Work Text:
Once upon a time, there was a little wind sprite who became human.
(Hmm. That’s not quite right….)
Once upon a time, there was a god who immortalized the image of a fallen companion by taking his shape.
(That’s closer. Just a little bit more detail?)
Once upon a time, a little wind sprite ascended to godhood and became the Anemo Archon, but the first thing he did was take a new form: a near-perfect copy of his best friend, a dying bard.
(Yes, that’s it! Continue!)
The Anemo Archon didn’t know this at the time, but with each form came a new perspective: new bodily sensations, new ways of communication, new emotions. Right?
(Right. But why did you ask it that way, Traveler?)
Which is to say, the very first time that this little wind sprite felt grief—
(Hey!)
…Did you want to write this yourself, Venti?
(...)
…
(...You know what? I think I do.)
—
Once upon a time, when Time and Wind were synonymous, there was a little wind sprite who loved music. It bounced and bobbed to the melodies of birdsong, it leapt and played with singing Angels under the white tree, it danced in tandem to new human prayers, but above all, it adored the music of the wind.
The quiet susurration of a breeze through leaves, the sharp whistling of a gale through a canyon, the unfettered screaming of a hurricane — all equally fun to dance in, and all equally beautiful. This changed, of course, when the wind sprite spent more time with humanity.
(White tree… like Irmin—)
Traveler! Half the fun of poetic language is figuring it out for yourself! Don’t make me explain it and ruin the fun, got it?
(Okay, okay. Continue?)
After Sal Vindagnyr’s coffin was nailed shut, after Helios rose above a sunless sea, after the fall of the Angels, after Wind and Time were separated, and the little wind sprite began spending more time with humanity, well, it just couldn’t help but fall in love with them.
How fascinating these creatures are, the wind sprite thought. With such short lives, they must shove all emotions into that time, and the highs and lows are nothing short of sublime!
…You agree, don’t you?
(...)
So of course when the people of Mondstadt stopped singing in happiness, the little wind sprite paid attention. It popped around, fighting the currents of the wind storm to get to the people, to stay with them, to pass around stories and songs in the hopes that it would cheer them up.
This is how the little wind sprite met a certain bard whose name was lost to history.
(By chance, was his name… Venti?)
Good guess, but no. At least, I don’t think so. Venti was what he called me because, “well, Little Wind Sprite just won’t do!”
(You don’t… think so?)
Traveler, his name was lost to history. You already know about the power of the white tree which I cannot name directly. You can put two and two together, no?
(...I’m sorry.)
…
After the wind sprite met the bard, the bard decided to start a revolution.
Many songs have been written about this time, most of which have even survived since. To give the full story would mean repeating them all, which would take months. No, really, it would! Between the marching songs of protest, the melodies loud enough to drown out the storms, the battle cries penned in verse, that’s at least a week, and that’s not even one twentieth of the works about the revolution!
I recommend The Ballad of Freedom if you want a detailed history. I spent months writing that, after all.
But to cut to the chase:
As Decarabian fell, so too did the bard.
…
And in that moment, the little wind sprite became a god, and that little wind god became an Archon. In that singular breath of apotheosis, the little wind sprite made the choice to become human.
And, yes, Traveler, you were correct. The emotions are different. Emotions flow in waves, and therefore water is their medium. A wind elemental can dance with emotion, but it does not embody it. It cannot, simply by its nature.
But humans, who need water to survive, who have water flowing in their veins?
…Do you remember what I said earlier about short lives requiring emotions to be compressed and heightened? I was wrong. That’s not how human emotion works, at all.
They really are just volatile like that as a whole. Even the ones who are forced to live for centuries. Very, very few humans even acquire even a fraction of the serenity that elementals have as baseline.
So you might be able to imagine what it felt like for a little wind sprite to become human and watch the bard die with new human eyes and a new human heart.
…
You were right, earlier.
The very first song of Barbatos, which is to say, the first composition of the God of Music, was an elegy.
For a dear friend.
Whose name I can no longer remember, because the lines of the song that included his name were stricken from my memory whole. And I remember every song there is in Teyvat, Traveler. Past, present, future. I remember the music of the Angels before they became Seelie. I know Natlanese peacetime ballads whose musicians will not be born for another decade. I have heard Alice singing a rhapsody that doesn’t belong to Teyvat and I caught glimpses of the world that produced it— do you understand what that all means, Traveler? Do you have any idea how it feels to know all of this, and be unable to recall the name of the friend whom I loved so dearly I took his shape?
(...)
…
Well! I should take a bow after that one, haha!
(Venti… you can mourn in front of me. You don’t have to be perfect.)
…Thanks, Traveler. I think I’m a little tired, though. I’m just going to take a nap, okay?
(As long as you don’t lose a few centuries this time.)
Oh, Traveler, you’re so funny! It passes like a dream. Honestly! I just get little flashes here and there when people pray to me, or when a desire for freedom is strong enough to shake the heavens. It’s not a total loss! And besides, it’s fairly easy to adjust to each new samsara of Mondstadt.
(...I don’t think that’s how a samsara works.)
And how would you know, hmm?
(...)
Besides, this won’t be a proper nap. Just a little one. Wake me up next week, yeah?
(Sure. I’ll even keep guard.)
Awwww, Traveler! That’s so sweet!
(The moment Paimon returns from trying to fish, I’m having her speed up time.)
What?! Heyyyy! No fair!
…Wait, we’re acknowledging that Paimon can do that?
(...I don’t think she realizes it yet.)
Really?
(Really.)
Huh. Well, I can always keep secrets, especially family ones.
(So she is—)
Don’t say it out loud. We don’t want to wake anyone up, ehe~
(...All right.)
…
(...How about that nap, Venti?)
Sounds wonderful, Traveler! See you next week!