" who am i to you? " / lohen!

BEING BACK HOME HAS TAKEN SOME TIME TO ADJUST TO. Not only is Mondstadt warmer and more welcoming than Nod-Krai, but the thrill of a good fight being merely a short walk away from camp is also gone. Restless energy hasn't stopped coursing through his body since returning, a need to get his hands on something and tear it apart, destroy it until there's nothing left, perpetually burning in his very soul. Sure, he hasn't been back since years ago, since Varka had to vouch for him to join the expedition on top of him signing up on his own, and he's glad to be back, but... It's so dull having nothing to do -- the slimes wandering the plains barely pack a punch, the 'churls have such predictable fighting styles, and the odd ruin guard that does nothing, but spin around akin to a giant toy. So bored is he, in fact, that he's been taking commissions from the Adventurers' Guild to pass the time. After all, Aether always seems to get caught up in the strangest of adventures whenever he does it, maybe Lohen will get something exciting as well.

No. Not at all. If anything, he appears to be stuck doing menial tasks around the city and in its immediate vicinity, such as getting rid of hilichurl camps he already took care of, delivering and collecting various items, cleaning the Statue of the Seven at Windrise. Eh, better than sitting and doing nothing.

Perched atop the Cryo platform he's made, abyss gaze finds itself wandering towards the statue, towards the featureless face somehow still giving off the image of gentle contemplation. ❝ Your face is literally plastered all over Mondstadt, including that statue before the church, and yet the majority still acts as if you're absent. Truly fascinating to see that things haven't changed since the expedition for Nod-Krai started. ❞ what was it? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Somehow, despite not being present in hundreds of years at this point, Barbatos has something akin to a cult following. The irony isn't lost on him. ❝ Whether present or asleep, it doesn't make a difference, does it? ❞ 

Eyes narrow briefly; ❝ Tch. The fact that people continue to pray to an Archon who did nothing, but let humans trample over each other's freedom makes me barf. ❞ though his name has long been forgotten, Lohen still remembers all the dirty looks he was given, the whispers behind his back, the outright denial of him doing anything for himself, and not ending up dead in a ditch somewhere. Becoming an adventurer gave him somewhat of a way out and a reason not to be back in the city for longer than necessary. ❝ Oh, benevolent Anemo Archon, where is the freedom of choice when your only option is being ostracized for things out of your control? ❞ annoyed and bitter, ice extending from the platform towards the statue in sharp arcs. It doesn't touch the pristine marble, but it comes so, so close to doing it. It shatters a moment later and falls on the grass to melt and be absorbed until every trace is gone.

But trying to talk to a god that never showed his face in so long is pointless, isn't it? Not that Lohen was ever a devout believer, just one of the many crimes he's committed simply by existing. So he shifts in place, pulls his shoulders back and then slumps forward once more. No reason to get worked up over something he's already come to terms with.

❝ Instead, ❞ whatever emotions have been gathering in his words have evaporated, icy breath now nothing more than a monotone and disinterested hum ❝ you've chosen to live among humans. A bard who spends his days at the bar or singing in the plaza. Inconspicuous if not for the fact that your stories have a tad too many details. ❞ he's spent his time lingering in the shadows, watching, waiting. Since his first suspicions, he's been watching Venti's every move, filing everything away in mental folders; spots where he usually hangs out, every twitch and reaction whenever somebody gets too close to the truth, the emptiness of his words despite how warm and open he appears to be.

At some point, it became an obsession. Madness wrapped up in the need to be the one to tear concealed divinity wide open and stain his hands with the ichor. How beautifully would Venti bleed, ribs poking through broken skin and heart exposed, beating erratically. Perhaps, one day. For now, though...