Gives Venti a big hug. You smell like apples wind and a certain dragon friend of yours.
"Huh... I don't recall visiting Dvalin recently," he mentions, tapping at his chin, curiosity brimming. "Huh. Unless..."
Lifting his cap and shaking his head, sure enough, a long, blue feather comes cascading out of it, swinging back and forth as it gently floats to the ground.
He catches it between his fingers before it can even graze the blades of grass.
"Aha! It seems he visited me while I was taking my daily nap! Well played, Dvalin. Well played."
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(I've always assumed this was meant for the memory ask game due to the time it was submitted, but my apologies if it wasn't! I hope this is still enjoyable to someone)
"I've got a great many memories with him, though there is no other way to describe the time we spent together as anything but brief."
Yes, perhaps 'bittersweet' is the best word available to pin more delicate than a tattered ribbon onto any memory Venti holds of the nameless bard. None are wholly good because they all must end. There is only so much they could've done with the time they were granted, after all. And yet none are wholly bad either due to the kind of person the nameless bard was.
Even in death... even as he muttered his final words, they were sweeter than any apple.
And yet bitter like a granny smith too.
Fly, fly away.
Like a bird in the sky.
See the world on my behalf...
To the heavens may you fly...
Venti will never forget them, pondering them often, wondering if taking this form was what the bard would have wanted for him. In a way, this body serves as its own kind of prison, shackling his very spirit to the grief he'll always carry.
And yet, it is also its own kind of liberation.
Freedom.
Who else could represent such a concept?
"Ahhh, but I must have you know that he was not nameless," Venti says with a knowing smile. "And it is a name you know very well which he once carried."
Hello writer!! I saw that you were taking requests for good memories and bad memories of (word). So forgive me because I am feeling angsty but can I get both a good memory and a bad memory for the word secret/secrets? I will leave it to you to make me cry and laugh at the same time 👌☺️ (Just kidding unless you want to 👀). I hope you have a wonderful day and that life treats you well! See ya around 👋!!!
(ah, I missed you, anon! I'm not sure if you'll ever see this since it's been so long, but if you do, I hope you enjoy! It's kind of a long one!)
"It will be our little secret, then."
That's what the bard had said once upon a time under the shade of a stout oak with a finger to his lips, his feet dipped in the water of a nearby pond where he'd often go to leisurely strum his lyre.
It was the boy's favorite spot—the only place he really felt he could escape from it all in this petite little nation, sealed off by the wind.
Every smile he graced his people with was honest; genuine. And yet only here where the fireflies dance and the water reverberates his songs right back at him did his joy truly glimmer.
To think the little spirit was the boy's only witness.
"And once the revolution has ceased and we're all free to go where we've always pleased, we'll share with them this gift at a most extravagant feast!"
****
Barbatos stares at the feather cupped within his newfound hands, its edges appearing to have been tipped in blood.
How is he meant to show this to them all when the one who wished to see it most is—
"Dead," says a rather gruff voice tinged with disbelief. "You're supposed to be dead."
Barbatos twists around slowly, careful not to lose his balance. It is an odd thing, standing on your own two feet when all you've ever known is how to float.
"Sir Ragnvindr!" He calls cheerfully, putting his arms behind his back and giving a clumsy little bow. "How pleasant to make your acquaintance once more!"
"Inconceivable..." the redhead—Sir Ragnvindr—mutters, his voice a tad thin as it splinters at the ends with barely-contained anger and grief. "Just who are you, anyway?"
"Why, I'm your trusty bard and friend—"
But right as Barbatos takes a necessary breath in order to say his bard's name, he's unkindly interrupted.
"Don't," Sir Ragnvindr snarls. "Don't... say his name." He pauses, his mouth drawn up into a tight frown before he finds the will to speak with the same conviction once more. "I don't know who or what you are, but you certainly aren't him."
Barbatos feels his insides shrivel as those words echo within this new, hollow vessel of his, cutting deep into the skin he's only just donned. He hasn't had time to let it thicken against pointed phrases like this.
I don't know who or what you are...
But as an elemental being born from a single shred of the thousand winds, he supposes he's never needed such a thing as skin before. He certainly can't allow it to hinder him now, even if the melody has been harshly ripped from the song that is his life and left it sounding empty. He as the harmony must rewrite that melody and carry on.
"And why can't I be him?" He asks somewhat coyly, taking an experimental step forward.
"Because he—" At last, Sir Ragnvindr's voice wavers. Wavers and cracks under the weight of watching the most stubborn boy he ever had the displeasure of meeting take his final breath.
"You died," he corrects with a shuddering breath. "I watched it happen with my own two eyes. I etched your final words into my memory, into my heart itself, but I—"
The man clutches at his chest as if to say it should've been me.
"I can't see the world on your behalf," he finishes, the grip on his shirt tightening as if trying to wrench his own heart out of his chest. "N-not... not when you were so young."
You and I both, the spirit silently agrees. You and I both.
With that, Sir Ragnvindr glances around, clearly searching for something familiar. "Wh-where...?" He stutters out, looking around more rapidly by the second. "If you're really him, where is that bumbling pixie that always followed you around, huh?"
First of all, rude.
Second of all...
To think the spirit was that integral to the bard's life that its absence makes those who knew said bard feel incomplete...
It's sweet in the saltiest way, like seawater might taste to a man dying of thirst.
But if that man has never known the difference...
"That spirit," Barbatos starts slowly with a gentle yet sorrowful smile. "Gave its very life so that I might live on. Its power combined with that of the fallen god was enough to resurrect me."
And if Sir Ragnvindr was reluctant for even a moment, it all dissipates into a cloud of fluff whenever Barbatos reveals the feather hidden behind his back.
"It gave me this in its final moments—a surprise it brought for us all whenever we achieved victory at last."
Sir Ragnvindr's face crumples after that as he looks to the clear blue sky with shining red eyes. He closes the distance between them as he pulls the bard into a hug, not knowing it was all a lie from the start.
And the feather slips through Venti's fingers, flying off with the wind like a secret better left untold.
Venti!!! I always wanted to hear a song from you, may i please hear a tune? Pleaseeeee :))
(Venti blogs, i love them sm <333)
(hehe ty <333)
"Of course you may! Just don't pick anything I don't know! Ehehe, just kidding! There isn't a single song in all of Teyvat that I don't know how to sing or play."
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Venti venti, venti venti! Do you know what’s currently living in my head rent free… other than you? The Oratrice Mecanique d’Analyse Cardinale ✨😁 No escape.
"Dearest Shy Shy....."
For once, Venti looks... disappointed?
"I think you mean the 🕺 Oratrice 💃 Mecanique 🕺 d'Analyse 💃 Cardinale!"
Yes we should. We should also bring him something tasty to eat.
"Hmmm... Well you already know what I'd like to bring, but Dvalin's not a big fan of apples. So what does that leave us?"
For several moments, Venti ponders his options until...
"I've got it!" He exclaims. "Maybe we could trouble the Acting Grand Master to make one of her signature pizzas for him? Only... jumbo sized, of course. Ehehe. I could even help her make it!"
For the love of Barbatos, please don't try to help her make it, Venti—
