a kid’s platter— the chosen items include some of the sweetest menu items without a single egg or sausage in sight, “I don't see myself finishing this today…”

“Hmmmmrphhhhh.” Venti bemoans with a fork stuffed in his mouth, “You’re painfully pessimistic when you’re sober. It’s adorable for sure but a buzz kill during a breakfast date.”

“Sorry. It may be a surprise to you, but this happens to be my first date with… wait, since when was this a date??”

Venti laughs in Dahlia’s face, while the human can only think of the consequences of the deity’s moves of the day. Not only had he missed two assignment deadlines during his sleep, but he also woke up to find several missed calls from Barbara, as well as a few messages to hang out the previous night.

Dahlia ponders it as he cuts deeper into his plate. ‘She didn’t answer when I called an hour ago when she should be at church. Maybe she’s ignoring me? Did I accidentally stand her up last night…?”

Dahlia sighs in defeat, ‘Barbatos above…’ Adding to the strange 9AM breakfast date(????), Venti also coincidentally sits in front of Dahlia’s Barbatos figurine and bible set on the front bookshelf( Barbara’s gift. He admittingly finds it comforting, but would definitely take it down if he knew this would be his life).

The difference in demeanor to the stoic, grateful, and faceless figurine next to the carefree bum is astoundingly easy to separate.

.

But one issue rests on his mind.

“Venti…” Dahlia begins as he puts his fork down, “If we’re in a good spot right now, we should address the elephant in the room.”

The atmosphere shifts. Venti slurps a stray pancake piece, turning his attention to Dahlia innocently, “Hm?”

Dahlia waves his arms, “Not to say you’re not working on it… or butt into your personal affairs…” Dahlia’s tone lowers, “I just think if you’re gonna hang around me like this… and because it directly affects all of us…”

He looks up at his god, with resolve in his eyes, “I should get to know what the ‘calamity' is.”

Venti blinks, teal eyes boring straight into Dahlia. After a pause, the deity finally smiles while resting his head in his palm, “You’re definitely a different person from before. And when I was trying so hard not to drive you mad…”

“...Thanks for that.” Dahlia blinks, his cheeks reddening slightly, “It was embarrassing for sure, but I'm not ashamed of how I acted. Honestly, I feel like I'm still too calm about this… and you.”

He looks right into the lord’s unnatural eyes, “Hearing the ‘end of the world’ means nothing to one of a billion like me. But… my friends live here, and their friends and family too. And…”

They narrow slightly, “I said I'd help you when realistically, I just believe in you. But I refuse to do it blindly.”

‘Just take that worry off of me already.’ It felt cruel to even read Barbara’s texts— the pious girl asking to hang out while the very world they know is at stake. But it’d be even more cruel to tell her— and shatter the world they’d befriended each other in.

Not with her, Rosaria, or anyone else he cares about in this life. He’ll settle this with Barbatos instead.

“...That’s a reasonable ask.” Venti finally replies, “More reasonable than the actual dilemma that is, hehe… but it’s a disservice to leave it in the dark any longer. Regarding you at least…”

The wording startles Dahlia slightly, but the boy holds his expression strong. Fork on his plate, hands on the table, he listens to the lord.

Venti puts down his own fork, and the deity sits back in his chair, smiles closer and softens, “This calamity is one of many unwritten fates the world is heading for.”

Dahlia’s heart flips.

Whether Venti notices or not, the deity continues in a smooth voice, “Think of fate as a target, and we— organic creatures and including myself— head towards it on arrows. Time in this analogy plays that role, so as the clocks tick on and on, so does the distance between us and ‘targets of fate’ become smaller and smaller…

Venti smiles slyly, “The arrows forever fly true— unshifting. The only way for us to change…no, avoid fate is by our actions that create and destroy it.

“Most targets are small— Personal to one or a group of people. Few humans have bigger impacts that might affect nations . A leader's decision inflicted on a nation… a pastor's globalized views of the faith of millions…

The teal eyes return to an unnerving vibrancy, “But then comes me— born from the branches of time itself.”

Dahlia breaks a bit of a sweat, but keeps his overall composer steady. The more seamly-streamed words flow out of Venti’s mouth, the more questions arise in the human's head. Questions— thinking of Venti’s words earlier— that answers might actually make him “go mad.”

It’s simply better to focus on what he already knows. So Dahlia, after a long moment’s pause, responds to Venti, “It does make sense for you to have a big impact on the world…”

Dahlia pauses once more, before continuing in a stronger voice, “You sounded really messed up about something both nights. You obviously blame yourself for the… this calamity happening.” His eyes soften, ”What did you do to jeopardize the world, Venti?”

The deity visbally  hesitates to speak— which just worries Dahlia more. Time and fate being explained in such a way, and noting himself as *the* center of the world's fate? The human begins to cut into his breakfast more to soothe the nerves. What could have possibly happened to bring on doomsday?

A single bead of sweat rolls down Venti’s face“A-ah, well…” he clears his throat, and interlocks his fingers across his mouth, “Y-y’know heaven, right?”

Skeptical, Dahlia nods as he picks back up his fork.

“W-well time, fate, and all the fixings are ordained by it.” Venti points his fork in the air, “Think of it as its own concept, y’know? A separate being with its own name, who’s connection I have to it and its grander power is composed in a small relic of pure divinity— a ‘gnosis.’”

“...What does this have to do with—”

“I lost the gnosis.” Venti reveals with a shaky smile.

Dahlia’s fork clatters back onto the table.

“...at Angel’s share.” Venti’s tone lowers.

…WHAT?

“And heaven hates it when you lose their things.” Venti smiles nervously, “Like, ‘purge-the-world-and-start-anew’ kind of hate.” he arches a finger at his chin, “And if someone finds it and accidentally triggers it… well that’s an easy outcome to figure out.

“I think I might become an atheist.” Dahlia resolves, taking a bite into his pancakes, “Cause what the fuck.”

“H-hey! Dahlia!” Venti bleats as he’s sweating bullets, “You asked to know what’s going on! Don't be rude!!”

“I regret that too, don't worry, Lord Barbatos.” Dahlia retorts (to Venti’s immediate distress), “Honestly…letting me think the sky was gonna fall tomorrow, or that hell would open up at the cathedral courtyard…”

Dahlia smiles mockingly as he gets up from his seat, “Actually, this is pretty good for me. I can finally see you as a human after you let me fuck you as god~!”

“Dahlia…” Venti cries to himself. Head in arms, he nearly spills his pancake tower, “You said you believed in me~” 

“And I still do.”

Venti looks up at the human, now at his side of the table clearing away empty takeout trays, “More than ever actually…” he eyes the content of the syrup bottle as he walks it to the kitchen, “I was dreading the reveal of what it’d be with that ‘time and fate’ talk. I can’t command winds to my aid, or flap away flames if hell opens up…”

He turns to Venti with a sarcastic smile, “But if Barbatos simply lost his precious ‘trinket’ at the tavern, it has to be somewhere, right? I left my headband too, so it’s an even easier excuse to search around…” Dahlia frowns to himself, “D’kow if they’re open now though. We’ll have to go see.”

“...Ah…” Venti’s eyes light up, “Dahlia… you…”

“Care about the world more than you?” Dahlia smirks to himself. He sticks his tongue out at the deity, a plain mirror to Venti’s antics  “Probably~” his eyes glances at the still seated deity, “Thank Barbatos I was in the cathedral that night! The world would’ve been doomed without me.”

“Not that. You just…” Venti falls silent for a moment. His teal eyes trail Dahlia going about his apartment— a smile on his face as he grabs an old looking school bag from behind the sofa.

“...You remind me of someone…” Venti says under his breath.

Shortly after, the human rounds Venti “By the way,” Dahlia perks up as he steps near the door, “When did you lose the… relic? Was it last Saturday?”

Venti returns a puzzled expression, “What makes you think that?”

Dahlia explains cooly, “Well thinking back to the confessional, it reeked of alcohol. I also found an empty booze bottle.”

“Ohhh.” Venti pauses for a second, “You’re right then.”

Dahlia puts on his shoes, “About losing it on Saturday?”

“No no about being wasted. About when I lost it…” Venti ponders to himself for a moment, “What day is it again?”

Dahlia’s heart begins to sink, “Tuesday…?”

“Ah! That’s it then…!” Venti beams with glee as he holds up three fingers, “I lost my gnosis three weeks ago!”

"Barbatos above, HOW DO YOU NOT DO ANYTHING FOR THREE WEEKS, VENTI--???"

Chapter Text

Noon is coming.

One should expect the cathedral’s bell tolls miles away, and for the lyre hymns to play in its wake. With the approaching end of the summer days, one should also expect soft breezes— cool and approachable as the county turns to autumn and winter’s cool-rainy days.

It’s a perfect day for carnival and camaraderie, and Albedo finds himself at the heart of it: Mondstadt’s annual country fair.

A festive tradition for approximately 234 years. Most people have brought their family and friends, making the man in a black trench coat and turtleneck a touch odd. But it doesn’t stop their enjoyment of the event, let alone his…

Spent two hours experiencing the roller coasters, conversing with the employees in haunted houses, and staring at Dragonspine mountain from the top of the ferris wheel, the blonde eccentric finds himself in market-like rows of carnival games.

Biting on an oversized cotton candy ball (excessively priced as per fair tradition), his eyes go to a stall offering stuffed animals hanging from hooks above a dunk tank.

Albedo’s teal eyes study the toy: a lumpy mustard-yellow creature with a rusty-brown mane, slimy green lizard tail, and eerie-purple dragon wings. Truly inaccurate to actual mythical chimera’s hailing from Enakayoimiya. Ridiculous and frivolous in every way— he needs to have it.

The blonde walks up to the man working the stall— has to be younger than him based on his wrinkles,  “I’d like to purchase that stuffed animal please.” 

The carney looks at Albedo munching on his cotton candy, to the stuffed chimera’s misswen smile, and back to Albedo with a patronizing smile, “You’ll have to win that, kid. You don't get out often?” he eyes his attire, “More like…you don't have fun often?”

It elicits giggles from nearby passerbyers and carneys alike. Definitely meant to make him a target of embarrassment, but it only confuses the socially inept Albedo, “No, I do not.” he says, putting a dismayed frown on those around him.

The carney simply rolls his eyes, and steps aside to reveal a bell-like target. It’s connected to the aforementioned dunk tank— where Albedo can now see an objectively attractive woman in makeup sitting on a bench inside.

Wrinkling seemingly deeper, the carney points to the dunk tank, “Throw the ball at the target, drop the seat, knock up the chick inside…”

The woman snickers at the explanation, and the man scoffs back at her as if making an inside joke “Wouldn’t say it’s worth the trouble though. No one’s beat this thing— even for her, haha!” His tone falls to a grimly low, as he unzips his bright-green fanny pack, “700 a pop.”

“That’s unfortunate for the other players.” Albedo mutters as he pulls out his red wallet. He exchanges a 700-mora note with a baseball, and takes his position behind a marked path on the ground, “It seems I'll have to win for them all.”

Teal eyes narrowing at the target, he notes its distance, prepares his trajectory, and aims straight for the bullseyes. Some people stop to watch as Albedo takes a step back, and lunges his arm behind him for a strong throw. Even the woman in the tank takes a nervous interest in the attempt, and carney breaks a sweat from the corner of the stall.

With an audible swoosh the ball sails flies from his hand. The newly found audience looks in, and the woman in the take scrunches her face. The straight flying ball collides with the target dead center in a second.

But the bell hardly even shifts.

The woman’s face slowly changes itself, and upon knowing his failure, let out a piercing laugh amongst the silence of the crowd. It invites the equally nervous carney to slowly join in on it, mocking the attempt as if unphased moments earlier.

The audience’s expressions are that of pity and disappointment. Albedo stands back up straight, eyes focused on the bell “...Ah.” he calmly notes, “I understand now.”

The carney’s diminishing grin is back in full force, and towers over Albedo with crossed arms, “So mister edge-lord finally took a hint, huh?” his smile reveals all his yellowed teeth, “And to imagine that confident quip you gave off about winning for those losers.  You finally understand you’re just one of them, huh—?”

“Not only do i understand,” Albedo interrupts, holding up four more mora notes, “How pitiful your existence might’ve been to turn out this way…”

The woman stares agasp, while the man’s face is frozen, and smile shattered. Albedo simply leaves the notes in the carney’s fanny pack, and takes a baseball from the stand himself.

“I also understand…” Albedo begins, readjusting his position, “Just the force and angle I need…”

Albedo takes a step out, eyes staring down his bright-red prey 19.6 feet away, “To break the glue on that dunk bell of yours.”

Before the carney can react, the ball flies past him like a rocket. The wind breaking away from the ball sends his hairs tossling, and people agasp. 

The cathedral bells sing along to a woman’s water-logged screams.

The passerbyers surrounding the booth stand around the booth starstruck. Only the sounds of splashes, curses, and screams of a ruined cosmetic plate fill the crowd. 

The carney turns to Albedo, casually wringing his arm after the toss

“I believe I'm entitled to three more prizes.” the winner inserts. Teal eyes brighter than ever, Albedo faces him with a slight turn of lip, “And after that, let’s see what other games you have to offer.”

“If we’re going to go the extra mile and walk here,” Venti nags lightly, “You could at least give grace and enjoy the scenery.”

Noon’s church bells ring, and Barbara still hasn’t responded. Worry and confusion growing in his stomach, Dahlia’s naturally glued to his phone as he follows behind Venti into Favonius’s square

Dahlia looks up at Venti, slightly red faced at the quip, “I’m just waiting for a text...” his eyes narrow at the deity, “And considering what I just heard, this is more of an experience for you than me.”

 Favnius’s square is a historical courtyard-like area of shops, advertisements, and street booths. Gated off to the cathedral's massive courtyard, Dahlia’s had the chance to look around many times in the past month. They should be at the tavern shortly, the building placed just at the heart…

“Tell Barbara I’ll be busy for a few days. Personal stuff I don't have hours to yap about rn.”

That’s what Rosaria texted him about fifteen minutes earlier. Even after pressing the cryptic girl to relay the message herself, she insisted she was “too busy” to talk to Barbara directly.

Or whatever the hell that mean’t.

‘Barbara wont take that well…’ Dahlia sighs to himself, hesitating upon even sending it. The pious girl favors sincerity above anything— something Dahlia may have possibly broken by ignoring her last night, and something Rosaria is treating lightly right now.

But looking at it from an angle, bluntly and truthly, propped up next to the new mountain of problems he’d been handed that morning… How significant is this? Especially when he still doesn’t even know what caused this silence to begin with?

“We’re here!” Venti beams, shaking Dahlia by his shoulders, “Let’s go in!”

“Ah…” Dahlia’s grip on his phone tightens, as the deity sticks a tongue at him. The pink-haired boy glances down one last time, and send his final texts to Barbara:

“rosaria says she’s mia for a few. call me when you get this”

“you called a bunch last night. whats up???”

“i cant do anything if youre ignore me. just gonna assume you need youre space…”

“Diluc’s in, but it doesn’t look like the bar’s open yet…” Venti notes as Dahlia tucks his phone in his back pocket. The closure makes sense considering it’s noon, “Let’s grab a bite before we check~” 

“We ate less than two hours ago.” Dahlia reminds dryly, “Plus if no one’s around, it’ll be easier to search around, right? There’s no going down from here.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” Diluc shoots at the two. 

Dahlia chokes on his words. There's not many people paying attention to the three of them, but the whole world might've been staring at the boy right then.

Venti mutters in his ear: “I think we just went down from here.”

Diluc glares at them with his arms crossed, “You two seriously think I'd forget that bar fight, and the huge tab you started Sunday night?” he scoffs, “And to have the audacity to show up two days later as if i’d forget?”

“Well neither of us intended to see you for a while either.” Venti innocently retorts. The look Diluc and Dahia shoot through him is lethal enough for him to adjust his words. Slightly, “We also didn’t intend to start the bar fight either.” Venti smiles, “Assumptions assumption, Diluc~”

“You both are banned, Venti.” Diluc retorts, rippling horror onto Venti’s expression.

“H-hey now—!” Venti sweats nervously, “Y-you don't actually mean that. We’re all just making jokes here…y’know like…”

Venti cranes his neck to Dahlia, smile nervous as ever, “You’re plan fucking sucks, Dahlia.”

“You act as if this wouldn’t have happened regardless of us coming here.” Dahlia retorts. But if Diluc doesn’t let them in, their chances of finding the gnosis anytime soon drop dramatically…

‘Wish i knew about the apocalypse *before* I agreed to that drinking game.’ Dahlia laments to himself. At the very least, he wishes there was a clear winner. Knowing of his “status,” Dahlia’s hopeful Venti could give him *something…*

Dahlia’s hand goes to his school bag for his wallet, “How about i just pay it off right now and—”

Pause.

‘I called the bank this morning.’ Dahlia realizes,hand freezing in place, ‘They closed my credit card for now, and I even let them shut down my debit for good measure!’

He’d decided it under the assumption someone he knows can spot him cash till everything’s sorted. In hindsight, it’s an egregious idea— but so were many of the other decisions he’s made in the past few days…

Dahlia looks up at Diluc, who returns his deer-in-headlight expression with a dead expression, “What were you saying just now?”

Dahlia blinks up at him, sweating bullets, “D-... do you take student volunteers?

Just before Dahlia could offer labor for their entrance (not like he’ll ever be able to drink soundly here ever again), a new voice inserts itself “What’s all this fuss?” 

It comes from inside the tavern’s open doors, and soon comes up behind Diluc. The man is slightly taller than the red head, white tan skin, sea-blue hair, and an eye patch covering one sapphire-blue eye. He holds a broom, and a neutral expression.

“It’s the brother!” Venti whispers in Dahlia’s ear, “I don’t know his name though…!”

Dahlia turns to Venti puzzled, “You’ve never actually met him?”

Completely disregarding the implication they gossiped about someone they didn’t even have a name for like school girls, this may be a good thing. Trouble and bad impressions seem to follow Venti like a plague, so having a clean slate to seek help from might be the bone they need!

Recollecting himself, Dahlia lowers his tone a bit, “Hello! My friend and I lost something Sunday night in the tavern inn.” his eyes dart to Diluc for a second, “We uh… also realize we have a huge debt to pay, but the two of us will do anything just for a second back inside.” he claspes his hands together, “Please.”

The man stands unmoved for a couple moment, “...Did you guys lose a headband? Wired? With cat ears?”

Dahlia beams, “That’s the one! There’s actually something else we’ve lost as well, so if there's a lost or found we can check—”

“Oh god—!” The man cuts through Dahlia with laughter, “You guys were the ones who snuck into 2E to have sex Sunday night!”

Dahlia’s heart drops.

“Ehhh…” Venti frowns, “Sounds like you were watching.”

“Don’t ever imply that towards hospitality services.” Diluc shuts down with lidded eyes, “Kaeya just caught you two go in on our security cameras…”

“And had the interesting experience of having to hear you from the receptionist desk when my shift started.” Kaeya brings up with a grin, “Thank god it was me and not Fritz...”

“And I saw you leave yesterday morning.” Diluc’s reminds. His eyes narrow down at Dahlia specifically, making the boy’s heart sink further, “I mean, showing your face around here after desecrating an entire room is commendable. Shameless, but commendable.”

“Commendable and absurd!” Kaeya points at the two, “Do you guys realize how many noise complaints i got last night? I even knocked the door a couple times…” he smirks at them, eyeing his brother, “If whatever we have is valuable enough to come back well… we could always use a new finish on the floors.”

“It’s as if we were the most interesting things to happen to you for a while~” Venti surmises with a smile, “At least give us that much.”

Dahlia meanwhile wants to die, “Barbatos, please kill me now…” he mutters with his face in his hands. Venti, in reaction, appears puzzled with a slight smirk.

With not even a final glance at the two, Diluc retreats back into the tavern, leaving Kaeya on its steps with the broom. He wears a black apron over a blue formal dress shirt, and dress pants.

He leans on the broom, peering down at the two with a smile, “God you two are something. Rough day?”

“More like a few.” Dahlia lowers his hands. No way this day is real , “I’m gonna be the face of sobriety after this.” 

Both(!!) of the men laugh at this. Dahlia might’ve laughed too if the apocalypse wasn’t next door at this point. Or maybe if his closest friends were available to laugh at this. Or anything going on with him recently. Catching Venti’s smile in his eyes, his cheeks run red with—

Ah,

Why… is Venti so calm about this anyhow?

Kaeya interrupts the thought with softer words, “Your headband isn’t here though.”

Dahlia blinks up at him, the world going quiet, “Huh?”

“First Monday of the month just came by.” Kaeya leans his head on his hands, balancing the short broom upright, “Per exquisite city code, we ship out lost items to BreezyBelongings in Starfell Valley to be sorted.”

Kaeya grins at the two, specifically the visibly-distressed Dahlia “This is good news. Five years ago it was finders keepers…” his eyes narrowed slyly, “Now you might be able to call and get your precious headband back before it’s donated.”

“Ah! So we have a chance!” Venti presses his fingers together, “And items shipped from three weeks ago must’ve been shipped today as well!”

“Well, it was yesterday.” he shoots Venti a sarcastic grin, “You’re not looking for an item you lost three weeks ago, are you?”

“It’s impolite to use helpfulness as a pass to be nosy y’know~” Venti grins back.

“Hah, well…” Kaeya’s expression softens, “I know the type.”

“Th…” Dahlia collects himself, “Thank you so much! You really don’t know what this’ll do for us~”

Kaeya shrugs, “Think of it as repaying the favor~” his tone lowers, “More interesting than the boredom of the joint anyhow…”

Dahlia and Venti walk off, leaving Kaeya standing at the entrance.

The man finally frowns upon their disappearance, “Well, one of many interesting souls…”

Looking down at his phone, he begins to write one of many unread texts from “someone.”

“Where are you?” he mutters to himself.

Chapter Text

“I’m right here.”

But that “someone” never replies to that text, the harsh noon light obscuring the screen. That “someone” at a road bordering the end of Favonius takes one last glance, pockets it, and narrows their sharp icy eyes at a singular— hundred of miles away in the distant valleys.

It’s sunset now for Dahlia in Whispering Woods’ tram stop.

Starfell Valley— a grand 482 miles from Favonius city. Dahlia doesn’t have a license, and Venti doesn’t have a car (strange— why didn’t Venti teleport them like yesterday? Rude at best, it was definitely effective at *least…*).

With just enough money left on his monthly “All-Winds Travel” express card then, he’d bought the two connector-travel tram tickets to Whispering Woods, and a shorter trip to their final destination in Star Valley’s city district .

[ Tram to Star Valley leaving in 30 minutes ] an overhead monitor screeches.

‘If only direct rides were still available.’ Dahlia sighs to himself. Given their timing surrounded by the county fair, it’s no wonder many tram seats (the most popular Mondstadt transport method given the landscape views and ride services) are booked out.

Orange sunlight pouring through the clear glass walls, and apple orchards extending for acres, Dahlia sits on a bench and waits for their next ride. 

In passing he glances at Venti, who just as he has for the past 15 minutes, continues his impromptu acoustic guitar performance in the middle of the gating area. Whether or not they earlier noticed the small figure materialize the instrument from nothing, he attracts an audience of people of all ages in genders, each with a smile nearly brighter than his own.

…Of course, he’d also laid his leather jacket out on the floor for tips. Dahlia guesses their discussion (it was Venti being melodramatic) about how they wont qualify for the higher quality meals offering— … — apple turnovers, he decided to buy it himself via the tram stop’s cafe.

The deity's braids bounce around with every strum, and every word he sings echoed like rowdy songbirds. Some songs were slow and alluring, while others sped up and gave people a reason to stay. Dahlia’s eyes stay, watching Venti smile with ambitious delight.

As the notes fill the captured ears around him with the rambunctious revelry he radiates.

As the notes fill Dahlia’s ears differently with that puzzled curioustity…

“It’s an interesting coincidence how often we meet amidst that musician's tunes.” Albedo’s voice inserts.

“Albedo…!” Dahlia jumps slightly. His eyes slowly go up for the man, widening at his—… — assets, “Uh…surprising to see you again like… this.”

An enormous bouquet of balloons juxtapose Albedo’s usual black trench coat and turtleneck. The balloons are tied to multiple multi-color gift bags— some with logos, some unnamed. Finally, a good majority of the bags are filled with stuffed animals, sloppily-sewn button eyes looking up at the curious Dahlia.

“Hopefully it’s a welcoming one.” the walking carnival replies cooly, “Is anyone sitting next to you at the moment?”

The awkwardness is definitely lessened from days prior thankfully. Albedo, cross legged and assimilated to the environment, eats funnel cake out of a take-away dessert box from Holy Hopkin’s Bakery(another pricey restaurant sponsoring the country fair).

Albedo takes a bite from the web-like cake, staring out into the sunset sky over orchards out the windows, “It’s unorthodox to see you outside of Favonius.” His eyes sparkle at the treat’s flavor, “I read your routine in the city to be safe at best, and milquetoast at worst.”

“It’s great to see you too, Albedo.” Dahlia retrots with a strained smile. Honestly, he can’t tell if Albedo is purposely instigating, or simply stating a fact, “Nice to see you treat yourself with color just as much.”

Dahlia’s eyes go back to Albedo’s balloons— poetically contrasting his dark attire— and the gift bags (that Dahlia now sees are filled with curious looking stuffed animals…?) that look even brighter next to his neutral resting face.

But it also makes him look softer, his lidded eyes sparkling an extra teal in the sunset light. Brighter than another in mind, Albedo bites into more of his funnel cake.

Dahlia looks over at the desert closer. It’s dyed purple in a web-like shape, and has pink powdered sugar, “Looks like someone had fun at the state fair.”

“It’s a part of my errands for today.” Albedo cuts into the desert some more, eyes never truly leaving it, “Pricy, but endearing. Truly consumeristic enrichment at its finest.”

“Having fun is an errand?” Dahlia smiles sarcastically, “That’s the type of excuse you’d hear out of a novel.” though, this really does describe Albedo at times.

“Meh. i haven’t much to do anyways… in anycase someone very special to me is coming to Mondstadt soon. It was nice deducing the best attraction regardless of functional productivity.”

Albedo pauses for a moment, before scratching the edge of the desert box with his fork, “… Guessing you to be the type of person to go, arm strength and understanding of wind resistance is ideal with some of the prize stalls.”

“Yea,” Dahlia smiles wryly, “Rosaria would probably get arrested again if I took her then. She wouldn't hesitate to beat up a scammer…” His voice lowers, “And hopefully I'll have enough mora to make good bribes for Barbara…”

Albedo pauses once more. Blinking at Dahlia, he speaks in a calmer tone, “You’re not on speaking terms?”

Dahlia’s mind jolts, “W-what makes you say that…?”

“Your body language is subtle, but speaks volumes...” the blonde hesitates, lightly grimacing to himself, “Relationships and emotional cues are tiresome for me. I’ll only hope to navigate them if I pay attention to research studies decoding them.”

‘No wonder the nuns get creeped out by you.’ Dahlia deadpans in his head. He jabs aloud, “We’re not even friends though, weirdo. Imagine if you were wrong and I cursed you out?”

“It’d be a learning service.” Albedo picks up one of the gift bags, eyes calm as ever, “Though despite our infrequent in counters, I confidently surmise you take things to heart, but not enough to lash out in my face as level-headed as you are now...”

Albedo produces another desert box from the bag, holding it out to the slightly-flushed Dahlia, “Sitting here with you, I realize I never found the chance to fully apologize for Sunday. When you asked me of my beliefs, and I in turn suggested you were in an odd area with yours.” he hesitates, “Your friends came back shortly to announce afternoon mass. You were distraught then.”

“...ah…” Dahlia’s face darkness slightly, memories of that empty-hearted afternoon resurfacing in him. He takes the box from Albedo’s hands, words softer, “It’s water under the bridge.”

The box contains another web-like funnel cake— this time a light pink with green powdered sugar. The blonde turns to Dahlia with calm eyes, “Thank you.” no pause, “With how well this went then, I'm sure you have a greater chance of reuniting with Barbara in platonic sacrecy.”

‘How do I tell someone to mind their own freaking business in a holy way?’ mouth-stuffed Dahlia asks himself. The sweet flavor encompassing him, he responds to the blonde, “I don't know how I should feel about you hyper analyzing my relationships.”

“Pleased? Thankful?” He puts a hand over his heart, “You’ve already seemed to have lost your bat-headband, so your main visual source of intrigue is in dire straits. You don't need to lose your social magnet as well…”

“It’s a cat headband? And I'm not even gonna try to go into that last part.”

If the funnel cake wasn’t so good, Dahlia would have left minutes ago. Instead, he devours it next to the eccentric Dragonspine native, the other’s teal eyes softening to themselves.

“The point is…” Albedo continues, “It’s unfavorable to disconnect from those you hold dear. Neglect anything for too long, and you’ll find it wilted under your nose.”

Dahlia nods to him, light eyes studying the strange man, “I never read you to be somewhat of a relationship advisor.”

“Just noting what I see.” his face slightly reddens, “You all look fun together— Rosaria included. It’s… another thing I look forward to when I go to church. That tight-nit bond that’d be difficult to break…”

‘Ah.’ Dahlia’s eyes flatten ‘This is the part where I feel obligated to invite him out some time… and yet…’

Thinking about it more, Albedo doesn't have too many friends, does he? The few times Dahlia had seen the blonde at church, he often wondered to himself as the back rows— but’s gaze would often go to boisterous choir groups in passing.

Though he may not show it, Dahlia see’s the quiet longing there. He did mention someone coming to Mondstadt soon though… right? He wonders if they’ll be as eccentric, yet caring as the blonde before him…

[Tram to Starfell Valley now boarding. Please have your ticket ready and follow the attendant’s guidance.]

Dahlia sits down at the assigned booth seat near the middle of the tram. His backpack in his lap, phone on the table,his eyes follow the apple trees swaying in the wind outside. 

…

Actually, Barbara might actually be taking a mental health day right now. It’s off putting to text her again after offering her space already.

Before he can fight with his thoughts, Venti comes speeding towards the booth out of breath. He slumps into his seat with a heavy sigh— sweat rolling down his face, and hands wrinkling the brown paper bag he holds.

“S…safe…” Venti huffs. Taking moments to catch his breath, he turns to Dahlia with a slightly ticked expression, “If we’re gonna take the tram of all things, you should let me know when it’s about to leave!” he lowers his tone, “It’s actually so hard to find you without your bat-headband.”

“It’s a cat headband(for the second time today)?? And in anycase, you shouldn’t disappear five minutes to boarding.” Dahlia deadpans with a smile. He frowns in his head, ‘And in any case, is there an issue if *you* were to miss the tram?’

In anycase, Venti’s irritation quickly subsides. He produces a wrinkled brown paper bag, and plops it on the table like a cat showing off a dead mouse, “I insist it was for good reason~ We could both use a snack for this long day~”

“You say it as if we really did anything important…” Dahlia eyes the bag for a second, before beginning to open it, “Well, maybe you did. People must have tipped alot for you to get your turnover.”

“Ehh…” Venti frowns, “We both overestimate the amount of pocket change people hold nowadays. What I got was enough for a bland cup of coffee…”

Dahlia’s eyes realize the contents of the bag as Venti smiles, “So I decided to take in the breeze~ I haven’t gone apple picking so leisurely in years!”

Dahlia takes out an apple, eying it with a slightly disturbed expression, “You… you do realize the orchards are most likely private property, right?”

“Ehh…” Venti’s teal eyes flash at him with mocking innocence, “They say apples are blessings of the anemo archon too, don't they?”

‘... not untrue…’ Dahlia cleans the apple over his vest, and sighs to himself, “Don't make fun of our feeble legal practices so easily, Barbatos.” the deity simply grins, as he too takes an apple from the bag.

More announcements ring out from the tram’s announcement system. The apple glimmers under the sunset, reflecting the light with a faint glow just as Dahlia is about to take a bite.

He hesitates however after catching a glimpse of Venti. Memories of initially waking up refresh— his bright room, the warmth of his pajamas, the uninvited deity in his room devouring his apple in two bites as if were a baby carrot.

Now he takes smaller bites— awkwardly, Dahlia’s afraid to admit. He holds it with both hands as if to hold himself back, yet with one hand holding the stem, and the other delicately cradling the side. He starts from the bottom, eyes alone tearing through it.

Then Dahlia understands Venti’s behavior throughout the day.

Venti notices Dahlia, and his eyes go wide. Then quietly, surly, they soften up again, and the deity finally smiles pleasantly, “We’re thinking the same thing~”

Dahlia’s eyes widen, “You do?” Then he realizes his words, calming himself at the sight of Venti’s teal eyes, before sighing, “Well… it is a bit obvious then…”

The two turn to each other, Venti putting down his bite-ridden apple, and Dahlia paying no mind to his untouched one. The sounds of the tram begging to move beneath them, they both smile softly.

“You trying not to startle me anymore puts me at ease.” Dahlia reveals with a soft grin.

“I think we should have sex again too!” Venti reveals with a grin.

……

…pause.

“Wait, what?” Dahlia frowns, brows furrowing at the deity’s words. He turns them around, upside down, inverts them even, “What should we do again?”

“O-oh.” Venti smiles awkwardly, “Missed the mark a bit on this end… how tragic” he playfully sticks out a tongue at Dahlia, and flashes a grin, “Well, at least you were about right. I mean, where would we be if you were paralyzed by divine knowledge out the gate~”

“Fine? Because you would stop your own disaster? That you caused??” Dahlia’s eyes stare deep into Venti, “I’m being serious, Venti. You said this was serious…”

Venti’s smile finally begins to fall, teal eyes studying the human, “I never said it wasn’t, Dahlia.”

“Then why is sex on your—?!” It’s as if a thousand feathers crash down at Dahlia at once, the deity before him unmoving, unspeaking, “No. fine. I mean…”

Dahlia’s tone lowers, “… We’re here for the world, right? How else can you explain all the…everything that’s just…”

Barbara could be dead in a ditch at this point. Rosaria’s disappeared off the face of the earth. Albedo of all people is more of a guiding light than god— who seemingly just wants to get drunk, merry, and handsy as the sky—

“Of course we are.” Venti’s teal eyes pour into Dahlia's, divine weight behind them, “Everything means as much to me as it does for you.” His eyes turn away, “I’m just being a little tone deaf again. That’s all.”

But Dahlia saw something else in the deity's eyes. Enough to take him out of his near spiral, he still sees something intimately and familiarly dangerous in them.

Unexplainable, unfavorable, and unfortunately without a doubt—

Not lust, not assurance, but boredom is hidden behind Barbatos’ eyes.

Chapter Text

1, 2, 3 packs of wolves follow “someone” through the woods.

Dusk signals the sun’s rest. The world grows darker, shadowing the beautiful trees of Mondstadt. That “someone” drives towards the warehouse in the distance, icy fumes illuminating off their figure all the way there.

3, 6, 11 howls echo around them.

The creatures beckon brothers and sisters of a new ‘soul’ in their woods. This “someone” no longer has the time to address their antics— nor the “man” they have in mind who’s allowed them to prosper in these worlds. Teeth snapping, and ominous energy radiating, they race this “someone” to their destination.

14, 21, 28 “rifts” open between the trees.

The presence of some wolves on one side of the road jumps completely to the other in a moment. The presence of others on the ground reappears sky-high in the next. Though never to the road, or even when that “someone” drives through the shadows— no matter how attracted they are to it, riftwolves can’t handle light.

The sounds of trees being attacked by dreadfully unnatural claws ring out in that “someone’s” attuned ears. Apparent further, is the lack of other wildlife in the area. 

“Thoughtless, lifeless, mimicries to natural life. What a pain.”

That “someone” lets these be the last of their thoughts, thus cleaving away their short memories of the world. 20 years in the making, their final purpose of creation reveals an image of a sacrificial pier.

The end.

That “someone’s” eyes, blank and perfect as ice, are focused on the token of salvation ahead— the key to the “worst” plan. They speed faster and faster fueled by resolve— a “thief” stealing from the sinful master, a “savior” bearing the face of villainy in foreign lands.

A waste to those who poured their empathy and passion into her, giving the cold women a reason to live amongst them.

…

Actually,

Holding onto the beautiful memories, the beautiful world will only threaten her resolve. They’ll only convince her to wait a little longer for a phone call from Varka and Seamus, to drink with Kaeya against despite the secretive man already filling his use,

To answer those 37 missed phone calls from their first friend.

…

But in the end,

She decides that to show her gratitude she’s refused to let slip,

to repay the favors from her many allies,

to truly relay the love she’s never felt “human” enough to return…

She’ll turn her phone on silent— her motorcycling clearing all noise as she cleaves herself from her soon-to-be-aching world.

About an hour later, the nature of the valley shadowing the last hazy remnants of sunlight, comes nautical twilight.

Nearly eight hours away from Favonius, and 45 minutes away from Starfell Valley’s main tram stop, Venti and Dahlia stand before a gated warehouse— nearly 10 hours since they first talked about the “dire apocalypse.”

Trees stretch on for miles. It’s amazing that even their nightly darkness could captivate Venti’s interest during their taxi drive there— divine eyes alight with the random facts he made of them. Whether he paid mind to Dahlia and the driver’s tired expressions wasn’t apparent then isn't apparent now.

Hands on his hips, Venti cocks his head at the fenced building, “Huh, No one’s inside.” Its many floors tall, with a shadowed “BreezyBelongings” sign hung near the roof.

Dahlia’s phone is alight in the darkness, “This is just the sorting warehouse. After collecting lost belongings from all of Mondstadt, they’re cleaned and prepped here for donation, thrifting…”

“Etcetera etcetera…” Venti hums at the words for a moment, then smiles cooly, “Just a bit of a scavenger hunt then. A second exciting night for us~” 

Dahlia doesn't shift, “You mean, you can’t feel it’s actually in here?” his eyes trail up to Venti, “Not like how you could sense human presence in the other rooms Sunday night? Or how you could sense the lack of them right now?”

“You really wanna know?”

The silence is as dead as the deer carcass Venti made known to him during the cab ride.

The deity studies Dahlia. Not out of curiosity in his basic endeavors. Not out of passing glances Dahlia would pretend not notice. Rather, it’s eerily familiar to when the human asked to know about the calamity in the first place… 

Like Dahlia’s beginning to cross a line that’s never existed.

Perhaps then too, did Venti appear as if he was calculating a response then as he does now , “No, actually.” Venti frowns, “No one senses their own presence in a room. No one can truly ‘feel’ that their child is there when away from their person...”

His eyes flicker at Dahlia for a split second, before walking towards the fence with a reborn smile, “I’m almost flattered you believe I'm connected to things any stronger…”

Maybe just as he does now— Venti smiled earlier as if his divine endeavours were truly apparent at all.

The first notable time Venti uses his powers today is to float the two over the wired fence. He doesn't wisk Dahlia by his waist as the human imagines, nor explicitly asks for permission as the human expects. 

Truly, as he’s always had since they’d first spoken to one another, the god of freedom does as he pleases, then extends some sort of invitation mocking choice Dahlia always accepts. Sunday was a beer glass. Monday was musings of his woes. Today is a hand extended out to him— wind carrying his braids, and a quieter expression that sees through Dahlia’s dwindling hopefulness.

The warehouse’s ice-cold doors are unlocked.

Which immediately strikes Dahlia with confusion, the pink haired human holding the door open. Aren’t these types of places locked up at night? Could they have forgotten to lol up? … maybe someone is inside after all…? The doors moan and groan as they open to darkness, an icy chill escaping from the building

A purely commentary thought: “This bullshit is way too easy.”

He turns to Venti for his thoughts, but the deity’s eyes aren’t to him, on him. They appear as if they’re miles away, worlds away. Yet they stare past Dahlia, into the deep darkness of the BreezyBelonging’s sorting warehouse.

It’s off putting. Venti always had an air of certainty in all his other expressions…

Perplexed and disturbed, Dahlia carefully steps back from the doors. He tiptoes around his lord, eyes hesitant, but steady to face the deity, “...You alright? Venti?”

The deity’s eyes are glowing again. Faintly. They’re slightly widened, and his brows are rigid as if he’d seen something disturbing. But he doesn’t look as if he’s found something he’s feared.

Rather, he stares as if he’s found “something” he doesn’t want to see.

Venti’s soon returns, though his voice struggles to return to its disarming lightness, “Yeah. Let’s just make sure to stay close so no one gets lost.”

The warehouse has many rooms and floors, each containing racks on racks of belongings. They use Dahlia’s phone as a flashlight to navigate through the dark, yet the human always catch’s Venti’s gaze lying farther ahead. An airiness rests behind the deity’s eyes. 

Venti, restless, notices Dahlia’s gaze, “I’m alarming you.”

It’s simply as if a whole new person possessed him, making Dahlia’s blood run cold. Venti usually has a lightness to his step, a bounciness despite everything inhumane about him. At the very least, he always made sure not to let his braids glow and float anytime he speaks.

Dahlia turns to Venti, face nearly obscured in the darkness, “You just seem off edge.”

“Hm…”

His words came out tinged with concern, Dahlia knows this. Yet Venti’s cheeks run slightly red— out of shame. Divine eyes flatten slightly, “...Ignore me. It's just too quiet for my taste…” he smiles at the human, “Moody is all~ Nothing to write home about.”

“Write to me about it.”

Not even howling winds can be heard outside the warehouse.

They both stop in their tracks. Venti looks down at Dahlia, frowning.

The human returns with a strong gaze, “You’re not…” he runs through his words, “I’ve never seen you like this before.” his eyes soften slightly, “You’re keeping my reactions, and my knowledge in check again as if we’re not in this creepy-ass warehouse together…”

Venti’s voice is low and airy, “… write to you then…”

Dahlia’s fists clench, “Can’t you stop downplaying everything for a *second,* Venti?”

Barbatos’ eyes go to something in the darkness, “Riftwolves.”

Dahlia’s smile cracks as a hulking creature of darkness creeps behind him, “Hah?”

“Riftwolves—” tugging Dahlia back by his backpack, Venti steps forwards with an extended hand. In the next moment, an echoing bone-like -CRACK- echoes in the darkness.

No, it’s only dark after Dahlia’s closed his eyes in a flinch. Slowly opening them, and letting his senses return to the world, gritty monster-like growling rings out amidst teal light.

And there stands Venti, hand extended true, holding what appears to be a bone-white bow adorned with feathers and blades. It parries the fanged jaw of a wolf-like creature— it’s beady purple eyes wincing at the harsh light.

It winces at Barbatos’ teal divine eyes.

“What…?” Dahlia stands up straighter, regaining control of his body's reaction to the vicious creature. It’s ebony black— the long snout and sharp mane resembling something of a mythical wolf. Yet it’s too tall, hangs over too dominating, allowing  the human to realize it’s practically a floating hunk of bones.

“Abyssal wolves from centuries ago.” Venti cautiously explains. His voice is steady, his braids glowing even more, “Wholly unnatural to the world’s cycle of organic revolution, yet surviving on those with the right to live.” his eyes flatten, “Parasitic pests they are to deal with.”

‘Abyss? Unnatural?’ Dahlia’s ears tinge with the piercing growls of the creature. It lashes out, floating claws reaching out at its stone-like assailant. Yet Venti just twists his bow further, and cuts deeper into its jaw now pooling with dark liquid— silencing it.

Yes, the anemo archon historically used bows, didn’t he?

Yet Venti speaks as if he’s describing tree types, or apple brands, despite peeling back horrors one conjures in nightmares . There’s an assurance… no, an assertiveness that shouldn’t be there. A callousness in his melodic voice he’s done so well to hide—

It’s as if Dahlia’s not talking to Barbatos, but a glass mural adorned with blasphemous musings.

“It’s not just this one.” Venti mutters, eyes burning into the creature. It rattles Dahlia, the atmosphere getting thicker with every word, “A pack— three give or take.” his free hand begins to glow with anemo.

“They’re working together, some mating and expanding their numbers, some cubs learning to live for themselves…”

Dahlia’s attention moves back to the wolf. Frantic, wild, yet subsides its attacks to practically paw at the deity. The pink haired boy finally turns away after seconds too long, suddenly feeling nauseous at the sight.

The anemo in Barbatos’ hand shapes itself, drawing in sharp winds that breeze around and over Dahlia. In a second, a long glowing arrow hovers in the deity’s hand— sharp.

Eyes a glow, movements steady, Barbatos stares up past the beast’s snapping jaws, “Their blood is impossible to clean if you don't kill them right.”

The wind stops; The mural’s eyes open; The new musings are weaved with vibrant glass— crimson like blood .

Barbatos jams the arrow down the riftwolf’s throat, the stab echoes out like bird cries. It silences the creatures pleading cries, taking the eerie purple glow from its eyes. 

The silence that ensues is as dead as the huskless corpse now lying before them.

The slayer speaks quietly with his falling braids, “Was it poetic?” 

Dahlia’s eyes widen at the dizzying, twisted, and absurd question— 

His first question for the human in two days. 

“C…” Dahlia gulps, “Crude at best, disturbing at worst...” he unclenches his fists, and meets Venti’s gaze, “My scholarship essay tackled the nuances of a pacifist deity hailing from a nation riddled with conflict.”

The subject’s eyes slightly widen, “… Did you now?” Venti shakes off blood from his bow, notable residue sticking to its wings.

Quietly, lightly, he puts down the bow. Delicately, carefully, he removes his leather jacket. Pale sleeveless hands, unmarked and unmarred, drape the jacket over Dahlia’s shoulders.

Barbatos lowers his head, and speaks into Dahlia’s ear “Who do you think fought your wars, Dahlia?”

His own name is pitiful in the deity’s mouth. It’s strained, contained, mocked coming out of the lord lips. God, eyes flashing, brings Dahlia closer— tangled hand smothered into his hair.

“Perfectly perpetuated poetry passed down for generations…”  Venti’s eyes are vibrant as oceans, “Polished and neatly conveyed in a precious book...” His voice is as soft as spring breezes, “Penned again and again, that ‘name’ sweetly weaved into song-like praises...” 

His smile, alive as the winds yet dead as the villains spuns in scriptures, “Rejoice! Positively nonsensical naivety we’ve saved you from!”

Fists against the mortal’s chest, Dahlia squirms in the embrace, “We have a gnosis to look for…don’t we?”

The words pierce Venti right through his chest. It takes his hands away, puts his steps back away from Dahlia, and lowers his eyes to a human-like hue.

Venti’s tone is lowered. “You’re shivering. Wear my jacket— I don't need it.” 

It’s Dahlia’s turn to study Venti. It’s the humans turn to take in the lord’s faux expression— exposed and vulnerable, wholly and purely…

In the end, it’s as if Venti’s expression isn’t real at all.

Dahlia holds onto the jacket tighter “Thank you then. And…” the mortal’s eyes go down to other- worldly corpse, “Thank you for pulling me out of the way.”

Venti nods, eye lidded, “They’re practically nothing. Think of them as bugs.”

Dahlia’s eyes darken “i can’t just ignore these ‘bugs’ , Venti—”

“Oh, here.” Venti nonchalantly lifts up a sword with a glowing teal blade, and a hilt adorned with metallic wings, “You should hold onto this while we’re in here too— blessed with anemo.”

“I…Do I look like I can use a sword, Venti???”

Chapter Text

Dahlia holds onto the sword anyway.

It’s bone-cold and feathery-light— as if he’s a child swinging around a wooden sword. If it didn’t ferociously slice through everything in its path, Dahlia would believe it to be one.

Despite this, Venti never needs help. After the first beast, came another, and another after that. At one point, Dahlia opened a door to a room of more lost items, they came upon an idle group minding themselves in the dark. 

Venti cuts through them all .

“Thinking about it,” Dahlia brings up as he searches a box, “extra-terrestrial creatures weren't in your description of the apocalypse...” he’d self elected himself to be the one to *actually* look for the gnosis— while Venti takes care of ‘distractions’ along the way, “More fun to our scavenger hunt, huh?”  

He knows it does little to lighten the atmosphere. He knows it does nothing for Venti’s resolve. Yet part of Dahlia expected Venti to respond with a witty remark, and anticipated being ticked by his nonchalance…

Nonchalance he appears to have simply thrown away, just as his cushioning for the human.

“I don’t recall giving a description.” Venti retorts immediately. One hand is dug into the throat of one beast, while the other clamps another’s jaw shut, “Kind of defeats the purpose of ‘this’ calamity being ‘one of many fates the world is heading towards.’” his eyes flash again, the end drawing nearer.

There’s offense in the lord’s voice, “Yeah, but—” Dahlia winces as the grim shattering of wolf-skulls echoe. He nearly spills the box of trinkets— none of which being their winning relic. His heart slowing down, and senses readjusting to the world, Dahlia picks back up his phone that’s been turned into the box—

Venit stands before him— beneath him— pinning him between a table with piercing-teal eyes.

“But what?” God’s eyes stare deep into him, their hue vibrant in the near-darkness, “I’m handing it, so there isn't anything of mention, yes? Perhaps one of them even swallowed the gnosis— jeopardizing the precious world over animalistic antics…” his eyes flash up at him, “Just as then and now, it’s in my hands.”

Dahlia eyes find Venti’s darkened hands, “...You said something about ‘killing them right’ earlier…”

Venti’s eyes lid, and carefully taking in the grime on his hand, “Ah…” This is where Venti would backtrack, re-start, take in his actions, and how to respond to Dahlia’s words. Fleeting and attentive, Barbatos would find a way to pull the mortal closer…

Searching for that mirage of a person in the deity’s eyes, Dahlia finds nothing.

With a slow, empty, and unburdened motion, he ghostly cups Dahlia’s cheek— trails a bloodied thumb under the human’s eye. Venti looks on, pity alone in his empty eyes.

“What an attentive little follower you are.”

“You have a way of pissing people off, you know that?”

Rosaria spat this at Dahlia during his “welcome-to-the-fire-city-life->:D” party at his apartment (thrown and put together by Barbara the 5th of his arrival).

“Noooo Rosaria!” Barbara had pleaded. Her ash blonde bangs bounced as she waved off her fuming friend, “Dahlia’s just really curious! He doesn’t mean to offend anybody…”

“Correction!” Dahlia has nonchalantly inserted with an innocent smile, “I’m always open to offend criminals, especially if they hide their shady backstory.” he leaned over to his pious friend more, “So was it like you picking up a lost cat? Or did you and her… y’know…”

“We’re not either of those?!” Barbara puffed her cheeks at the two, “ No one needs divine revelation to know how the two of you would go down! I was just praying you’d be really good friends and not, well…!”

“Kill each other?” Dahlia and Rosaria finished at the same time.

“I’m gonna go see if the food is here…” Barbara sorrowfully shifts, “You two pick the movie…” he head whipped back before she got too far, “NOT eachothers eyes!”

“Barbatos above…” Dahlia mocked a yawn as their friend left , “I wonder which of us she takes as the animal.”

“You’re way too bored.” Rosaria clicks her teeth at him, “Here I was praying I could use you for favors too. Instead you’re just a petty instigator. ”

“Don't you know people tease you if they like you?” Dahlia smirks “You won’t swindle me easily, but I can be pretty helpful too, Madame Misdemeanor.” his tone lowers, “As long as you stay as interesting now as you were for the past nine months.”

Rosaria blinks, “So you’re a sneak. ”

“I'm attendant. My eyes just wandered a bit.”

“A pain…” her tone drops, “Nosiness will get you killed some day.”

“...”

Rosaria’s icy eyes go down to the pink-haired boy, “It was a joke, y’know.”

“No, I know of course.” Dahlia smiled at Rosaria, filling the cold girl with warmth, “I'm just thinking of how great friend’s we’re gonna be.”

Dahlia’s eyes light up when he finds his cat-ears headband.

Specifically— Rosaria would never remember— upon winning them, he scraped the side of one of the beads on one of her jacket spikes. Forever marred, it’s a reminder of its origin, and his bond to his friend. 

But what’s more…

“Venti!” Dahlia calls out as he slips them back on. His voice is especially high, enthusiastic about the good news, “I think I found the stuff from Angel’s Share! We might find your gnosis soon!”

Not even a curt retort comes back.

It’s as if the whole room gets colder again, the lord’s jacket doing little to alleviate it. The room they’d found themselves in— or at least Dahlia had considering Venti’s disappearance— is near the center of the building, void of windows or natural light.

Nothing else to do, Dahlia uses his phone to light his way through the dark. 

The anemo sword shakes in Dahlia’s hand, the human cautiously navigating the dark. Venti was always right behind him— at least he was wherever there were riftwolf growls. With them absent, and the deity missing…

“I-I’m actually feeling a lot like a rift wolf right now, y’know?” Dahlia sheepishly jokes into the dark, “It’d be really bad if… i don't know… big bad Barbatos came to eat me, haha…”

‘Or crush my throat, whichever comes last…’

“Is this the ‘kill’ part Rosaria tried to—“

A yelp makes Dahlia jump in the dark.

He nearly drops his phone, the sword spinning wildly as he scrambles to grasp the light. Shaking hands steady it as he points it to the source of the sound: a small desk. Riftwolves can’t fit in such a small space… can they?

Gripping the sword tighter, Dahlia slowly gets down on his knees…

to meet the gaze of what he assumes to be a baby riftwolf.

Two riftwhelps— one with glowing purple eyes, and the other with glowing gold. Though pupiless and fumbling, they appear to meet Dahlia’s gaze— or his presence by their off-center focus— , and break into more yelps.

“Hey— AH!” Dahlia fumbles back onto his butt, as the floating riftwolves pounce on him— clumsily. They paw at his glowing phone, lick the blood off his face, and teethe at the glowing blade in his hand. The size of the average adult dog however, they appear as if they’re blind puppies.

Dahlia’s essentially a giant chew toy to these riftwolves.

“If they’re babies, wouldn't they be riftwhelps?” Dahlia asks aloud in the dark. The riftwhelp respond to his voice with yelps of their own, and teeth at the jacket he wears. Slightly off putting, definitely thrown off guard, yet woefully intrigued by these nightmare creatures…

“Just very hyper-aggressive death puppies...” Dahlia jokes to himself. He boldly scratches one under its chin, earning joyful whines, “Too bad you’re big-bad nightmare fuel incarnates…yes you are~”

The riftwhelps yelp at something behind Dahlia, sending a chill down the human's spine.

He turns his head to see a single flash in the dark. Quick, teal, warning…

He’s been looking for Venti in the first place! He’s finally found good news about the gnosis. Yet something in Dahlia, innate human instinct tells him he should probably move out of the way. The riftwhelps let go of the human, probably thinking the same…

In a flash, the whole room is illuminated with teal light. In the seconds of jumping out of the way, Dahlia spots the anemo archon, eyes alight with a staff-like wand.

Dahlia’s shoulder hits the next table leg over. He shudders into the pain, as the visceral cries fill the air. Ah, that may have been his own, yes? Faced with the prospect of him too becoming a charred pile of bones of course...

All that’s left of the riftwhelps are a charred pile of bones.

Dahlia can see the deity's eyes widen, “What are you doing here?”

Dahlia looks up at Barbatos— who is Barbatos. “Ah…” his hand is still wet with a dead riftwhelp’s drool, “I-i couldn't find you and…” his headband is sliding off, “Well, they seemed pretty harmless…why…”

Dahlia can only shakily smile around his lifelong friend— bloodied and callous “Barbatos,” “Please take better aim when I'm in the room, Venti.”

“Albedo’s a freak who can’t keep out of everyone’s business.”

Rosaria chomped down on her sucker with a resounding crack, eyes turning elsewhere, “He’s there in a room, but his presence needs to be seen. Careless, and you’ll miss him completely.” her tone lowers sarcastically, “So he’s you minus spunk and… color.”

Dahlia sighed at his friend, hands hugging his knees, “So his intrigue only furthers.. .” he smiled cooley, “Only in Favonius can there be dissenter at morning mass...”

Last Sunday, hours till the church’s official “closing,” Dahlia and Rosaria had sat in the very confessional that started this mess. The taller women sat on the confessional’s bench, while the boy once again found comfort on the floor. 

Though originally to escape his lingering questions, Albedo had become the topic of discussion once he’d found Rosaria already occupying the space. Dahlia had decided to probe his friend over her uneasiness around him.

Turning the unnerving eccentric into a target made him feel better, even for a little bit. 

And Rosaria only enabled these sinful practices, her resolve always clear and biting, “You’re just gonna ignore me and end up being his friend anyways. Not that it’s my job to stop you…”

“You already fill the space as my less-than-faithful friend.” Dahlia’s eyes turn away, “Unique and unorthodox Rosaria…”

“You’re an idiot…”

“And in any case, I'd just need to finish a conversation.” his tone was quiet and pensive, “Freakish, abrupt, yet a conversation…”

The space between them was small, and the waning afternoon light slid through the confessional grille. Rosaria’s words were soft, “You’re the type of guy who cares about the freaks of the world. That’s all.”

It was foreign from her mouth, oddly comforting from her lips. He’d pass it off then as her strange method of comforting him… but it was definitely strange for Rosaria to say something like that. 

“Don’t lump up Barbara with people like us, psycho.” Dahlia went red, his smile wry, “She’s even named after Barbatos.”

“We’re all bad enough…” her eyes softened, twisting the empty lollipop stick in her mouth, “But… It's people like you who want all of it. Good and bad. Neat and messy…” her tone lowers, “Nosey enough to look for it… out of care all the same.”

Dahlia didn’t take her words. He only blinked at her, “You’re giving me serious death flags.”

Rosaria’s snort was as sharp as a raven’s cry— deflection at its finest , “You’re the one who came to me, right?” she smirked, “If you wanted a prayer, you would've gone to Barbara. If you wanted to confess, you would've gone to Victoria…”

“But all I want is something to talk about...” Dahlia’s tone was lowered despite his smile, “And I don’t have the lord’s number.”

Rosaria’s smile disappeared after that exchange, “So you got a really good friend instead, huh?”

Almost a minute later, a chirpy voice echoed through the confessional. Looking through the confessional grille, Dahlia saw a familiar guitarist with braids talking with a group of nuns.

“Who’s that?” Dahlia had asked the women in front of him..

“Who? Venti? ” Rosaria sarcastically offered, “You mean the guy that’s been playing here every day for a week? *That* Venti?”

“Mind the only university student in the box who takes education as a priority.” Dahlia tilted his head towards the door, “And in any case, he has that ‘weirdo’ presence you just brought up.”

Rosaria was silent for a few moments, “He’s not your guy from last night though. Definitely not.” she pulled out a new sucker, eyes peering through the grille, “He’s normal, and normally at Angel’s Share…”

She lowered her tone with a subtle disdain in her eyes, “I have no idea why he even comes here.”

Dahlia blinks, subtle curiosity behind his, “I’ll ask if I get the chance.”

Dahlia tries to reach his lord the only way he knows how.

“Same reason as anyone.” Venti cooley responds.

And with that, he plunges an arrow into another riftwolf, turning its howls into final breaths. Dahlia watches from afar, phone lighting the scene, and anemo sword hanging in his hand like a plank of wood.

Ironically, Dahlia feels as much a “parasite” as these riftwolves are. It’s as if his presence, hopeful or informative, teasing or endearing falls upon deaf ears. Everything he says comes f out wrong, and everything he says only thickens the atmosphere further.

…

Or rather,

Venti’s simply relaying a harsh message.

Light and feathery, yet pressing and matter-of-fact. The deity holds an arrow under its throat with two hands, while pinning the riftwolf’s body down with one foot,

“It’s not enough to be validated by your own morals.” he begins quietly “To humanity, being a ‘good person’ isn't simple. You crave to know if there’s truth behind your ideals, reason beneath your vows, and it additionally wouldn’t hurt to have some sort of incentive…

Venti’s eyes are an endless teal, “That’s why you even let mortals give you an answer. Whether a vessel of divine insight, or simply a hollowed idol masking greatness. That perfect allure of heavenly light draws souls in— devouring lines of scripture and worship to fill a hole in your chest. Beautifully, it’s a hellish torture to those without one— drowining you in torturous practices once healing and assuring.”

His teal eyes glance at Dahlia for a moment, as he rips the arrow away, “Yet divine images built all the roads before you knew what to call them. Don’t you see? Barbatos is a narcissist who satiates boredom through humanity. Barbatos sits in his own church to sing along to desperate pleas of hope and salvation…”

His eyes widden slightly, “A dead moon playing among insignificant dust strands.”

Connected to windows, moonlight shines into the room, illuminating the gruesome display. Dust strands dancing around him, Venti leans on his arrow for support, haunting eyes gazing at the human. Endless— tearing into him with the sights of both a defeated deer, and contemplating predator. 

Dahlia quietly speaks up, eyes softened, “So you do hear my prayers.”

Six perfectly simple words. Yet somehow, someway… 

“I never said I didn't.” Venti sharply retorts. He stands up a bit straighter, “Why ask such a loaded question, and respond with the most basic observations?”

“Deflecting again. Now I see…” Dahlia cocks his head, “Venti Venti…what a painfully open book you are.”

“You quite literally know nothing about me.” the arrow disintegrates, “It’s arrogant to flaunt oneself that way, abhorrent to paint your mortal views on immortal affairs…” he sucks his teeth. “Absurd— You’re annoying at times, you know that?”

“No,” Dahlia responds cooly, “But I am a hypocrite.” 

Six more perfect words piece through Venti’s chest.

“But you’re one too.” Dahlia’s tone gets a little stronger, “That’s why you've built around this side of you so tightly, yet let it shatter so naturally when it comes to light.

Dahlia pierces through Venti, “To be blunt, you’re sabotaging yourself now that hiding is off the table.”

“I—!” Venti’s braids glow with the accusation, “How dare you even suggest that?! I—“ his braids begin to float and curl around him, “And to compare your mundane, and fleeting life source to my figure—“

“Eughhhh now you’re just desperate…” Dahlia interrupts with a smile to himself, “Guess I’m on the mark then. Adorable if you think you can scare me anymore than you have all day.”  

“Adorable—?!” Venti’s cheeks go red, smile out of sheer dismay, “I could break your bones in a second. I could reduce you to ash in a moment…I-I…”

Venti cuts himself off, feeling the leather of his own jacket. Dahlia before him, drapes it over his shoulders quietly.

“You lost your gnosis.” Dahlia’s tone is low, “You waited three weeks to do anything about it, and refuse to tell me everything about the calamity. I promised to help you get it back since you're the anemo archon… but…

Dahlia’s eyes soften, “I’ve always had unwavering belief in the anemo archon, always thought Barbatos to be a friend, and now see ‘Venti’ as the freakish force of nature meant to save us all. So… yeah. I’m gonna stay to watch you succeed.”

The lord of the winds hides himself in Dahlia’s shoulder “…You’re really gonna get yourself killed someday, idiot. ” 

The last room is the upstairs portion of the warehouse. It spans the whole length of the warehouse, and is relatively unused in ‘common’ storage.

“The riftwolves always came from this direction.” Venti notes to Dahlia as they make their way up the stairs, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they came about once they sensed my presence.”

‘I don’t think that’s the reason…’ Dahlia ponders to himself. Thinking back to the riftwhelps, they seemed rather accommodated to the dark. What’s more, wouldn’t the two have seen riftwolves outside the warehouse? Rather, the creatures seem to have already been here…

‘The gnosis may very well be up there.’

They stop at the top of the stairs, a wooden door separating the room. Dahlia reaches for the handle first, only to find Venti out a hand on his.

Quietly, the anemo archon takes the sword from Dahlia, the blade glowing an extra vibrant hue. Eyes vibrant, yet soft and assuring, he nods for Dahlia to continue.

Cheeks reddening, Dahlia nods back.

Pushing open the door, an icy breeze escapes from the room.

Chapter Text

A riftwolf rushes right at them. 

Dahlia freezes, eyes catching clear sight of the massive beast. The expansive room has many windows on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the roof in vibrant moonlight. Bathing the riftwolf, its gaping jaws thrashed at the two.

“Ven—” Dahlia doesn’t need to finish, as the deity stands before the two, raising the sword as he’d done his bow earlier.

The beast however, completely rushes over them— back down the stairs, and into the darkness. Dahlia stares after it— perplexed. The riftwolves had attacked them before, hadn't they? Why are they running. Or rather… What are they running from?

His lord waits for no answer, the boy with braids stepping cautiously into the room. Dahlia can only follow, packing his phone back into his bag, and pacing closely behind Venti. 

Dahlia’s eyes go around the room. It’s a grand empty space— little used, unwalled, and spanning the entirety of the warehouse with boxes sprinkled about. What catches on quickly is how little space there is to hide.

Yet another beast runs past them, and another. They seemingly flee from all directions, yet from the end of the room all the same.  Dahlia’s nearly pushed down by a pair of them— caught one-handed by Venti. 

“They seem terrified of something…” Dahlia notes, standing himself upright, “Does that mean your gnosis is in here?”

“....No…” Venti’s eyes narrow at the room. His voice drops to a lowly whisper— something Dahlia hasn’t seen enough of, “Riftwolves always have a sort of attraction to heavenly energy— but the gnosis is basically a scent candle in pure darkness without my own power.”  his eyes narrow, “And yet… they’re fleeing from a place seemingly teeming with harmless energy…”

Dahlia’s eyes lower, nervousness in his tone, “...Are you implying there’s something else in here that’s scaring them?”

“Scarier than me maybe~”

There’s an other-worldliness with Venti’s searching that Dahlia can't describe. Something about the way his head turns about, inspecting every crevice of the room with little movement, and the way his braids twitch at certain sights…

After a moment of pause, Venti turns to Dahlia, expression blank with something, “Alright then. You search around a bit while I see something.”

“I—?! Me? ” Dahlia’s head turns about the room, wrapping his head around the gravity of the request, “Didn’t you basically confirm there’s something worse than a blade-swinging maniac in here?”

“I didn’t confirm anything. Besides, you said you’d stay and watch me succeed, didn’t you?”

Dahlia turns back to Venti, face red with bemusement, “Getting sentimental with me doesn’t mean i get to be the—”

But Venti has disappeared without a trace.

The “bait” grimaces into the dark, “Barbatos give me strength…”

Another hurried growl behind him cuts him off, sending shivers down the boy’s spine. It’s a repeat of the earlier panic, yet this time, he can hear the creature tumble and crash into the room's floor. Growls— turned pants echo across the room.

Foolish empathy, and morbid curiosity tell the human to turn to the defeated creature. Sweating bullets, and hands trembling from the sounds, Dahlia turns to take in the sight. His heart runs faster as an apparent trail of tar-black blood stretches behind it.

The riftwolf is massive— multiple times his size. Its eyes are a mindless fiery glow of gold, and has accents on it’s main that glow as vibrant as Venti’s braids. Yet its mighty eyes begin to soften, and Its pants— once hurried and desperate— finally begin to slow.

Its last action, in a “glow” as dark as night, seemingly creates a gold tear under it. It quickly spreads, encompassing its body in a blackhole-like portal, and swallows the creature. It closes on its own, the rift and monster disappearing as if they were never there.

The room finally goes quiet.

His breath is shaky, “If something other than Venti took that down…and it’s in here…” Dahlia frowns to himself, “...And i’m talking to myself in the dark, only the lord present to my crisis.”

Dahlia puts a hand to his chest, calming the heavy breaths with his cold hand. Finally, though brows furrowed with discomfort, Dahlia decides to inspect the aftermath.

The human’s eyes graze over the scene— hesitantly. He’s never seen anything like a riftwolf before, nor has he seen a creature with blood as black as this. But surely this is too much blood. The injured creature will surely die soon, wherever it went…

“Venti never let them suffer too much…” Dahlia’s eyes soften, his tone lower, “They had quick deaths…” This alone confirms it’s something else. Rather, something else entirely…

“Riftwolves always have a sort of attraction to heavenly energy— but the gnosis is basically a scent candle in pure darkness without my own power.

“And yet… they’re fleeing from a place seemingly teeming with harmless energy…”

“‘Seemingly’” The words of his lord echo in his head, the human processing the fragmented musings, “He hardly explains himself as all… and everything he does seems vague…

Dahlia grimaces to himself, “But assuming it has to be someone on his level, could this killer be—?”

Pause.

Pause Pause Pause. Fists balled with frustration, Dahlia brings them to his head, “There are no other gods, Dahlia! And even if there were…”

And only “were—” as Venti now seems all the type to have killed them all should they exist to begin with.

Entertaining the thought, Dahlia can’t help but laugh to himself, “Children’s stories are so innocent if that’s the case. ‘Part thyself in my wake’ as if the snow wouldn’t mind being extracted, haha…”

…

Yet these stories taught Dahlia why it doesn’t snow in Mondstadt. As a child, why it doesn't snow where it *shouldn't* in Mondstadt. Reminiscing now, with the concepts and nature of his “partner” revealed to him, it echoes the shifting of a god’s domain.

Or simply, death by another’s hand.

“Venti thought he’d killed the riftwolve, right?” Dahlia’s mind goes back to their first encounter with one, “Yet they’re back after centuries. Hell, Heaven is it’s own concept too.”

Dahlia grimaces to himself while holding his chin, “The riftwolves were in here before we’d arrived.  Considering their attraction to powers like his… and their audacity to attack us as viciously as they had without fear—”

“Dahlia.” Venti inserts, resting a casual hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Why’re you talking to yourself?”

Dahlia jumps— smiling agasp “Barbatos you—” then his face slowly falls, taking in the deity before him, “I mean… finally back from who-know-where?”

“Mm,” Venti’s eyes trail to the blood, then back around the room, “I thought I saw something. Woeful is it— a simple mistake stealing time from my dearest …”

Venti’s eyes go back to Dahlia, a more humane hue of teal in them, “But… you knew I'd come back, right? You trust me, don't you?”

“Glad to see you’re in good spirits… again.” Dahlia rolls his eyes at the, “And what would i do without you, Venti? If trust is what gets us out of this mess, then sure— I'll idly wait by to get killed while you save the world. ”

However, before the human could have the chance to snide at him for his silly question, the deity’s hand holds his.

“And Dahlia,” Venti muses, eyes deep in his, “You know I care about you, right?”

Dahlia can feel his face heating up, “Of course…” his words get caught in his throat for a moment, his eyes shifting away, “Word of note: there’s a time and place for everything.”

“Mhmhm…” Venti’s smirks quietly, eyes narrowing at Dahlia’s with some sort of intent … “All this time with me, yet you don't fathom my lack of care for either…”  the deity’s hand lets go of his, and ghosts up the human arm delicately.

He trails goosebumps and shivers on his exposed skin, “I experience every moment as I wish. For us: wholly and purley. Vulnerable and exposed…”

Dahlia pulls his arm away, his body far too hot. His mind's screaming nonsense, and the only sensible thoughts left fuel his dismayed smile. “I-i said I trust you, didn’t i?” 

He steps away from his lord, his reddened face betraying his bounding confusion, “You can’t just go on a killing spree one second, then try something with me the next. Not to assume you’re ever normal, Venti, but you’re being—

In the time it takes for a blink, Dahlia steps back into Venti, the lord’s hands already outstretched.

It’s as if Dahlia stands paralyzed. A lethargic divine hand coaxes his torso up to his chest, and lazy gaze up at him like stars…

And the other hand, still gripping the glowing blade, holds it up against Dahlia's neck.

 The anemo archon speaks into Dahlia’s ears— breaths like butterfly kisses.

“Why, would you prefer mundane? uninspired?” The sword quietly trails down the human’s neck, hitching the boy’s breath with every light scrape, “You’d rather your god not satisfy your boredom? To perpetuate painful peaceful existence, merciless mundane stimulation…”

“M-my…” Dahlia’s breath is shaky, heat rising in his body.

The anemo archon's smile is dark, biting onto the human’s ear, “To allow you to pray mindlessly to something sinfully suggest isn’t there?” 

“V…ven…” a single bead of sweat rolls down Dahlia’s face, trembling at his words.

“And, Dahlia~” Venti nuzzles himself into Dahlia, “You do love me, don’t you? You’d follow me mindlessly, desperately, and feverishly? Grasp on to my musings with addictive mortal devotion?” he pauses, “Ah, not you. You’re not as boring as that blonde you hang out with…”

“This… isn’t funny any more…” a mortal hand hesitantly grapes onto the blade, its sharpness ready to tear it in two. “Barbatos… please don't say something like that.”

“Because you, Dahlia…” the deity cocks his head, eyes a humane hue, “You bite and wither the divine hand that feeds you. You love to love me, yet would love me to love you…” his eyes widened a bit, “But my lovers died too quickly. Never learned to love the right way, wholly and purly...”

“Barbatos—”

“Cause Dahlia…” The anemo archon’s eyes turn to its godly teal, his smile a predatory wide, “Everytime I see you, I just want to devour you— vulnerable and exposed.”

As an icy breeze arrives, Venti looks up to meet their shy "guest."

In a flash, Venti’s propelled through the air, completely detached from Dahlia. In the split moment, the world pausing to witness its lord, the human catches his deity’s knowing smile, as the icy scythe used to launch him crashes into his gut.

Then time speeds up, and Venti is sent flying through the roof— disappearing into the night. The gaping hole the impact creates reveals the moon above, as dust and debris settle below.

Lost in everything, Dahlia can’t react to a falling block of concrete in time—

Then the icy breeze returns, and Dahlia finds the air from his lungs escaping him. A cold hand grapes him at his waist and knees, and rushes him to the other side of the room at inhuman speed.

He clasps onto the figure's leather jacket for support.

Catching his breath, and heart still racing from the hold, Dahlia finds himself in that “someone’s” arms, the figure knelt down over him. He might as well have been left in the freezer, as their mere touch threatens to turn him to ice. 

His eyes water from the speed, and his body shivers from sudden rush Through pants, he can only look up at the figure… creature… whatever could have—

—

no.

His violet eyes widen and shake. His heart pounds violently through his chest, threatening to run away from him completely. Even in the darkness— her figure shadowing the moonlight— he can recognize her face.

Even in the darkness— her figure shadowing the moonlight— he can see her icy magenta eyes quiver in shock.

“Ah… you’re—!”

“Why *hic* do you bite your suckers?” “someone’s” friend had bemoaned into the night.

The two had sat in front of Angel’s Share— a little over half an hour since a drinking game. Though she drank as much (and probably more) than the boy next to her, that “someone” sat strong as his anchor of the night.

‘He’ll be thankful not to remember this…’ she’d quietly mused to herself. What kind of maniac attempts to one up someone in drinking? If she hadn’t decided to end the night early, she’d surely kill this newcomer from Port Dorman…

“Like, *hic,*” the friend continued. The slurs did nothing for his claim of “good tolerance,” “Biting it is like… really bad for your teeth. You’re not a wood chipper, so don't go chipping, *hic.* Some old guy told me that back home…”

“Really?” “someone” sarcastically questioned, her hand now resting on her friend’s back, “I had no idea my choices were so detrimental to my health. I wonder what effects alcohol has.”

“Asshole…”  

He was like a whirlwind of emotions swinging from one to the next— sober or drunk. It kept him interesting at the very least, but to the thousand winds, he was insanely hard to babysit at times.

The shorter boy had leaned into her shoulders more, words light like songs and prayers, “Lollipops are bad for you tooooo, y’know~ She would be so pissed if her pretty friend’s teeth messed up . ” he looked up at her, eyes vibrant, “Or…? Are you quitting?”

“What? Cigarettes?”

  “Mm. Or helping someone quit.” his eyes dozed off somewhere, lost in his own thoughts, “I knew someone from church back in Port Dorman who handed them out to encourage a loved one. I think it was his girlfriend?” the boy pouts to himself, “Barbatos… pleeeease give me a girlfriend soon. Or a boyfriend. I’m just so lonely~”

“Desperate much?” she glared at him. Honestly though, way to be crass.

Yet the woman takes in the other’s words with some sort of seriousness, her tone lowering to the thought, “But I guess that ‘friend’ you described… handing out lollipops to help someone out… is me.”

“Woah! Badass~” the boy smirked up at her, face red with amusement, “I wonder who this lucky girl is to have someone this caring look out for her~”

“I never said it was a girl.”

“Ah! So it is a girl!” his expression falls “… or it could be a boy. Person…?” it finally crumbles, “Ahhh… you're so confusing to look at~”

“Just throw up already so we can leave. Tsk”

The yellow glow of the bar lit the world behind them, shadowing their figures before them. Short pink hair brushing her leather jacket, the boy smiled to himself, “One day, someone’s gonna wring their neck for you, y’know~”

“Hm?” “someone” had already begun unwrapping another lollipop.

“Y’know? Someone amazing.” his eyes went to the starry sky, “Like…someone intimately attuned with your woes. Someone you feel easy and happy to talk to…”

“With your personality, you’ll only attract someone screaming trouble and nuisance.”

“Then you’ll just beat them up I guess, and actually go to prison this time.”

She went quiet, her eyes also trailing up to the stars, “Then what about the ‘someone?’ the one doing all the caring, the beating, the… uh… attuning. ”

“No one person has to carry the brunt of everything, right? Barbatos above, Rosaria, It’s human nature to give and receive~”

The icy woman's tone lowered, “human nature huh…”

With a snicker, the boy rolls himself off of his friend, a sly smirk on his face, “That’s why I~ will pay off our tab, and you’ll drive me home~”

“You’re gonna go broke, dumbass.” “someone” deadpans.

“Calling me a dumbass for tryna do a good thing? I can’t expect more from shady street criminals…”

“You’re gonna bar yourself from the tavern once you see that tab tomorrow.”

“And in any case~” the boy stands up, and points to his newly-won wired headband with joyus ambience, “Just look at these cat ears~ I might as well be the richest man alive~”

She smirks to herself, eyes studying the human before her “Freedom of expression is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I’ll let you talk once you drop the cold-badass look. Cause the way I see it…”

Dahlia points down at Rosaria, tongue sticking out mischievously, “Barbara chose to be your friend cause your just a big ol’ softy~”

A towering scythe made of pure ice lines under them; Frozen rose vines adorned with thrones curl around its shaft.

Its owner, frost curling at her fingertips, and divine condensation billowing between her shaky pants, meets the eyes of Barbara’s friend from Port Dorman, 

“D-Dahlia…”

Chapter Text

It looks like his friend. Strong as ever with every breath— even with panic.  

Icy-magenta eyes gleaming, and a stream of condensed frost trailing from her lips, Rosaria breathes with shaky breaths. “What… the fuck are you doing here…?!”

Ah, it even sounds like her.

Numbing to everything else around him, Dahlia hardly notices the cold receding from her hands, the condensation ceasing from her lips. He scoffs at her, human eyes wide with stupefying awe “I could say the same. You…”

Her earlier texts resurface in his mind.

His smile is forced, and shakes with unease, “‘MIA for a few,’ huh? Hah… as you kill monsters in the dark?”

Rosaria’s eyes slightly sharpen, an edge returning to her voice, “Don’t give me that, Dahlia.”

“And you somehow can't at least lie to Barbara— who is your best friend, mind you — about why you can't answer a damn call, and leave it to me?” the words spill out between broken laughs, “I mean, what the fuck is even happening anymore? What even are you? Can you give me that, Rosaria?”

“Dahlia, this isn’t about either of us right now…”

Though, unbeknownst the women cast in the moonlight, a tiny glint of metal in the night sky blinks above them. Lost in a moment as if it’s never there, it almost feels like a trick of the eyes.

But it’s similar to a trick Dahlia knows too well.

“Rosaria,” His hand points upwards, eyes glued to the night sky, “Behind—”

The sharp blades of Venti’s anemo bow dig into the back of Rosaria’s head.

If the world is a record, someone’s put a finger on it—though it’s not the frozen moment in time where Venti went flying into the roof. It’s like the air’s been sucked out of anything and everything. Breathlessly, his eyes still stare into hers— who looks as if she's frozen too.

Then her vibrant and gold blood begins to spray, and the lights go out behind her eyes.

“Hooooh~” a light voice echoes from above before he can react. It demands attention— so surely Venti is appearing from the roof’s crumbling hole. A light skip over debris, and eyes slightly aglow, he shakes out his wrist casually.

“You’ve grown stronger, Rosaria~” he sighs to the woman, “Just three years ago, a blow like that would put you down for hours… ” his eyes flash at her innocently, “I wonder what you’ve been doing to garner *that* regeneration speed.”

Quietly, the “dead” Rosaria slips something cold into Dahlia’s hands.

Dahlia flinches as the woman puts him down to the floor, her eyes guarded and low. With one hand, she picks back up her scythe of ice. With the other— standing up straight— she rips the bow out of her scalp, spilling a pool of golden all over the ground.

“Barbatos…” she glowers at the anemo archon. In a swift motion, she cracks the bow in two at its middle, and the divine weapon dissipates in a bundle of teal feathers and sparkles, “As if our fate couldn’t get any worse.”

‘V-Ven…’ the weight of the small object demands just as much attention— a teal glow emitting from between Dahlia’s fingers. With the other hand covering the glow from the immortals before him, he unwraps his fingers to reveal…

A glowing chess piece?

The boy turns his head up to question his friend, but audibly shudders at a bone-chilling crack.

Venti with a bone-white spear holds Rosaria in lock with her scythe. His eyes aglow, and smile light, captures the woman’s attention over the human, “By the stars, Dahlia. You do find yourself with the most peculiar friends don’t you? I mean…”

Rosaria’s eyes are sharp— yet there’s an apprehension in her brows. That cool demeanor is gone— replaced with bitter focus on her dangerous enemy ahead. Blood mixes in with her hair, and it drips over the side of her cold expression.

Venti’s eyes narrow playfully, “I can count all the tangible spirits of the thousand winds on one hand— to think you’re acquainted with two of them.”

Rosaria forces Venti’s spear away with her scythe, gritting her teeth through the motions. She then throws up her left hand, sending a deadly barrage of icy projectiles toward the archon. 

In the moments Venti’s forced to dodge them, the woman turns her attention back to her human friend. A cross between irritation and fear is on her face, “You need to get out of here, Dahlia!” 

The human, shaky with every step to his feet, somehow scrapes together the confidence to speak to his friend, “I…”

His eyes catch Venti— across the room, and pulling an icicle from his leather jacket. Torn apart— yet not a sign of injury.

Dahlia breathes quietly “You’re gonna get fucked up bad, y’know that?”

Again, she stops herself as if there’s something she wants to say— someway she wants to react. Yet Rosaria freezes it all down, and shoots Dahlia an icy look, “Keep that for me.”

Dahlia’s heart pounds faster, and he takes in the gnosis in hand. This is Venti’s gnosis, isn’t it? Why is Rosaria taking it? And why is it so important that she’s willing to get—

The piercing crackling of ice breaks in from his thoughts, and the human braces himself. Eyes squinted, he see’s Rosaria’s hand extended towards a wall of ice acting as a shield. Sweat rolls down her chin as it steadily breaks— anemo pushing against it.

“You’re too open.” Venti says behind the two, raising his own anemo spear over them.

Rosaria grabs Dahlia just in time, and squeezes the human towards his chest. With her other hand, she creates a new shield of ice— deflecting Venti’s scythe, and rocketing the two towards the center of the room. 

Dahlia ends up breaking off of her, and rolls onto his stomach on the cold wooden floor. Prying his eyes open through the dust remnants of the roof, he see’s Rosaria stand up first.

“V-venti…” Dahlia grits. His body screams as he pushes it up, “Just what are you doing?!”

“Think logically, Dahlia…” Venti steps out into the darkness slowly expressionless, “It’s your buddy isn’t it? She won’t let you die to me of all things…”

The anemo archon stops at the edge of the moonlight, and lets his weapon transform once more. Smaller and smaller, it reverts back to the anemo bow— feather-like blades now glowing a vibrant teal.

“I don’t intend to kill anyone today…however…” Venti raises the bow’s blade up to him, eyes narrowed and studying the woman accompanying the threat, “You realize she came for my gnosis, right?”

Even the mention of it makes him feel uneasy now. But Venti’s words and actions have meaning. So Venti truly can’t sense it. If he could, Dahlia surmises it might’ve deterred this entire altercation. But…

Rosaria’s eyes narrow back at Venti, a climbing challenge in them, “You’re never this concerned about anything, Barbatos. It’s almost as if you care about it for once…” through the corner of her eyes, her gaze flickers to Dahlia ever so often.

Is she purposely making herself a target?

“...By the thousand winds, Rosaria...” Venti throws his hands, a casual sigh escaping, “So I am concerned over my possessions and wish to hold them safe. Why, Is that a problem…? You’re free to burn the Holy Lyre der Himmel if you so ask… my involvement in matters often suits you lot…”

Venti’s hands go to his bow strings, “And there lies my problem: why didn’t you ask for my gnosis? Not to suggest I wouldn't let you do as you wish, but this isn’t a hair pin or credit card…” 

His eyes flash dangerous, “What about your plans with a Shade-rivaling relic is so dangerous that you can’t inquire with me about it?”

Rosaria remains silent, grip on her scythe tightening. Venti gives it a few seconds, before finally electing to raise his bow, glowing with a large teal arrow—

“Rosaria’s a shy loser who can't ask for things!” Dahlia blurts out, stepping between the two.

The icy atmosphere shatters.

If anything, a warmth ensues— as Rosaria’s face begins to turn a beet red. Venti, surprised out of his stance, slowly lowers his bow, eyes now locked on Dahlia.

“She…” Dahlia gulps, fisted gnosis to his chest, “She just acts like this really tough badass with a bitchface for the ages. Honestly, she’s trying too hard too— never taking that god-forsaken leather jacket off for shit!”

“D-dahlia…” no condensation streams from the women’s lips.

“But—!” Dahlia balls his fists at Venti, face turning red from fear— yet commitment. “She’s too fucking caring. She’s too fucking kind, and…” his eyes plead with Venti, “She’d never do anything that’d hurt anyone— especially you! I mean… Barbatos? B-Barbara’s way too important for her to…”

The words are getting caught in his throat. He speaks the rest while holding back tears he refuses to let come, “I don’t care what any of you are… or even if you can’t die! You’re seriously gonna hurt each other and I… I really dont wanna see you hurt, Venti…”

The silence is as long as arrows.

He can hear his own heart pound in his ears. He can trail his own sweat coming down his forehead. He can feel his own throat closing from his held back heaves. Yet Dahlia keeps his eyes on his lord— a boy with braids holding a bow.

Dahlia can’t see his eyes.

Venti’s voice demands attention, “I know.”

A shallow breath escapes Dahlia, the human’s eyes widening a bit, “...huh?”

Seconds later, Venti slowly lifts his head up, a small smile on his lips, “Actually, I hadn’t cared about my gnosis at all till you started crying calamity.” Venti’s eyes closed blissfully, “It was actually adorable for a little bit. Adorable, annoying, then irritating fast. I mean, you aren’t even 3 decades old. How are my divine dilemmas any of your business…haha. As if you can hope to understand them better than I can.”

He moves some hair from his eyes, eyes lowered, “I just didn’t get it. So then: maybe a fun tour de divine could get you to calm down a bit… or atleast clam up a bit for us to actually get to know each other. Was it a fun date? Even if I'd led you on, letting you believe it’d be the grand scavenger hunt of the century?”

“Dahlia.” Rosaria’s breath hitches, eyes shaky, “You need to get out of here. Please…”

“But y’know what?” Venti smiles at the two, “If you were so kind as to follow me through skepticism, follow me through all the signs it’s a simple headache to me, and, and stay so complacent amidst my lies…”

Venti raises up his bow, eyes alight, “Then I'll put my all into what I know i can do, and serve you the world as an apology.”

Rosaria pushes Dahlia back as the arrow flies towards them. In the split moment before impact, he catches his friend’s urgent gaze, his friend’s outstretched hand to him, and the sharp cold enveloping his body.

Dahlia’s whole world  distorts behind ice. Then the muffled sounds of the roof breaking fill his ears, and the iced off view becomes darker and darker, his heart flipping as if he’s falling. 

…

‘...’

‘So… the lord let me work myself up for nothing after all.’

‘Hah.’

‘...’

Dahlia falls through the roof of the second floor in a ball of ice, the cage shattering on impact with the hard floor before. Gritting his teeth and surrounded by ice shards, he pushes his aching body up to his knees. 

“It’s your buddy isn’t it? She won’t let you die to me of all things…”

Dahlia groans as Venti’s words echo in his head. ‘He’s using me as a weapon against her… Rosaria…’

The boy looks up through the new ball-shaped hole in the ceiling. Beyond it, he can peer at the moon and stare past the second-floor’s roof— but that's the least of his concerns. 

Blurred, yet positively there, flashes of teal and an icy blue power dance with each other on the second floor. Accompanied by burdened booms and crackling ice, it’s a true unrestrained fight between the two. 

“All over the…”

Dahlia freezes. 

He looks into his empty hands, then around the darkened space. Ice shards and scattered items lie about, but not Barbatos’ gnosis of divine power. Dahlia’s heart races again, his breath picking up. If he has to trust Venti on anything right now, it’d have to be the dangers of—

A growl interrupts his panic. 

He doesn't dare turn his head— but the outcome will be the same, won't it? Dahlia doesn’t need Venti to know there’s many riftwolves in the room. 

That many riftwolves now begin to surround him. 

“Crap…!” Rosaria probably thought the cage would be stronger. Or maybe she thought she’d scared off all the rift wolves in the building as she entered the second floor. Yet their beady eyes— some gold, some purple— now stare at their new prey— the boy standing under the prominent moonlight. 

Would they even hear him if he screamed? Dahlia can’t decide if screaming will make him a bigger target, or simply throw one of them off guard.

Allowing the other to end things— one way or another.

The human boy simply braces himself for the otherworldly nightmares—

…

But the riftwolves don't attack.

They bark. Loudly at that. He lowers his arms from his face, cautiously taking in the beasts and their behavior. They don't bark at him, but above him. They don't actually enter the moon’s spotlight, but circle the edge and turn their attention upwards—

Towards the divine being fighting above.

“They don't… notice me?” Dahlia breaths cautiously. His brows furrow at the oblivious creatures, “Wait… they’re attracted to divine energy. That’s what Venti at least said…”

And Venti turns out to be one of the two expert riftwolf killers in the building. So assuming Venti and Rosaria are teeming with it, and if his words are true…

Dahlia steps through a gap between the barking riftwolves, and into the darkness. He even accidentally jostles between a few—  hunkering beasts that’s mane feel like sandpaper. Yet its gaze remains fixated on the divine beings above— sharing the fear Dahlia surmises all of them possess.

“No wonder those riftwhelps were so clumsy… they might have not seen me at all.” Venti doesn't seem to realize this about their behavior— but given his resentment and quickend habit to kill them, Dahlia’s hardly surprised.

Just a few steps away, a familiar glow catches his eye again. Cautiously stepping over random items, and moving between stray wolves, he sees the shadowed anemo gnosis lying aimlessly between two large objects—

Two guarding riftwolves.

It has to be adrenaline carrying Dahlia. To pose the fragile mortal to reach past the jaws of these deadly monsters, and take the relic his friends were tearing eachother apart to claim. It stirs the monsters, the growls rumbling in the hovering beasts…

Yet through longing, fear, and apprehension, they simply hold their gaze on the glowing gnosis— eyes following it however Dahlia moves it through the air. 

“... You're so drawn to it…” Dahlia sympathizes in the dark, “Yet you're afraid it’ll tear it apart at the same time. Maybe it’d been better if you’d stayed in the woods all together…but then you’re just right back where you started.”

Crashes echo above. Louder, violent, and more desperate with each blow. The ice crackling is getting less frequent— she’s losing. Dahlia turns to the riftwolves, as if their rowdy house pets are hiding under the bed with him. 

“But…” Dahlia clenches the gnosis in his fist, “Maybe i am just blindly faithful… but It feels shitty to cry and be afraid of my friends. Not when it’s so childish to do so… not when they both feel shitty.”

 “And more importantly,” Turning back to the gaping hole in the ceiling, Dahlia grits his teeth with a devious smirk at the moonlight, “that dick’s been running my wallet over a lie.”

Rosaria slashes at the blurs faster and faster, no longer truly knowing which one is him. Yet it’s as if every speeding glimpse of Barbatos is attacking her at once, and all she can do is deflect all she knows how.

This is all going wrong. 

She throws a barrage of ice toward the god, additionally pushing herself off the ground for another mid air attack. It’s wishful thinking she’ll actually throw him off his game, let alone find time to make an escape. She had a plan for if Barbatos somehow arrived. A plan for how she’d make sure her end would be a little later.

But if something happened to Barbara’s friend from Port Dorman, who would the pious girl truly have left?

“Hey,” Venti inserts, destroying the barrage of ice with his outstretched bow, “Dahlia said some meaningful stuff— but he doesn’t know you like I do, y’know that?”

The ice shatters with her hopes, but she refuses to let it show. Rosaria throws out her hands faster and faster, sending more ice towards the anemo archon. Slowly and carefully, she hovers closer and closer to the roof's gaping hole.

“And y’know…” Barbatos no longer hides his strength, and shatters the ice with bare hands glowing with anemo, “Because he doesn’t know you like I do, he doesn’t know you’re probably working under Varka right now…”

Rosaria finally holds up her scythe— the weapon crackling with crystal ice shards, and its rose fives stretching more and more, entangling the weapon with deadlier frost. The blade morphs and transforms— the weapon now an icy cross.

“And since you’re probably working under Varka, you’ve been blindly following your own ideas of what’s going on. And you are…” Venti’s eyes widen up at the women, “You wouldn’t realize me and him are deathly aware of how little he wants me to know of his dangerous affairs.” 

Rosaria sends the hulking cross with all her might— the rest of her strength following with it. Condensation covers the whole room as it sails towards its target. Eyes beginning to black out, Rosaria waits for the crash. 

“However…” Barbatos whispers behind her.

The anemo archon thrusts the blade straight into her gut. 

The shock shatters her control. Her white wings concealed by divine power reveal themselves, and sprawl out behind her. Drenched in the blood from her scalp, she clamps a hand over her mouth to hold in a visceral scream. 

“Since Varka didn’t come to me,” Barbatos casually infers. His eyes soften, “And assuming he’s dead, and how your silence has stretched to Dahlia…

“You’re on a suicide mission, arent you?” his eyes meet her painful magenta ones, “Why would you go back on those you swore to live for?”

Climbing growls cut between the two. Barbatos’s eyes cautiously go to the hole in the floor.

A pack of riftwolves rush into the second floor through the roof— following an especially large one at the front. Through the chaos of the arrival, Barbatos’ hold on Rosaria releases. Hand holding her bleeding gut, the floating immortals’s go to the beast—

And the human riding on top of it, holding the gnosis up as a taunt to them.

“Dahlia, are you nuts?!” The two lash out at the scene. They’re quickly interrupted by a riftwolf darting at them, Rosaria’s blood dripped onto its snout. With a slight glance and nod, Barbatos takes off for Dahlia, while Rosaria creates a new scythe out of ice. 

“Venti wont let me die. Rosaria let me die. There’s no way I'm gonna die—”  Dahlia grits to himself. Latched onto the frantic riftwolf, it takes him farther and farther up towards the roof, snapping at the gnosis in hand along the way. 

‘This was so much better in my head—’ Yet it seems to have gotten Venti and Rosaria’s attention, as the two now are forced to deal with the chaos. ‘Good. that means they might settle down enough to talk—’

But then the riftwolf crashes head first into the ceiling, and Dahlia’s one hand on the beast slips away. 

It’s like the air’s disappeared again.

Venti slashes away his 5th riftwolf when he hears the shout. When he turns, he sees the large riftwolf crash clumsily into the roof, lose its balance, and fall away. Its passenger falls from the high ceiling too, arms reaching out to nothing.

Rosaria freezes away her 2nd riftwolf when she hears Venti’s wings unfurl. When she turns, she’s able to see a faint teal glow fall away from her friend. It’s launched towards her direction— she just needs to catch it to make the plan work out again—

Then two riftwolves pounce on her already-weakened body, pinning their prey to the ground firmly.

Dahlia finally lands in Venti’s arms— the deity floating in mid air, large wings flapping behind him. There’s no mystery behind his expression, his glowing eyes, or floating braids. Frantic with worry, Venti lets out a breath of relief, “Are you alright?!”

“I’m fine but…“  Dahlia’s eyes go down to his hands, to the deity, around the room. He feels like he’s gonna have a heart attack , “I dropped the gnosis—!”

Their eyes go to the floor— that shiny object falling faster towards the ground. Riftwolves dash towards it, Rosaria shoots a dagger of ice at her assailants, Venti hovers farther away from the impact zone, shielding him and the human from the falling glass relic.

…Venti had never told Dahlia what would happen if the gnosis broke, did he?

… but with how tightly he holds the human from behind his wings, he doesn’t need to.

Like time itself is seconds too late, the gnosis shatters to the ground.

Chapter Text

…

But nothing happens. 

Dahlia’s head is bawled into Venti’s chest— clutching the deity’s jacket as their hearts beat fast. He hadn’t even noticed himself holding his breath, all sorts of thoughts swirling in his head like a tornado.

‘Are we dead?’

‘Has hell opened up?’

‘Is Venti actually scared right now?

Cautious moments later, the human lifts his head from the deity, as the archon begins to unfurl is white wings.

Rosaria is across the room at the edge of the crater leading to the first floor. Above her— above all of them— riftwolves begin to stir up again.

Just as Venti, she has humongous white wings— though lacking gold and ebony disks. Dripping with blood, they begin to shrink and disappear from her back— the women’s magenta eyes going to the gnosis.

The indeed shattered glass relic lies in the center of the room… 

Though, a glowing teal crystal reveals itself as its contents.

There is no logical reason for Dahlia to know what constitutes a gnosis’s contents. Yet somehow, though giving him a sense of divine intrigue with it’s glow, this is in no way the manifestation of heavenly power.

The icy woman grits her teeth, and pushes her aching body to stand, “...what’s going…” 

The riftwolves however remain attracted to the shattered trinket. The creatures— who also took note to brace themselves from the non existent impact— hover over the relic once more overhead, still seemingly attracted to it. 

The gnosis to the seemingly divine Rosaria and Venti however…

Dahlia eases himself off of Venti, and onto his own two feet. With a glance to make sure the creatures were still occupied (despite, once again, never taking note of him), he goes around the floor’s crater, and onwards towards his friend.

He slings one of her arms over his shoulder, going down to anchor her. His eyes are filled with worry, “You’re bleeding all over, Rosaria…”

The woman bites back her injury, “...This isn’t the worst it’s gotten for me Dahlia… ngrh!” Slowly, the two of them push themselves off the ground, Dahlia’s worried gaze searching his friend all over. She returns a more assuring one with a nod, before her hazy eyes go to the other side of the room, “But…”

Venti now stands at the gnosis’s crash site, anemo spear in hand. Clear glass shards and gold accents  lie about, their glimmer and shine dancing in the moonlight. He pokes at the pieces with the weapon, letting the crystal roll on its sides. The faux gnosis shows off its contents to the anemo archon…

Though perhaps a trick of the eye, Venti casts down a knowing and distasteful gaze at the lowly thing…

Dahlia’s voice is hesitant and light, Rosaria’s body warm against him. “That’s not the gnosis… is it?”  His eyes then go up to the riftwolves, who’ve now taken notice of the anemo archon below them, “Even so… they seem to be still worked up about it…”

“mm…”

However, almost like a repellant, translucent teal fumes of anemo stretch out from Venti’s body, the aura of it keeping the apprehensive creatures at bay— though doing no harm.

Dahlia can only describe it as a physical manifestation of his indignation.

Then suddenly, the aura snaps up at them, eliciting fearful howls from the group of ritwolves. It sends them scurrying towards the roof in the ceiling, and out towards the roof’s hole leading up to the starry sky. 

Their echoes recede, as Venti’s anemo quietly subdudes. The shadow across his eyes slowly clears up, and he looks up at Dahlia with a mask of nonchalance, “Though this is the work of divine interference.”

‘Not this again…’ Dahlia’s eyes widen with subtle apprehension. Despite how easily Venti took down Rosaria— he took down Rosaria. It doesn’t even have to be a divine player… he just doesn’t wanna see people get hurt like this anymore. Woefully, the anemo archon probably doesn’t share his morals…

… Woefully, Dahlia doesn’t think it was a trick of the eye at all.

Rosaria grits her teeth at the deity “Tsk!” she pushes Dahlia aside, ignoring the human’s plea for her to slow down. Hopping over the massive crater with inhumane grace laced with mortal agony, she barks at Venti, condensation spewing from her lips, “What the hell is this? What’s going on?!”

“R-rosaria…!” Dahlia hurries around it, reaching for his friend’s hand, “Slow down a bit—”

She whips it away, hurt and betrayal in her eyes, “Please! Dahlia…!” she turns her attention back to the deity, “That trinket means nothing to you. This whole situation was nothing until…” she glances at Dahlia once more, “Till…!”

“...What a broken record…” Venti blinks up at the icy woman, his anemo ones now fully collected, “Yet i’ll admit we’re simply both at a loss for peaceful words…” His eyes glance to Dahlia momentarily.

Rosaria’s fists ball up, eyes fuming at the deity, “How fucking dare you? You’re not so high and mighty as you think, y’know? There are real consequences to our actions… consequences to things we don't do! If you’d just keep it safe in the first place, Barbatos…”

“What? You could blast a hole in the firmament? Turn time back on her head?” Venti’s eyes glow subtly, “I’m holding in my composure, y’know. It’s not everyday the anemo archon is the one being played by the fiddle—”

The human slightly pushes back Venti’s chest, “Enough. please…”

The deity’s gaze breaks, now focusing on Dahlia and his anxious expression, “I get you don’t have a hold on things anymore, but cutting out everything you’re not aligned with isn’t gonna work right now— and I definitely won’t let you cut out my friend.” 

Venti’s eyes soften, “D-dahlia…”

“And Rosaria…” Dahlia’s tone softens, “Starting a fight with Venti again is the worst thing you can do right now. We’re all a little rattled right now… and he’s just holding back his feelings a bit better than usual…

Rosaria’s eyes turn away, a slight warmth returning to the room, “Dahlia…”

“And in anycase…” Dahlia’s eyes go to the shattered relic, beads of sweat rolling down his face, “That gnosis being fake invites bigger problems… right?” they go back to Venti, slightly ticked, “...i’m going to trust you weren’t lying about the dangers, Venti. And you don't go around planting fakes without planning something for… the real deal.”

Newly sewn dread sinks itself into him, and Dahlia finds himself bawling his fists. Their efforts— though frivolous and meaningless to a point— were directed at the wrong problem entirely. And all the while, the true source of their dilehema went unnoticed. 

“None of asked to be in this situation, and I certainly would have lived a bit better if I didn't know the world was screwed…” he turns back to Rosaria’s eyes softened, “But i’ll still believe in you guys cause you’re my friends, so at least to the damn least and pretend to do so too! Cause I know for sure you’d both rather have a world to live in tomorrow!”

‘Dorm peacemaker job actually coming in handy huh?’ Dahlia congratulates himself.

The silence between the two is as long as arrows, yet the atmosphere is quickly melting like summer ice. The frost recedes from Rosaria’s eyes, and Venti, though his powers not visually in play, returns to the softer look Dahlia’s seen during their lighter moments.

Rosaria finally speaks first, taking a small sigh before beginning, “...Since we’re practically in this mess together… I think I know the guy who might have your gnosis.”

Dahlia’s eyes widen at Rosaria, smiling out of dismay, “That quickly?” he’d be insane to complain about their openness, but a bit 1-11 huh?

“Well… we don't exactly have all the time in the world…” her eyes glance away from Dahlia, “I still… Barbara still has a world to see tomorrow. Even if it’s saved by such an asshole.”

“I’d say worse about you if Dahlia wasn’t around.” Venti smiles lightly, “Let it be a warmer day—where all we love and care for shall sing praises of mundane glory~”

Venti’s eyes return a more focused look, “And in addressing your suggestion… we’re perhaps thinking of the same culprit~”

The woman’s eyes shift nervously at the deity’s words, before finally nodding in agreement. Dahlia stands between the two, anxiously waiting for their reveal.

Rosaria’s tone is low, yet the name she strikes is sharp, “Kreideprinz.”

Venti’s tone is low, yet the name she strikes is sharp, “Diluc.”

That frigid silence returns.

“Wha— Diluc?!” Rosaria’s scythe reappears, the icy woman gripping it with fury in her eyes, “Don’t pull bullshit out of a hat like that when you’re actually clueless. I thought we agreed on divine interference.”

“Ehhh… we never actually agreed on that~ ” Venti crosses two fingers at his lips with an anxious expression, “What, so you get to say cool things in front of Dahlia and not me? Sure you already have Barbara all to yourself…”

‘Where the hell did this conversation go?’ Dahlia deadpans to the deity in his head, ‘He’s leaving out more than he knows again isn’t he? Is everything one ear out the other with this guy??’

Dahlia quickly regains his focus (and trust in knowing what’s going on) and trains it to Rosaria, “Is your guy from Favonius too? … or Mondstadt at least?” his tone lowers, “Not that the name sounds too common anyways…”

“My guy huh?He…” Rosaria’s eyes soften, going to Venti, then back to Dahlia, “He’s more or less a hermit who comes and goes. It’s rare to see him out much anyways…”

‘Ah, so I guess I don't know him…’  He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved it isn’t another friend of his. Dahlia raises a finger to his chin, and his eyes glance back to Venti, “Now that you guys are on the same page though… Hopefully it’ll be smoother?”

“That’s up to fate to decide. But…” Venti crosses his arms, eyes going up to Rosaria, “Though woefully unapparent right now, Rosaria and I are sides of the same coin. In being, in ideals… in priorities… ”

Venti’s tone lowers with a smile, “That’s for you to inquire further, however. I don't need her to start dredging up my personal affairs as payback, haha! Ah~

The anemo archon’s eyes meet the icy deity’s, “I look forward to more of your combat prowess on the same side, Spinea Corona~”

The images of those riftwolfs come again. The most apparent is the one who’d teleported away last moment— tar-like blood stretching across the floor below its dying body. 

For the first time since arriving on the second floor, Dahlia truly felt the weight of his inhumane relationships.

“Well!” Venti chirps behind them with a smile, clasping Rosaria’s shoulders, “This day has gone horrifically for us apocalypse slayers, huh Rosaria?”

It makes Dahlia jump slightly, while Rosaria responds with an annoyed look. Venti smiles back at her widely, “Why don't you take Dahlia home as a participation prize, hm? He mentioned you being rather cold to him today.

Rosaria’s eyes fall flat, “Do I look like I'm in good shape for two-person travel right now? In case you haven’t noticed, I'm bleeding from both sides…”

Venti shrugs with a low hum, “Humans get judged by the divine, Rosaria. In any case, try not going about fights you can’t win in the near future. It helps in times like these”

“You…”

“And Dahlia…” Dahlia meets Venti's softened eyes, the deity’s braids bouncing as he turns his head, “Thank you for hanging out with me today. Should you feel inclined, I'll be waiting for you at our usual spot.

“O-oh… i…” Dahlia can’t get out his response before Venti pushes off of the women, and makes his hop over the crater with a voice as light as feathers, “By the thousand winds… i’m so tired, i might sleep for 300 years~”

‘And he’s off…’ Dahlia’s face reddens as he watches the deity go, his words lingering like warm winds. He’s honestly tired too. And realistically, he can't shake off Venti even if he really wanted to…

“Ah, and Rosaria…” Venti inquires finally, back facing the two of them, “Just out of mindless curiosity, how’d you know where the gnosis was in the first place?”

The silence is as long as arrows.

Rosaria crosses her arms, raising her voice to a mockingly high pitch, “‘Why are my divine affairs any of your business?’”

“Ah… I see…”

With a kick in his step, Venti spins on his heels, smiling as breezy as the wind, “You’re the type that blue haired guy from Angel’s share was talkin about. Truly, our exciting fate together will be disastrous amount of fun.”

Chapter Text

“Horrific” is one way she’d call the situation.

Varka’s final plan— a desperate and flimsy one at best— was at least haphazard hope in resolving their looming fate.

The man had always exhausted his efforts to the best of his ability. He’d done the best he could do, sacrificing mortal mind and body to fight in the name of “humanity”

His “grand war on fate—” led with a flag dedicated to the earth.

It’s why he waited so long to come to Seamus and his more “religious” means. It’s why he allowed her help— someone he’d called “the most human branch of time” to justify her friendships, and futilely lessen her dissonance.

It’s why he left the anemo archon himself out of the affairs— a choice that baffles Rosaria to this very day.

How pitiful then, is it for divine meddling to interfere with efforts as naive as his? Without the gnosis, Rosaria, let alone Varka can’t harness that usurping divine hand— powered by thousands of years of reverence to one name. Without that power, they can’t hope to dispel the calamity.

The nihility, the tragedy, the calamity.

…

But Barbatos is simply older, and she is but an infant in the eyes of others “broken off of time itself.” So pitifully and woefully,  the woman will bite her tongue just this once. 

“So with all that out of the way,” Barbatos cooly greets Rosaria with a smile, “I sense you want to talk with me about something. 

Barbatos had "disappeared” minutes earlier from Rosaria and Dahlia’s exit. It’s when they’d reentered the cool night, that she’d remembered her actions upon arriving to begin with.

She didn’t wish to explain why she tossed her keys into a random patch of grass.

She didn’t wish to reveal why she’d shattered her phone screen, and left her motorcycle lying haphazardly near a tree. Half an hour prior, Rosaria was fully set on following Varka’s footsteps in the perilous mission.

Inquisitive Dahlia simply nodded along to her request for assistance. Though it being him , there was a knowing solemn behind his light-purple eyes.

And her eyes, icy divinity powering them, took note of the overbearing nothingness behind her. Like a gap in time and space itself, Barbatos’s presence is truly a terrifying thing. The two hadn’t spoken to one another since Varka’s parting. And a time deep in conversation… surely it was even earlier.

“Despite the harshness I showed you tonight, you really have become stronger in physique…” Barbatos begins quietly with a smile, “It’d be interesting to have actually spared with you a bit while you were younger but… you carry yourself as though the years with Varka had strengthened your resolve.”

His words are sincere— this she can tell. The anemo archon has a certain verboseness when putting on a show of face or malice— something she was admittedly terrified to have found near her friend tonight. But Barbatos had always had a freeing tone saved for her… despite the many apparent grievances Rosaria has for him.

Rosaria lets her tone lower. Hand holding her wounded gut, she can’t chide at him if she’d wanted to, “... I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘sparring.’” Her eyes go behind her, “But, yeah. You’re different too. I’ve never seen you so…”

… actually, even she can’t explain it.

“Ah, really?” Barbatos smirks at her, a cheeky smile in the near darkness, “You needn't burden yourself with words, Rosaria~ You’re almost as poetic as me by your expressions alone!”

 “The romantics are solely your forte.” the woman deadpans, “Even in the most precarious of situations.” His carefree nature will always alarm her.

“Mm. That sounds about right…” Barbatos’s smile softens, the trees rustling in the night’s winds, “Truthly, I just wished to give my condolences. You may live long, but the aches of losing those special is torment for the ages.”

Rosaria stiffens.

“Me and Varka were close as well. In our own messy, complicated way. He wanted what’s best for Mondstadt and its people. He even extended such compassion to its incompetent archon…”

“...”

“Sorry. You were closer than I ever was… so I can't begin to imagine what his loss is like to you.”

“...Their fates aren’t through.”

Rosaria’s sharp icy eyes meet Venti’s softened anemo ones.

Barbatos’s smile falls, “That’s right, isn’t it?” his eyes bore into her, “But piece of advice… though tempting and in good fate, peering into fate too often will eat you alive. Accept and plan as they come, and you’ll avoid more tragedies down the road.”

‘Ah, so he figured it out anyway.’ Rosaria grimaces to himself. She’d gone to Celestia the night before to peer into “Time.” She only goes so often to peer into the future of all sorts of matters— conflicts, Varka’s discrete worries, more or less Barbara’s shower questions.

It’s vague musings and imagery at best, and mind numbing ambiguities at worst. All and all, the ends justified the means when it came to finding the gnosis.

But the gnosis was fake. Mondstadt’s fate is probably as dark and blurry now as it was when she’d earlier checked. And the perpetrator— a lowly half breed of sinful cultivation— is the villain in her plans.

And yet in the muddied unchanging musing she’d spied in “Time,” a glowing teal object was with her in one scene, a bright explosion in the next, and the finale: a flurry of snow flakes, and the empty shell of the gnosis.

The older spirit now sits before her— their fates tied as probably the only two beings able to do something about it. To naively attempt to divert fate— something the optimistic Varka seemingly failed to do.

Yet something tonight…

…

But that will start tomorrow. Or at least once she’d fully healed. For now, she has something wholly different on her mind.

Rosaria’s brows tense, and her icy eyes stare into Barbatos’s, “We need to address Dahlia.”

Rosaria hadn’t expected to ever need to buy gas again either.

An “hour” into playing out her “prize” (as if anyone could hope to understand Venti like this), her motorcycle's monitor flashed the low-gas sign. Eyes narrowed down at it, she’d grit her teeth, and quickly sped towards the nearest gas station they could find— Dahlia and to.

The human practically kissed the ground he stepped on to, while Rosaria thanked the thousand winds he hadn’t thrown up on her bike. She needs the vehicle now, just as she now needs money, her phone…

Hell, she needs her life back after so eagerly throwing it away.

She’d asked Dahlia to spot her gas money. Of course he for some reason decided to freeze his cards on this perfect day. Going to a stranger no matter how little there was was iffy on its own, especially when she’d still drenched in divine blood…

She’d complain and scream at the world if it wouldn’t suggest her actions today were foolish.

“Now that I think about it… I don't even have Venti’s number…” Dahlia now mutters to himself. Just as Rosaria, he leans onto her bike quietly, tapping away at his phone, “Yet he expects me to know where he wants us to meet… tsk.”

Rosaria stares off into the darkness, hands wrapped around her stomach, “Venti doesn’t even have a phone. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if he were long gone by now…”

‘Doing Celestia-knows what most likely…’

Rosaria’s fingertips frost and crackle. Her divine physique had already rendered her body numb to the mortal wound— the blood loss rendering her weak. She simply freezes over it to stop the intermittent flow of gold.

After a discreet layer of ice covers the patch, the woman slips off her leather jacket, and ties it around her waist— somewhat hiding the wound.

The woman leans off of her bike, and grabs its handles confidently, “It’s whatever. We’re gonna walk home…” 

Dahlia’s smile is nervous and insincere. He points to himself in a too-high pitched voice, “Ok miss second-goddess-in-command. Though I must confess— I fear you devastatingly underestimate our mortal limits.”

“Dont be an idiot…” Rosaria rolls her bike towards the trees with tired eyes. Guess she’ll have to come back for it the next morning…

Once hidden in the bushes, she turns to Dahlia— standing between her and the main road, “You’re not actually walking the 500 miles. I’ll carry you on my back.”

“While you look like that?” he refuses, staring at her wound with an apprehensive look, “This isn’t that crazy y’know. We’re together, Rosaria. I still have a few dollars left on my travel card anyways, so we can taxi for a few stops…”

Rosaria’s eyes fall flat.

“Or we can call—” Dahlia trips over his words, “A…Actually… I don't think Barbara should be bothered with this.”

Rosaria’s tone lowers— annoyed , “No. She shouldn't."

So with ice marking her every step, and condensation streaming from her lips, Rosaria walked with Dahlia on piggyback throughout the night. It goes as awkwardly as one can pray for it to be. 

“I look like such an asshole friend, y’know.” Dahlia mutters bemused, “Or better yet, a freaking kid.”

“You are a kid.” Rosaria retorts. Her magenta eyes slightly glow in the darkness, “Getting into everyone’s business, attracting trouble whenever you go…”

“Don’t put all of his antics onto me either. You have your own issues, too!”

Dark trees pass them by, then reveal lights of the small towns sprinkled about them. The main roads lead off into the highways— but Rosaria walks towards the fields that follow the tram’s path. 

The moonlight bathing the two, she can feel Dahlia press his head into her back, “Have you always been like him?” 

Rosaria’s words are quiet, and her tone is steady, “In what way do you ask that?”

“... in all the ways I guess.” his tone lowers, “You’re both strong and charismatic in your own ways. But… sometimes it’s like the world is a passing thought to him.”

“That’s cause it probably is.” Rosaria’s eyes soften, “You know the current calendar year, don't you?”

“Yeah, I was even more spooked thinking about that, haha…”

A brief pause.

Dahlia’s words are even softer, “Barbara doesn’t know, does she?”

“...No one should be burdened with something like this.” Rosaria’s words are low, “You can’t convince me his little ‘reveal’ was anything pleasant for you.”

“...no. It really wasnt…” another moment of hesitation, “But… it’s still him, y’know? It was an accident mostly… but it’s good to know the whole person. To be able to see into their troubles.”

“... you think I should've told you all once I had the chance?”

“Meh. it’d have to be over takeout at least.”

Rosaria trenches through the grassy valley, the ice freezing the tall grass behind her. The moon and stars are dancing tonight under the cloudless sky. Closer to Favonius however, dark storm clouds begin to loom the city. 

“He was the confessional, y’know.” Dahlia begins in a quiet voice, “And he sounded really messed up about the calamity.”

Rosaria’s eyes widen slightly, “He’s told you about it?”

“I guess so. Though in hindsight, it felt more like a sanitized description of a problem rather than the one.”

“You got that right…”

“Right?? And to me at least, his confessional felt like something more.”

“...”

“What? You’re not gonna tell me either are you?”

“Hiding it wouldn’t do any good.” Rosaria deflects with a sigh, “You’re already in cahoots with Mondstadt’s god, and brave enough to invoke his sacred confessions in irreverence.

Rosaria turns up to the starry sky as she walks, “Though… it’s not good to speak of the divine in nonchalance in any case. It usually earns retribution and misfortune.”

“Call me a deadman walking~”

“...” Rosaria’s eyes narrow to herself, “I’m also searching for the right words to describe the looming calamity…the incoming disaster…”

“Sounds complex.”

“Glad to see he’s rubbing off on you.” she rolls her eyes, “But moving on…”

Trees of the whispering woods surround them. The woman’s voice carries over the sounds of nature.

“Divinty itself is a shadow of Celestia’s life. Or, heaven …” she begins, “Time is divinity. Life is divinity. Death, Space… all casting down its reign and reason over the worlds… Ever lasting purity, and a powerful stagnant hold on its domain…

“The calamity is its own shadow— ‘the darkness outside of the shining shadows’… or perhaps even, ‘the mirror to divine revelation.’”

Rosaria feel’s Dahlia’s head raise off of her, “Exstenilism vs it’s nihilistic counter philosophy?”

“Celestia above you’re a nerd.” she mutters with a frown

“I’m just tryna understand, asshole.” Dahlia presses his head back onto his friend, “Both philosophies in themselves start from meaning and value, yet divert in conflicting takes as to the search of that meaning. Opposites even…”

Rosaria blinks, “Why so specific of ‘opposites?’”

Dahlia’s tone lowers, “Well… a mirror to Life and Death described to be a ‘calamity’” doesn't sound good.”

“Mm…” Rosaria tightens her grip on her friend's legs, “The calamity is abysmal and void. It’s seemingly a perfect counter to divinity and purity. It doesn't destroy… rather, it consumes their counterpart…”

“...”

“...it’s blasphemous to really suggest,” Rosaria says in a quieter tone, “But in some way, humans carry divinity within them as well through life, time, and death. While rendering divine creatures… ‘null,’ it works much… slower. And the product is arguably much more harsh than simply being poisoned to death.”

“... a ‘null’ human?”

“It’s not easy to explain at all…” Rosaria’s tone shifts, “Ask-and-you-shall-receive, idiot…”

When they finally get out of the trees, they step into a final field of fireflies and tall grass. The glowing lights skip around them, and the swaying grass and crackling ice follows close behind. 

“Huh…” Dahlia's head presses further into her, “Venti didn’t tell it like that at all.”

“He probably doesn't have the words either…” Rosaria’s eyes lower, “It’s terrifying. It’s depressing. And without the words… How are we to do anything about it? …Even finding the gnosis might not solve all our problems in that case...”

“... this sounds very grim.”

“That’s because it is.”

“...”

Rosaria looks up at the sky one last time, the clouds of the city covering up the last ones.

“...But even so…” the woman’s eyes go behind her, “If despair and annihilation is the reflection of the abysmal calamity… as figures born under the divine gaze, hope is our strongest bet yet…”

‘Hope for you two to lead peaceful days.’

‘Hope to repay Mondstadt for taking in something like me.’

‘...’

‘Varka… since you're not around anymore to do all this hopeful bullshit anymore.’

‘I’ll try to keep it in my heart the best I can.’

Rosaria lets Dahlia off outside his apartment building moments later, calm in her tone, “We’re here.”

“Huh?” Dahlia’s wide eyes go up to the building— dumbfounded, “It feels like it’s been walking for 5 minutes.”

“Actually it’s been 5 seconds give or take.” Rosaria waves condensation from her lips, “A little longer since my wings are still fucked. What, so you haven't teleported before? With Barbatos at any point?”

“It took a second with him. School, blink, bedroom.”

“Ah, so you weren’t paying attention then…” Rosaria puts a hand at her hip, “Time moves constantly like a stream— unrelenting and passing every second. We simply step out of that stream and walk beneath it like a curtain— then unconstrained to the rules put in place by our mother, Istorath.

Rosaria frowns, “I could only do it in short bursts— switching between points on the journey we would have taken should we actually walked nearly 500 miles. Even the motorcycle ride was in part teleportation…

“You perceive it as slightly faster due to your mortal constraints.” her voice trails off, “...and you were highly aware of it happening. *sigh,* What a pain~”

When she turns back to her human friend, she finds him staring at her with flat eyes.

The woman stares back, bemused, “As if you didn’t wanna know.”

“Of course I did.” Dahlia walks past her, a knowing smile at his lips, “It’s just I wonder how long you’ve waited to talk to your friends about your crazy existence.”

Rosaria’s face turns red.

Dahlia pushes the elevator button, and the two go up to his apartment’s floor. His words are soft and kind, “And y’know, Rosaria, you care a lot about Barbara, huh?”

She scoffs at the jab at her emotions, and crosses her arms “It's expected of a best friend, right? For the nosy drama-invested Dahlia, you pick up on the most basic observations.”

“Barbatos above, do you guys just choose when you wanna be vulnerable at the drop of a hat??”

The boy sighs to himself, playfully bumping into her, “She loves you a lot too. That’s why it’d kill her the most to be ghosted suddenly, and sent messages through me of all people…

His tone drops, “You wanted to ‘kill’ her best-friend Rosaria, so she wouldn’t see something worse come about you…”

The elevator bumps as they nearly reach his floor. The atmosphere is warm from the human’s presence, the small smile he wears of cheekiness, sincerity, and Dahlia.

“But I'm your friend too. And even if I'm obviously not as important to you as her, I care about you too. We both do…” He deadpans with a wider smile, “So stop pulling that cryptic sacrificial bullshit— or I'll give Barbara a REAL reason to think you’re dead.”

The elevator doors open to his apartment floor. Rosaria shoves her hand into his pink curls as she fumes at him, “Big talk for the guy who almost died today. One of the many ways from Barbatos…”

Dahlia swats her away, sticking a tongue out at her, “You have to enjoy this a little to keep sane…” he turns away from her, “This all makes me regret moving to Favonius a bit less.”

“You’re reeeeally bored with yourself, huh?” she scoffs at herself, “A situationship with god is a strange way to spice up life.”

Rosaria scoffs at herself, “A situationship with god is a strange way to relieve boredom to most people.”

Dahlia chokes on his own breath.

“Don’t act like that’s not what’s going on.” Rosaria seethes at him, “The only reason i butt in between you two in the first place is cause I misread your weird human-god foreplay…”

Dahlia’s face runs red with the (ok neither of us can even say it’s completely wrong) accusation, “You say it as if we do that all the time…”

“Y’know… the manager who works the bar sometimes at angel share told me a wild story that happened last Sunday in his inn—”

“It was one time, Rosaria.”

“For now…” Rosaria shifts some of her hair, “Fucking weirdos…”

They come to Dahlia’s apartment door. Rosaria towers over him as the human gets his keys from his bag, “We’re such horrible friends to Barbara, y’know?”

“The worst…” Rosaria crosses her arms, “But y’know what? There’s way too much on our plates right now. I need to recharge— sleep for a few days…”

“Years in your case~”

“Asshole.”

Dahlia pushes open the apartment door, laughing at their own joke, “So it’s agreed we’ll surprise her at her place tomorrow with spicy takeout then? Make it up for practically ghosting her all day…”

“That’s what you call it?”

The world freezes. 

In his living room, sitting on his couch with a duffel bag in hand, Barbara sits with her blonde hair down. Her usually blue cheery eyes screaming sunshine have deep tear bags beneath them.

“What exactly…” she begins, standing up from the couch, “Have you been doing all day to be ‘horrible friends?’”

Chapter Text

“… And this one is by the sea! Cabins in the woods near shore, the city only a few miles out… says here they even have a makeup-lady… or… whatever they call one of those. Haha…

“Port Dorman is a long ways away too. Perfect to get away from everything going on wouldn't you say? How does this sound?”

“…”

“… sigh

“Please give me anything, kid. Your old man even liked your idea of church camp too.”

Varka is the Grand Commander of Mondstadt’s capital city, Favonius. But more notably, was the girl’s personal advocate. Whenever she cursed and flicked off at her fending teachers, he’d be the number to call. Whenever she’d “accidentally” swiped a black top from the bargain rack, he’d be there before the police.

When spray-painted roses and lyrics were found on the church’s patio columns, security cameras capturing a blonde-goth in pigtails held by black ribbons, he’d help her write an apology. His coworkers even joked about him being her partner in crime as he often let her get away with these things…

So ever invested in his job, the girl making it no easier with her growing antics, he’d sat with her in his office with camp brochures, “But I’m guessing it doesn’t matter where you go, huh? You just wanna get away from everything in general… find somewhere else to screw up for the summer.”

“So you admit it.” 

The pale-blue-s eyed girl finally looked up at Varka, black lipstick matching her corset and attire, “I’m just a fuck up causing problems.”

It sounded rather innocent from the girl. Misguided, but innocent. The Grand Commander could only chuckle, his arms crossed over the table.

“Actually you’re 13— Which would make you an asshole. The Lord never blessed my ex-wife with a child, so I guess this is the answer to how raising a teen would be, haha…”

The Lord?

The teen crossed her arms back. Eyes boring into Varka’s. She saw them laced with worry despite his lax demeanor—Something her father seemingly couldn't bother to show in his.

“But Barbatos can’t answer all our questions… and that’s a good thing, right? If we wanna understand each other, we start with our own selves first…”

Varka’s smile fell that day to something more pitiful, “Barbara, your father’s actions really only affect you so much. It might not seem that way now, but closer to when you're an adult at least, you'll realize your decision will cater more to your desires.”

What do I want?

“Yes, exactly.” Varka gave Barbara an approving grin, “What an outstanding adult you’re gonna be, huh?”

***

Barbara grew up to be a hypocrite.

Already, earlier that day, she’d given up on going to the cathedral for the day— despite the fact Dahlia would most likely be there. She watched the stars shine in the sky, then disappear for the sun’s wake. She saw this from her bed, eyes hollow and red, before getting up to pray to herself. 

Dahlia still hadn’t responded to her calls and texts.

But why would he? Truthfully? Barbara’s wholly aware of her attention-seeking tendencies, and further aware of her friend’s view on her. 

She let them fester, she let them grow. It’s selfish to perpetuate it further— the boy’s going through his own motions, surely. 

So instead of calling him, early that morning just after 9AM, Barbara played Varka’s final words for the 17th time in the kitchen.

The last three seconds rang out like a broken record, the girl already long accustomed to the biting-cold tune. Though now in her large kitchen bathed in morning light, and mind swimming with the passionate morning prayers she’d made in her room, Barbara shared this off-tune song with the Lord of Freedom.

And with her sister, who had the first morning off in weeks.

A trembling hand near her phone, the voice message ends, “That’s all he sent.”

Truthfully, Barbara is lost. 

Truthfully, Barbara is afraid.

All those burdens, and much more were revealed in the prayers she whispered to her Lord. The figurines over her dresser watched on with pity, and the divine hands that surely held her cheek were warm to the touch.

Truthfully, this and even less should have been enough for her. Surely— blasphemous to hear in her own mind— even a simple call to Rosaria would make everything alright.

Because, truthfully, she’d even be less of a wreck if it was her mother’s final words in the message instead.

Her pale eyes meet her sister's matching ones, facing the woman’s disturbed expression. 

“And you got this… yesterday?” The woman’s voice was low and cautious. But unlike Barbara, her brows were furrowed and calculating, "From dad’s phone?”

To Barbara, it felt as if the other was confirming frantic words from a child. To Barbara it felt like the *acting* Grand Commander of Favonius was verifying a far-fetched fairytale…

…Even so, it felt shameful to burden Dahlia and Rosaria with this. The boy knew very little of her relationship with her father, and probably wasn’t as close to Varka as she was. Maybe if Rosaria wasn’t busy, they’d share the pain of Varka together.

Hypocrisy by the one feigning "sincerity."

But it was always the golden child Jean Gunhilder who had a good head on her shoulders, so Barbara nodded along with the murky verbal tones, “I-It sounded like a snow storm. Is it Dragonspine? Or closer to Sneznaya maybe?”

She’s betting on the north.

Her pleas try their best to hold together, “If Varka sent this, then maybe he’s at least still out there.”

Correction— early at 9AM, Barbara had played Varka’s possible final words.

Meaning that gnat of a human being, that pestering-positive attitude, that man she never truly appreciated till she turned 15 could still be alive. Of course she’s aware of the situation, and even further aware of the mysteries—

to her only it seems—

oof their excursion to the snowy region. Yet Varka has a knack for sticking around despite the adversities. He’d even written a letter of recommendation for her nursing program right before he’d left— despite her not needing it for another two—

“If Varka’s still out there…” her older sister muttered to herself, “He would have used the emergency line…”

When’s the last time Barbara’s felt this feeling?

“Wh…why would you say that?” She stared up at her sister—frozen, “He obviously sounded hurt. M-Maybe his communications or whatever is just down.”

Varka’s careless. How many times has she overheard his advisors scold him for his untidy desk? For turning up late to a meeting?

“So what, we should leave him because of a mistake?” she continued, “A-And father is out there with him too.”

How could her sister know of their father as well as the daughter who lived with him?

“Why…why can’t we just look for them?” Barbara finished in a shaky tone, “We can’t just standby and do nothing…right?”

Barbatos teaches rebellion against unjust actions.

“Please don't say it as if I'm callous, Barbara.” Her sister grimaced at the vehement complaints. An un-painted hand holds her temple, as her eyes stay on the phone lying on the table, “I’m scared too. That's my dad out there as well, right?”

In a pessimistic tone again, but alright acting Grand Commander.

“There’s just procedures to go about this…interfering recklessly could jeopardize all they’d sought out to do. And besides, they still haven’t updated on their mission—”

…oh.

It’s like Barbara’s 13 all over again, “You know about what they’re doing?”

Her sister becomes a deer in headlights—horrifically clear confirmation, “I don’t— well, of course I know things…” Her eyes narrow to themselves, “Varka and dad’s mission up north three years ago, the purposefully secrecy and containment of their affairs…it’s just dangerous. We just get updates every month or so to stay remotely involved. But Barbara, this isn't a civil affair at all—”

“And now?”

“‘Now?’”

“How long has it been since they’d contacted? Or since you’d heard from them?”

“It’s every month or so, Barbara. This isn’t something we can—”

“How long has it been since you’d heard from Varka, Jean?!”

Both of the sisters know the younger would see through a lie.

Jean finally sighed aloud, “About three months.”

The frost from the voicemail returns.

Barbara chuckles, and her non-existent black eye shadow begins to run, “So they’d been lost for three months? And you did nothing?”

She knows she's being immature. She just can't reel herself in at this point.

Jean’s brows tightened, “This isn’t just a lost expedition, Barbara. Grand Commander Varka, and priest Seamus Pegg ventured out to better Mondstadt as a whole nation— ”

Why would Varka have to keep a secret like this? Why shouldn’t they try to figure it out? “What does that have to do with us? How does that deny us an explanation?!”

Time freezes.

“No…” Barbara’s eyes narrow at her sister, “It’s just me who doesn’t have an explanation. Again, right?”

Her black corset is tighter than ever.

“... It’s not simple, Barbara…” her sister’s tone lowers, “Their mission involves things outside our control, our conception—”

“That doesn't make any sense!” tears run down again, melting black mascara, “They could have been dead for months, Jean?”

How perfectly cruel! The voicemail must’ve finally sent itself three months late.

“They could be dead cause we couldn’t help them—?!”

“Please stop saying that!”

Eyes reddening, Barbara’s attention goes to Jean. Her perfect eyes are a mix of anger and fear, sternness and uncertainty.

“We did everything right, ok? Varka’s plans are risky and foolish but they’re his…” She’d brought a hand to her chest, “That’s how we respect him, ok? We follow through, we do our part. Because Varka was a good man, and his ideas had us all before himself.”  

Once, Varka let Barbara skip school so they could get to the aquarium together.

“You think he’s dead too… ” Her tears were hot with devastation, “How’re we gonna explain what happened to him? Let alone father? What would we write an eulogy on? Or should it just be on two shitty daughters who did nothing to help?”

Jean reached out, “We are helping, Barbara—”

“NO, WE’RE NOT, JEAN!” She slams her fits on the table.

She’s a disruptive teenager seeing red again.

“I…” Barbara swipes her phone off the table. “I’m sorry.”

Her name echoed as she rushed to the stairs. Worried and frantic, yet stabbing in her ears. She can only slam her door to escape the cacophony of that voice.

That perfect voice, now worried about someone like her.

Her bed welcomes her exhaustion, the girl wracked with pain from all angles. She stuffs her head into her pillow, even the sun seemingly against her.

Amidst the darkness ensuing her, her cheery ringtone plays.

“Dahlia?”

“Rosaria?

…

She’s 13, and drowning in a sea of anger. 

Of fear, of selfloathing, of anger.

She screams at the world through pranks and outbursts. She ignores the world by sneaking out and failing classes. It isn’t till her final years in high school that she’ll truly turn herself around, to build the version of herself that her brothers and sisters of the church look up to.

…

No,

It was truly befriending Varka, and meeting Rosaria towards the end of middle school that created “Barbara Pegg.”

Not father. Not church.

But how much has she changed to be acting like this? To break her promises to keep herself in check? To break her promises to contain loathing to her thoughts alone? To break her promises to no longer indiscriminately address the world as though she was born to drown in it? 

THE SUNKEN-WORLD FALLACY consumes her once more.

“Surely I've done right…right? I've treated the world fairly enough, and followed the rules as he saw fit.”

Which one does she call, “he” at this point?

“Yet it feels everything I've ever known is turning on me…it’s terrifying. No matter what drive I might have to address the unknown, even if her friendly hand came to my side to help…it’s cruel for familiarity to be ripped away like this—even if it might have never been there at all.”

Her metal ringtone echoes around her. It peels back the “pious” girl’s shell.

“And now I have this feeling in me—and if I'd told you about it, you’d look at me with pitiful kindness and forgive it.”

“But Dahlia…you’ve always looked a bit sadder since coming to Favionius.”

“And Rosaria…you’re truly terrified of me getting close to you. ”

“How lowly of me—a hypocrite allowing us to continue on hiding our true selves from each other.”

How could such a face reflect the Lord’s…

…

“Right…”

Beyond the dark sea is golden light carefully threaded across the world with meticulous design. Its warmth is crafted just as perfectly—like a pair of golden arms wrapping around her cold body.

Feathered wings huddle around the shattering girl, and a face of tranquil humility speaks in her own voice:

“God, the Lord, the Anemo Archon birthed in the heart of Mondstadt, is all around me…” Barbatos recites to her softly, “In the wind; in colors expanded by rays of sunlight; in the darkness ensnaring my family tree...”

His eyes gleam like golden apples.

Tears float off of her, her blue eyes gazing up at her Lord, his smile stalwart and true. The memorized hymns of old become the ringtone playing around them— the 13 year old in her Lord’s embrace.

“Barbatos teaches freedom and expression,” the words echo in her mind as she looks up into the perfect eyes, “Barbatos teaches unity and love. And…”

The Lord runs a hand through her hair as if it were a lyre string. 

“Barbatos teaches forgiveness and truth. Of cooperation and hope.”

Truthfully, Barbara is lost. 

Truthfully, Barbara is afraid.

But these things don't matter in the perfect ideals of the Lord. For through true freedom of the mind and innerself, one shall find the freedom to face grievances as they come.

“Dahlia…Rosaria… I’m—”

“...To say? What do you want to do?” Barbatos smiles down at her, “Child, what do you want—”

Her eyes snapped open to near darkness, long hours later.

“Tuesday, 6:55PM” her phone read. Above a shuffled picture to the statue of Barbatos she took while at church camp in Port Dorman, are missed calls upon texts from Dahlia.

None from Rosaria.

She whispered to herself with squinting eyes, “...I just hope they’re OK.” Barbara’s eyes softened as she opened the messages, reading them one by one. The latest one from Dahlia is of him offering space to work things out.

Would he say the same if he knew? Would he assume she’d work it out just as she’d assumed of him?

…

So Barbara rolls out of bed, and changes her shirt stained with tears. 

She wants to talk.

She grabs her old fencing duffel bag from the closet, and stuffs it with night gowns, dresses, and cardigans.

She wants to talk for hours. Not just with anyone…

She stares down at the varsity jacket, strewn across her desk.

It was a gift from her sister from the day Barbara moved in with her. The older women had fueled every thread of it with stories of her days at Windrise University, how mother had to sew it back together after she ruined it during their impromptu fencing match.

That jacket represented the family she wished to have with her sister.

…Yet now, all Barbara can think of is their further strained dynamic.

I want to talk to my friends about this. 

Because truthfully, Barbara is lost despite knowing what bus to get on for the two hour drive.

Because truthfully, Barbara is afraid despite being familiar with Favonius’ city—the true home she’d grown up in till her father and Seamus left.

But she’d met Dahlia at church camp, and Rosaria while made to “quiet down” in a confessional. They laugh and hang out nearly everyday in the cathedral’s walls, and (⅔ of them) hold Barbatos with reverence.

Barbatos, who preaches kindness, honesty, and freedom.

So truthfully, Barbara will apologize to Dahlia at his apartment for not asking how he feels about the city.

So truthfully, Barbara will hug Rosaria when she gets the chance— as tight as the rambunctious outgoing goth would do with her quiet, nerdy friend.

It’ll extend the sadness to minutes…hours… days…

But it’s sadness Barbara will embrace with a smile—the true kindness of the Lord she’ll find in her heart. 

…

The door was already unlocked. Why is she punished for attentively locking it?

The kitchen and dining table was a mess from dishes. Why is she punished for tidying up?

Rosaria, busy with her own affairs, had cryptically told her she’d be unavailable. 

Rosaria, sweet, shy, and honest never lies. 

…

So why is she punished to see her two friends, one who should have been “MIA” for days, walk in with one another, laughing as if they had a great day?

Chapter Text

It quietly begins to rain.

“But… Rosaria…” Barbara mumbles. Eyes shaky and wide, they pierce the other women. “You said you’d be gone for a few days doing…” A single tear falls. “Actually… What are you doing? You never explain yourself when I ask…but here you are.”

“...Hh…” Neither friend has ever seen Rosaria look so petrified.

“B-Barbara…” Dahlia redirects. His eyes go to the pale-blue duffel bag on his couch. “Did you… come to stay for the night?” His tone lowers. “Is your sister uhm… gonna be away for a few days…?”

Barbara’s eyes widen to themselves for a split second—uneasiness quickly subdued. “Y-yeah! She’s just so much busier with…” She twists her blouse’s hem. “Honestly everything feels like it’s moving so fast in our house… how everything could change in a matter of—”

Barbara snaps her head up at her pink-haired friend, tears in her eyes. “I want us to start being a bit more honest with each other… ok, Dahlia?”

“Barbara…”

The rain patters beyond the apartment’s bright lights, rejuvenating the world after the hot summer day. The water slicks down the apartment window, the glass preventing any from getting inside.

Dahlia looks back to Rosaria, the woman’s hands clenched at her sides. Her magenta eyes, wide and shaky, stick to Barbara.

Dahlia turns back to Barbara, and reaches out to his tear-streaked friend. He gives all the comfort he can muster, hoping to mask his hesitancy:

“It’s really—”

“—Love will be as pure as how it flows through~

“Just as soft bree-zes, be gentle yet true~

“May archon bring warm winds, and as we shall pray~

“Show friends sincere kindness, let love lead~ the way~!”

The children clap to the end of Venti’s song, their giggles and cheers echoing across the cathedral one morning. Sunlight basking the group, Venti smiles, and takes a bow with his guitar, sitting atop the cathedral’s altar.

The boy’s voice is soft, yet echoes across the cathedral, “Barbatos may bless us with summer winds, but us children of the Lord can bless each other with acts of service, good deeds, and kindness.” He smiles fondly. “As long as we are honest to ourselves and each other, even the soft breezes can become stronger winds down the line.”

The children smile with agreement, with some even cheering on song lyrics. However, a small boy in the middle holds his hand up, bright eyes full of curiosity.

“But Venti,” the child brings up, “my mommy said Barbatos wants us to always be happy and nice to each other. What if you’re not happy? Does that mean you can't be nice?”

“O-or!” Another girl raises a hand. “Is my daddy always happy? Is that why he’s always so nice?”

New exchange breezes across the group—questions and assumptions sent flying over everyone’s head. Venti sits at the altar, plainly blinking at the new questions.

“Hm…” Venti hums to himself dramatically. He points a finger into the air while he scrunches his brows. “Barbatos wants us to be happy… but Barbatos also thinks we should stay honest.”

Venti smirks at the group. “It’s important to show kindness to others. However, you must be gentle to those around you and yourself. It’s good to be happy of course, but you should always be true to your own feelings.”

“What if you’re MAD?!” a child growls. It elicits giggles from the group, even the guitarist chuckling at the commotion.

Venti reset his guitar, bringing his fingers back to the strings. “It’s good to be mad too! Surely Barbatos wants us all to show how we truly feel as often as possible.”

He strums a note, the music weaving through the atmosphere, "Unadulterated emotion—true freedom begins with oneself~ Let’s sing another song then— a tune to the free spirits of humanity! ”

A sharp clap echoes across the room. “What do you mean, ‘NOTHING?!’”

And a clap sweeps the skies around it, the forecasted storm beginning to shadow the city. Though, none of them paid mind to it… let alone bother to read the forecast.

“I’m not… STUPID!” Barbara’s hyperventilating, and her hand stings. “I’m not… SOFT… I—”

And Dahlia stares on, eyes wide, and a hand at his reddened cheek. “How dare you… you…” Her eyes pierce Dahlia. “I’m not an ASSHOLE, DAHLIA! I actually care a lot about things… not everything is a freaking JOKE!” She covers her face with her hands. “Some of us actually care about things… like I care about you…! Why can’t you ever just trust me…? Why are you so SELFISH…?!”

Something breaks in Dahlia. “...Joke?” The boy’s eyes widen a bit, a smile shaking. “Trust…?”

For a split second, to Rosaria, it looks as if Dahlia might cry. The tall woman finally shifts her expression, and turns to Rosaria with uncertainty. He holds herself tight by her arms. “Dahlia—”

“If you don’t know anything,” the boy calmly says, stepping towards Barbara, “ It’s not ‘cause I don't trust you…haha— It’s cause it might be none of your fucking buisness.”

His heart is pounding in his own chest. His breath quickens a bit, the daggers in his quiet words truly emulating the Lord. “Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you’ve never had a bad day in your life. I wonder how good it must be, if not texting you for an archon-damned day is the worst that can happen to you.”

Dahlia’s eyes are wide, yet piercing. “If I had died today, would you be as self-centered as to call it ghosting you?”

10:29…

10:30 PM strikes. The Barbatos figurine on the front bookshelf begins to play a preset lullaby across the room.

And now a rush of queasiness washes over Rosaria. “...Ah…” The cacophony of music, arguments, and rain unravels her brain—small and unsettled as she holds herself, pressing against the door.

The music spins hymns of mediation and understanding— praises to the glorious virtues of humanity. 

Rosaria watches her friends tear at each other.

“You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

Sister Victoria says this to Venti one morning. 

Sister Annette had brought the remaining children to the choir room for practice, while the others had gone home with their friends and parents for the afternoon.

The brunette in black smirks at him. “Honestly, you might make a better sister of the church—bringing unity wherever you go.”

“Me? Dolled up as a pretty little nun…” Venti’s braids sway as he humors her. “I never took you as one light enough to make such a joke. You come across as put together when it comes to anything concerning our lord and savior.”

“...So what do you call your own actions?” The women’s eyes go to the cathedral’s altar. “Intereptating ancient texts as irreverent? Sanitizing them in carefree songs as trivializing?” The woman slightly turns her head. “Pardon me for looking into things too deeply, however, that too is a practice encouraged by the Lord.”

“You don’t seem too troubled by it.”

Venti falls silent to her words, his smile small and conflicted. In moments he chooses to laugh at her words, the thing curling wider—a tad biting.

 “‘Barbatos’ in all sincerity is just humanity’s carefully-tuned idealized hope of a guide. Who am I— a stray leaf passing through —to interrupt such a wondrous world? To insert my own inconsequential musings into a well established code?

“Or really, insert myself into mortal affairs that have nothing to do with my existence?" Venti blinks at the altar. “Yet even so…”

Rosaria grasps Barbara’s wrist.

The boy and girl stop yelling at each other, and their eyes go up to the woman, nearly standing between them. Her jean jacket wrapped at her waist is loose.

Dahlia takes a bit of a step back. “R-Rosaria?”

And Barbara looks up to meet her friend. “What’s gotten into—”

The woman’s eyes are wide, yet pleading. They’re frozen-cold—yet spilling eulogies of desperate attempts at ceasefire. Her hands are ice cold, sending shivers down the blonde’s body. 

Barbara gets lost in the murky magenta hues, still as Rosaria’s other hand interlaces with her friend. More biting frost races across Barbara’s body, yet Rosaria stares at her like an unsure child—with no words to say. 

“I…” Barbara’s brows furrow fearfully “I was just mad, and scared. You’re scared about something too… right? Rosaria… Please…” She pries her best friend off of her. “Please don't look at me like that too…!”

The thunder booms once more.

Dahlia quickly reties Rosaria’s jacket before it falls. It’s enough time for Barbara to grab her duffle bag. “B-Barbara wait—” 

She accidentally bumps into him, and Dahlia flinches—one hand over his face, and the other over Rosaria’s stomach.

Barbara’s eyes pool with tears, her heart shattering like ice as she grips the duffle bag tighter. “I really hope things get better for you two— I do. I…” Her eyes sparkle with tears. “You’re so right, Dahlia. I don't understand anything… and I might even want it to be that way, right? ”

“That’s not…” Dahlia’s own hand lowers, eyes quivering and conflicted, “S-Sometimes it’s OK to…” His hand goes up to his cheek, throbbing at the slight touch, “I… I’m not usually mean like this, am I?”

The archon hymns finally end.

“... I too find myself lost in the glorious meddlesome world. A passerby by creation, mingling and pondering with man is at least a way to pass the time.”

“That sounds quite sad…” Victoria’s gaze shifts a bit, her eyes studying Venti further. “Those poor kids being led to express themselves… while their emotions and feelings are trivialized by their god.”

“That’s the point, no?” He cocks his head at the sister of the church. “The archon of freedom is humanity’s pedestal in the world beyond, yet at the end of the day a mere reflection of its values and history.”

The boy’s eyes soften. “Then there’s me who doesn't care to act as such—yet Barbatos is all I know. It’s been so long that we’ve become a reflection of the believer themself.”

He turns back to the altar. “And what of it—where else did we learn to ‘be?’”

‘Hypocrite, hypocrite, HYPOCRITE—!”

Barbara flies down the apartment’s stairs.

‘Useless, useless, USELESS—!’

She throws open the apartment building’s doors and almost immediately gets drenched in the rain. Her bangs tosle and bounces. Her bag crashes into her side over and over as she runs aimlessly.

Lighting crashes in the sky above, flighting her camouflaged tears for a momentary flash.

Barbara bumps into something, and falls back onto the pooling ground.

Her hair is stuck to her face, a thick bundle of her left pigtail stuck over her eyes. Slowly, while also wiping some rain water from her face, she pushes her hair back, and looks up at the figure before her. 

The sky disappears behind a jet-black umbrella, and the darkness almost shields his darker-than-Dahlia’s purple eyes. “Barbara?”

Albert’s umbrella shields the two from the pouring rain. The shaking girl looks up to her newbie coworker. “Albert? W-What’re… you doing here?”

He nods to Dahlia’s apartment building. “I live in the complex over there. Just came back from my night-assembly… haha…” His eyes glint a bit as they go back to Barbara. “Hey… I don’t mean to overstep… but is everything alright?”

The winds slow as the strom begins to move elsewhere. Once violent and aggressive torrents, the rain comes down as a heavy downpour. It allows the chance for street signs and flags to finally fall, and for the rest of the world to soak in the rain.

Albert is on the ground in front of Barbara, the umbrella shielding them from the downpour. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Barbara. I can’t imagine what you’re going through…”

The blonde clutches her duffle bag, her chest swollen from the tears. She nods through the heaves, gem-like tears flashing in the dark. “Thank you…”

The ripples in the puddles shorten more and more. The storm clouds are traveling out of Favonius. 

“I know I hardly know you.” Albert’s eyes are low and soft. “But… I'm happy to comfort you anyway I can. You live in Windrise, right? Should I drive you home?”

“No!” Barbara’s eyes widen, her grip on her bag tightens. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to yell… but…” Her tone lowers to a wobbly plea, “I don’t think I can go back there… not now at least. B-But I don't think I can go back to my friends either. I… I don't know what to do—”

Albert puts his hand over hers. 

“We can do anything you want.” Albert quietly smiles. “Anything you feel is right to you.”

The Church of Favonius is less than an hour away by foot. The Lord’s teaching of Honesty and Freedom plastered across the walls.

“I want…” Barbara wipes her eyes, their pale blue hues stiffening up in the dark. “I want the truth.”

Albert smiles, his grip on her hand strong. “Alright then.”

“Alright then,” Sister Victoria sighed. She dusts off her black tunic, and begins to walk off towards a set of church doors. “A musician is seemingly historically accurate for you anyways.”

Venti snaps away from his thoughts, teal eyes going to the women, “Hm? You were serious about making me a nun?”

“Of course not…” She pauses, her back still to Venti. “... It’s as you said, right? Our ways are a bit too put-together for a carefree spirit as yourself… you wouldn't want to be there. Despite my wishes to get you a few good friends…”

Victoria turns to Barbatos, a mischievous smile on her lips. “But as humanity’s reflection of freedom, what you want should come before my own wishes, yeah?”

What I want?

“And on the subject of such…” Victoria continues on her way. “Do reflect on the church’s moral teachings, and try to get along with your siblings.”

Venti perks up then, his braids bouncing too high. He turns back to Victoria, then past her to the back rows shadowed in darkness. 

A blonde man with eyes as teal as his stares back at him.

Chapter Text

The moonlight reveals millions of dust strands dancing in the air. Aimlessly and meaninglessly, twirling in circles, and gazed down by a cold, lifeless moon.

The priest’s side of the confessional is occupied—the moon having come down to earth. He still smells like rain water and pine trees, of carcasses and other worldly decay.

Venti smiles, his ears catching wind of the Cathedral’s doors opening to the outside.

“So you came after all~”

Shoes click across the cathedral’s polished floors. The air shifts amongst the visitor's wake. The oak wood doors of the confessional open and shut, and the figure sits in the confessor’s side of the booth.

The wind howls outside the cathedral walls housing two confessors.

 Venti leans back on the wood, “It’s a bit of a miracle you came at all, that you heard me at all. That we know each other at all…”

The trees rustle and stir—soft winds after the harsh storms of earlier.

“Granted I get a bit… uhm, jumpy when I'm wasted…haha…

“And granted, this confessional stall is my usual stop when it happens…” Venti’s voice drops, “Ok maybe I end up here every single time but who really needs to know…”

Sticks and leaves lie about on the patio outside. Birds all around come to repair their nests.

He blinks up at the confessional’s ceiling. “But… you still heard me, remembered me and my… nonsensical self loathing… 

“That’s just amazing to me. You’re truly amazing to me.

“...”

Venti traces his fingers at the top of the confessional’s wood ceilings. They trickle softly with his anemo powers, his teal eyes dimly staring up at the wood.

“... I'm flattered that you all think so highly of me at all, y’know.”

“So highly, you see my minor doings as ‘blessings’ upon man, and Heaven’s earth.”

Venti’s eyes soften. “... I've really only used my gnosis a handful of times, and every instance I utilized that chess piece was seen as the greatest showings of my power…”

Venti’d spent an entire decade in Mondstadt’s library a century ago, baffled by the artistry and poems of his insignificance.

“Yet only the origin of this very confessional’s wood holds my interest. Right in the middle of present-day Favonius millennias ago—the tree I used to live in upon evolving to human form.”

The birds return to their shattered nests. They huddle with their companions and offspring, taking shelter for the night.

“Maybe it was an accident.” Venti’s hand lowers, his eyes going back to the floor of the confessional. “Maybe I purposely allowed time to forever freeze for this piece of nature. Hah, the thousand winds know I'm not complaining about it atleast… ”

His eyes soften. “It simply reminds me of…”

“...

In the cathedral filled with faceless images, their homage chuckles to himself. At himself. Surrounded by himself.

“Anemos was Anemos.

“Vanesa was Vanesa.

“The faces and names of everyone who’s ever believed in me should be their own—unshackled from grandiose obsession and comparison by divine mourning.”

The moonlight—uncovered more and more by the clouds, dances across the images occasionally.

“Assessment of my fairness in morals… or, my self-coping to my divine narcissism and inherent objectifying tendencies, fall flat once again.

“It’d be easier to be naive. I wish I could've never been exposed to my heartless tendencies, and simply assumed my own humbleness.

“...Or outright accept my awful being, and deal away with the hassle right upon birth.

“...

“But…

“Anemos exposed me,

“Vanesa left me vulnerable,

“All by simply believing in my inherent goodness… and seeing my life worth more than mitigation and sacrifice…

“Wholey and purely this ugly being was tasked to live by blissful humanity.

“Vulnerable and exposed, yet bored of all the lavish praise bestowed.

His smile softens.

“But now you—Dahlia-who-is-Dahlia…

“Centuries past my prime, and centuries past my praise-worthy nature, you heard me, stayed long enough for this side of me to be exposed and vulnerable, and wholey and purely saw my ugliness revealed.

“Witness… in this era where once again, my own actions and existence seemingly make the world a more troubled place.” 

“...

“How nosey.

“Yet… it makes a blemish like me feel all the less lonely after all this time.”

Winds quietly surge, and the waltz of the dust strands pause in the Lord of the Wind’s wake.

“Uhm…not to interrupt God's poetic musings…

“But surely you realize it’s not Dahlia listening to you right now.”

It’s as if a deadbird drops in Venti’s stomach, and his smile disappears as if it’s never been there at all.

“Kriediperez” tucks in a lock of blond hair behind his ear. After relacing his fingers, he leans back into the confessional’s grille, teal eyes softly glowing. “Though I suppose I am a bit early. Forgive my excitement.”

The Anemo Archon quietly collects himself, and adjusts himself in his seat. He laces his own fingers, and sits back into the seat.

Albedo’s tone is calm and collected.

While cheeriness in Venti’s peels off cleanly— like a toy mask. “It’s called a confessional, Albedo. It’s the type of pass time one enjoys in a state of crisis and distress.”

The other’s eyes quietly go behind him. “The Anemo Archon, then, is currently in crisis?”

Venti shuts his. "Deities were born to be interpreted… I guess.”

The atmosphere stands still.

The air, the dust, even the strands of light. What’s left in motion are faint particles of anemo floating about the cathedral. All the world takes repose to the divine confessional. 

Albedo’s eyes are still amidst the flashy show of power. “That windstorm you sent through my residence last hour was an interesting invitation. I was in disarray— wondering whether to repair my home, or make haste to your vehement beckoning…”

In his lap sits a matted carnival-chimera. “But those are the least of my concerns considering you’ve figured out my little ruse.”

Venti’s powers cross for miles. Surely if Dahlia’s home, he’d too be a statue in God’s frozen time—none the wiser to the divine hand over the city at play.

“Consider my informality to be the opposite.” Venti crosses his arms, words steady yet biting. “It’s the type of ‘goodwill’ your mother would fiercely enjoy, and the type of welcoming that’d do well for your boring existence.”

Albedo slightly shifts.

Venti’s eyes flash. “But you’re right to be cautious towards the nature of this confession. It’s humorous—a simple trick turned into a bold challenge to the world itself.”

“...I really do like your songs…”

Albedo plays with the stuffed animal’s rope-like hair. “...I normally ask for permission before I do such things. We’ve done so well getting out of each other's ways… So accept my sincerity when I'm sorry for breaking our quietude…"

He blinks behind him, teal eyes glowing. “But you too understand your own detachment, yes? How carelessly you treat your items and status? How the existence of your current face at all is—”

Albedo hesitates, tugging at a rag-hair. “Now I'm speaking out of turn—apologies. It just didn’t seem that you’d care if I crafted a fake. You lost to me in a drinking game after all, and in turn lent your gnosis for me to do God-knows-what…”

“...

“… continuing on~” Venti’s voice raises sarcastically. “Riftwolves are scary enough~ What will curious-little Albedo do next?”

“...It’s not good to reveal secrets to omnipotent eyes…or ears.” Albedo’s eyes go to the darkness of the confessional. “Additionally, should you feel my intentions are threatening… you might dispose of me.” 

“Disregarding our current dilemma, what makes you think I’d bother myself to do that? I’ve been kind enough to not bother you before.”

“It’s impolite to use kindness as a pass to be nosey. And kindness is the last thing I'd describe—”

Albedo cuts himself off, and brings a gloved hand to his chest. His breath is soft— yet hurried with slight distress. Tense as cornered prey, he collects himself amidst the Anemo Archons’s prying taunts.

“I…am flattered you’ve found motivation to care for the risks of my doings…” Albedo replies quietly, “It’s been many a century since I’ve seen God hang his wings out under hatchet.”

“Everyone is under hatchet—the blade gleaming with heaven’s light.” Venti’s tone lowers. “Simply very few of us know it.

“The question however, is who will cause it to drop…” Venti’s eyes widen slightly. “Because as Rhinedottir’s child… It’s plain as day to me that addressing the calamity isn’t your concern. Despite, I may add, the foolishness that comes with mimicking a shade’s divine right by means of a gnosis.”

Albedo’s eyes are soft under God’s weight, “… You’re not aware of how I… supposedly abuse that right.”

Venti blinks. “Knowing that eases you, doesn't it?” Venti plays with his own braids. “We’ve never fought before, but you’re afraid of what’s to come once I figure it out. Or once Rosaria finds out at least."

“It’s intimidating, yes…” Albedo blinks, his teal eyes dim. “But we both are somewhat branches of Time, and intimately attuned to the concept of ‘Fate.’ Everything is set in stone, and the verdict of my actions will surely be just in your light…”

His eyes go behind him, “Unless of course, you know of a way to change fate? That would explain your aversion to gazing upon your mother for all these years…”

A second of real-time passes, and the anemo particles begin to rupture.

Albedo steps out of the booth first—holding the stuffed animal by its nape. “My mother would describe confessions with you as insightful and curious. Needless to say, I've also enjoyed my time here…” his eyes flash at the exploding anemo particles, “Despite our fates heading towards conflict with one another.”

“Hey… I just noticed…” Venti rebraids his hair. “You never address me by my name… let alone by my kinder titles.”

“No, I dont…” Albedo pauses, his back to the confessional. “...

“...It’s by your mercy and grace I'm alive after all. Respect and reverence should be given where it’s due.”

Venti’s eyes lower. “You don’t actually believe the ghost stories meant to scare children, do you?”

Albedo pauses.

Then his eyes lighten, as he begins to walk to the exit with a small chuckle. “You mistook me for a mere human. Surely we both have our own issues to work out.”

Albedo soon disappears from the cathedral hall.

So Venti, the sole confessor in the cathedral once more, finally steps out into the moonlight. Soft colors reflect on him, and anemo dances around its Lord. 

Venti gazes at the confessor's stall—once belonging to the half-member of the thousand winds.

“...

“You’re shaking. I feel the shift in the air currents.”

Especially so, considering it too is supposed to be frozen in time.

“To be so bold as to tease someone you call ‘God.’” Venti’s eyes fixate on the open confessor’s booth, slowly lighting up. “Yet Dahlia does the same, and that’s his charm.”

…

But to give Albedo credit where it’s due…

***

“We need to talk about Dahlia…” Rosaria had said to Venti earlier at the warehouse, “I can’t sense him.”

The night was grimly lit, with the sounds of rustling trees and Dahlia’s searching filling the atmosphere. 

“Well of course you couldn’t.” Venti cooly shrugged. “You were too busy trying not to get torn to pieces.” His teal eyes went to the hand over Rosaria’s gut, “...You didn’t do so well at that either.”

But Rosaria didn’t stumble over the jab. “No, I'm serious.” Her brows knitted—a mix of apprehension and frustration. “Listen, I didn’t know he was at the warehouse tonight. I should've been able to know he was here since the moment he walked in. I… shouldn't have been caught off guard by you being there either.”

Her eyes lowered. “I sensed you, and you, alone, Barbatos . You knew I couldn't prepare for him — that’s why you baited me with Dahlia like that. You knew I would react despite not knowing what to do… aka, you used his lack of presence against me.”

Venti’s eyes lowered to himself, taking in her words.

“A-And you saw the riftwolves, too!” Rosaria pointed up to the sky. “They were drawn to us and the gnosis, yeah… but they should’ve killed him for even being in the way— not let him get away with riding one . It’s like they didn’t even see him… it’s like…” Rosaria’s tone lowers, “Like he doesn’t exist to bodies like us…”

Venti looked past her, arms crossed. “I don’t think Dahlia’s a figment of our imagination, Rosaria.”

“You know what I mean,” Rosaria’s eyes narrowed. “I can pinpoint exactly where Barbara is on her campus when I pick her up. I can estimate every human in a room just by walking in.

“But Dahlia? Focusing on him for as long as I have to makes the whole world disappear. It’s fucking annoying… but I thought it was just Dahlia. If Barbara wasn’t his friend to begin with, there’s no way I'd allow the chance for us to become friends.”

Venti nearly choked on his apple early that morning, not even sensing the stir in the human’s breath when he woke up. Startled and quickly recollecting himself, he thought he might fall out of his chair.

“And you being so nonchalant about it makes me mad.” Rosaria fumed, “If I didn’t know any better, I'd say you’ve dealt with this kind of phenomenon before…”

***

“Mm…”

The second second passes—releasing time from Barbatos’s short hold.

And at the same time, the confessor's side of the booth is torn to pieces, sharp winds thrashing at all angles. They leave nothing behind, and their master watches on idle.

His braids glow and curl around him. “You're as cocky as your mother, Albedo. Sneaky and charismatic as ever.”

Venti’s eyes are soft and aimless, Nihilistic nothingness in his eyes.

The moon light baths the thousand year deity.

“I, who’d doomed the world and hid from consequences….

“I, who’d yearned for selfish demise at the cost of countless…

“I, whose reawakening returned the age-old Obsolete(The Calamity, The Doomsday)—that brought the cities of old asunder…”

A smile finally comes to his lips, soft with bashful flattery.

“Hark…” Venti commends, his eyes and braids coming down to a softer hue. “Cometh praise and fortune for thou who’d believe in a troublesome god like me.”

***

<~ link to part 2 ~> 

Chapter Text

HIIII HERES PRT 2 ~ NO SCHEDULE AS USUAL <3 ENJOY