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In the dark of the Mondstadtian summer night illuminated only by the warm light of Angel's Share, Diluc cleaned the last of his wine glasses. As he focused on the cloth, the door creaked open. From it came a faint chuckle.
“We’re closed, bard.”
“Ragnvindr…” The green silhouette’s cheery voice held a sliver of tremble.
Diluc looked up from the bar as Lord Barbatos stumbled across the floor. On his body lingered the smell of Windrise’s fields, but no scent of alcohol. Diluc’s eyes narrowed in confusion. The Archon dragged his trembling body to the bar as Diluc set down the glass.
“Tell me if you need anything, Lor—”
“Venti! Prithee call me naught but Venti…” he breathed. A sinking darkness settled in Diluc’s chest. His brows furrowed. Even for a talented poet such as Venti, this speech pattern felt… unfamiliar . He stepped before the bar and knelt down to support the bard, who was losing his balance.
“Venti,” Diluc repeated with a calm voice, “tell me what’s wrong.”
“I… fear my heart is enshrouded in the chill of… No, I beg of thee…” The bard’s blue eyes seemed unfocused.
Diluc wrapped his arms around the Anemo Archon’s—no, Venti’s —small body. Who needed a Pyro Vision when it was this deity’s vision that he needed to meet? But Venti stopped Diluc’s hand from making contact. “If you’d grant me permission to simply hold you…”
“Very well. Anything you need.” Just, give me an answer. Diluc’s chest tightened. He retracted his arms but grunted in surprise as a green chill blurred past and gripped onto his shoulders tightly.
“O dawn, my heart calms so at your presence,” the Anemo Arch—no, VENTI—whispered as he buried his face into the kneeling body’s warmth. His breaths slowed but Diluc knew it wasn’t over yet. The heartbeat pounded, still. “Dvalin…”
…Dvalin? Of the Four Winds?
“Venti—”
“Dvalin… Forgive this incompetent Archon for sending you to battle.” Venti’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp, like pieces of ice shattering. “Your injury from the poison of that dragon black and unholy was all my fault. Your corruption, your fall from grace…”
What?
The Anemo—call him VENTI—gripped onto the tense body before him, enough that it may have drawn blood. Coldness crept up his back and spread across his limbs as the snow swept mountain appeared before his vision.
No, begone ! To have my leisurely performance tainted... These memories vile roused by that mountain’s image upon which soared Dvalin’s likeliness… Curses.
“Stop it… Stop it, Durin! And my friend, I beg of thee, protect that beloved sky,” so hissed his whisper.
His faint voice echoed in the empty darkness.
Diluc winced. It felt like an arrow shot straight through his heart. He scanned his surroundings; they were still in front of the warm bar of Angel’s Share, yes. Though, Venti’s body was abnormally cold even with all the layers of fabric, and the fact that it was a summer night confused him further.
Can he… not hear me? Dvalin, fall from grace…“Durin”…?
Diluc mentally went through information he’s read about the great dragons as he searched for an answer. Dvalin was corrupted by the Abyss Order… But the Traveler remedied that back when they first arrived at Mondstadt. No, but Durin, the black dragon…? Diluc stared into the orange light of his tavern. If he said the wrong words to yet another person in need of them—
Diluc blinked and focused back onto the present, onto the trembling god burying his face into his shoulders, onto the front of the bar against his back.
“Venti, tell me what you’re seeing.” He tried to keep his voice low and calm, like the night, or maybe like dark wine. But within that sea of dark wine laid a pounding heart. He shouldn’t touch him.
“Dragonspine… before Durin upon it fell and bestowed its current name,” answered Venti’s muffled voice after moments of silence. “Pray tell, who… Who is speaking?”
“Diluc Ragnvindr, of Mondstadt.”
“Mondstadt’s Sir Ragnvindr…?”
No, I am NOT of the—
“It’s Diluc. We’re in Angel’s Share right now.”
“Diluc…” Venti repeated the name, as if musing on who it was. His grip softened and his body gradually relaxed. “Diluc… Yes, dawn…”
“I’m here.”
“The Dark Side of Dawn…” The rich scent of dandelion wine and the tavern found its way to Venti. He opened his eyes and saw—ah, not the silvery mountain, but bright red hair—at the corner of his vision. It tangled together with his braids which still glowled bright teal from the previous display of terror. His body still felt somewhat cold, but not as cold as before.
“Diluc~!” Pulling back, Venti looked at Diluc with a smile and a sheepish chuckle. “Did I bat your hand away previously, my hero? You can hold me now.” The bounce in his voice slowly returned. “Be gentle~”
Diluc immediately brought his arms up to hug the small green bard in relief.
“Venti… Take care of yourself.” It’s good to have you back.
Be gentle, he said. But the winds of Mondstadt changed constantly; what if this sliver of wind never returned? To think that even someone as powerful as an Archon might fall to a black dragon and end up in Diluc’s own arms, so low against the front of the bar…
“Now would be a great time for some Dandelion Wine to bring me back even more to the present and—”
“No.” Diluc’s voice was gentle yet firm. He let go of the wine-loving young man’s body and crossed the tavern to close the door. Then he walked back behind his bar to reach for the glass he had cleaned. “Allow me to make you a drink. It’s best to clear up the head with a Grey Valley Sunset, a non-alcoholic fruit juice.”
Venti rose up and chuckled. He leaned against the dim bar. “You always take care of me so well.” He watched with a soft smile as Diluc poured the various liquids into the sparkling glass. “I’m proud to have you as my—” Devotee? Friend? Venti searched for the right word in the bartender's working hands.
“Oh Diluc… I’m proud of you,” dear child of Mondstadt.
Diluc froze at the phrasing. He stared at his now fogged-up glass heated by his Vision, then glanced over the shining counter to confirm it was still Venti, with his dark hair and blue braids. With a quick nod, Diluc finished preparing the drink and placed it before the bard.
As the wine-lover took the glass and downed it with the posture of an experienced drinker, images of Crepus flashed through Diluc’s mind. His heart hastened in a cocktail of discomfort and warmth.
“Thank you… I’d like to know your thoughts on this drink and, if you’re willing, why your word choice was significantly different when you came in.”