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The only time Venti was truly at peace was during his long ‘slumbers’.
They were not true slumbers per se—rather the consequence of using Time’s power, just like his beloved bard.
But unlike the bard, who gave up his own lifespan in one grandiose moment so powerful it rewrote Mondstadt’s fate and made Istaroth turn her head in awe, Venti had a lot more time on his hands being a divine being in origin.
And so he slept peacefully within Istaroth’s domain, the occasional prayer along the wind through the Thousand Winds reaching him. He was not conscious in the truest sense, for his mind and heart were occupied elsewhere.
It was the only time (ha, how ironic) that he could interact with the one whom the entirety of Teyvat had forgotten.
Dorian.
Dorian had resigned himself to a fate of nonexistence, for he knew using the power of Time itself carried one of the heaviest burdens of all.
And yet, just before the last vestiges of his consciousness faded into nothing, he felt something grab hold of him in desperation. He could not tell who or what it was, for all senses had vacated him. It simply felt like a tether, one that anchored him in the vast sea of nothingness.
Dorian was tired. So tired. Were his eyes even open? He didn’t know anymore.
He just knew Mondstadt was safe. His beloved friends and little wisp were hopefully living peaceful lives free from beneath Decarabian’s thumb and the machinations of the heavens.
His one comfort was that they would not mourn his death, for they would no longer remember him.
Oh, but Venti, sweet little Venti. The wisp was so entangled into Dorian’s life that it was almost as if he were the little one’s personal sun. Everywhere Dorian went, Venti followed, often buried in the crook of his neck against the fabric of his cape.
Dorian just hoped Venti was okay without him.
The first time Venti paid the price for Istaroth’s power, Dorian’s consciousness was out of reach despite now being anchored to his own soul.
It was as if the bard was in a deeper slumber than his own—separated by an invisible force that no matter how hard Venti pushed, refused to yield.
The former wisp had heard of an ancient story of a princess falling into long slumber, her faithful lover telling her a new story each day hoping that it would give her the strength to awaken one day. Her lover would tend to her sleeping form, tilting bone broth to her mouth to preserve her strength, washing her hair, all while spinning tale after tale for her.
And so he cradled Dorian’s unmoving body against his own form—one assumed out of purest love and dedication to his beloved bard for achieving what even Venti assumed to be impossible. There was no breath from Dorian’s lips, no movement of the bard’s chest.
He was frozen in a moment of time, only further proven by the shifting golden outline around his body. And yet, Venti could still sense his presence buried beneath unfathomable levels of unconsciousness.
Dorian was still alive.
But only just.
Venti stifled a sob, holding Dorian closer and placing a soft kiss on his forehead.
“My beloved bard,” he whispered, carding the gossamer strands away from the revolutionary’s face. “My Dorian. Let me tell you a tale of a nation founded on the idea of Freedom, where the bravest people I know overthrew a corrupt god, and now chart their own way of life….”
Dorian could hear something—a voice in the void.
He couldn’t make out the words, but the quiet, reverent tone was like a tiny beacon. Something to latch on to. Something to distract from what didn’t—or shouldn’t—exist.
There was a cadence to the other’s way of speaking, like gentle waves lapping along a coastline. There, present, but he lay submerged beneath the waves, unable to hear amidst the confusing undercurrent that carried him along in the nothingness.
He wanted to reach out, say something. To thank whomever it was for giving him some degree of orientation.
Because now, he truly wasn’t alone. And yet, his body remained unanswering to his plea.
His body continued to float aimlessly in the void.
But perhaps he wasn’t alone, after all.
When Venti awoke, it was a painful, jarring sensation. He hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Dorian within Istaroth’s domain, for he had been ripped away by the prayers of his children.
They were imprisoned in chains and facing subjugation by yet another tyrant in control of Mondstadt.
He understood why his children called for him—really, he did—but there was a selfish part of him that wanted to stay in Time’s domain undisturbed with his beloved.
He knew what Dorian would want. Dorian would want him to help the people, and he did too.
He was just…so tired.
Was this what it felt like Dorian used Her power? A crushing weight on his soul, muting every sensation as if it were beneath layers and layers of sand?
How had Dorian played that melody when he felt like this?
No, no, he shouldn’t complain. He still lived and wore the guise of his beloved even when the rest of the world forgot. He…needed to keep Dorian’s dream (and him) alive.
Venti opened his eyes in the ruins of Old Mondstadt, beneath a lone apple tree he and his companions (who no longer recognized the bard) bid Dorian farewell.
(It was a farewell for everyone except for Venti.)
He pushed himself into a sitting position.
The sky was the same color as Dorian’s eyes.
Venti cried.
Dorian…felt something.
His cheek…it was wet.
Was he…crying?
Venti did not realize how difficult it would be to fall into ‘slumber’ again.
He assumed as an envoy of Time it would be easy to enter her domain and rejoin Dorian…but it remained closed off to him.
So, he decided to do something he knew his beloved bard would want to do.
He explored Teyvat.
He adopted the clothes of a common bard, walking under his own power like Dorian would. He visited the commerce capital of Liyue, hiked through the sands of the great desert of Sumeru, and watched blubberbeasts dance in the waters of Fontaine.
If only he could share these experiences with Dorian. He knew the bard would craft exquisite poems and songs detailing each and every little thing in excruciating detail—no person or thing was too small in Dorian’s eyes.
It was one of the many reasons Venti had fallen in love with him.
Although the sound of the person’s voice had disappeared some time ago, faint colors faded in and out of his vision. Well, it wasn’t ‘vision’, per se. His eyes were still closed (at least he thought so), but it was as if the light was casting shadows through his eyelids.
It was fuzzy, muted. He couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was another distraction from the pitch black that had engulfed his sight so far.
There were oranges and browns at first, then the light grew so bright that he would shrink away if he could, before dulling into an assortment of cool colors that reminded him of something he had read once in a storybook.
What was it…? His memory was so jumbled. Au…an aurora?
Yes, that was it. Bands of light that supposedly lit up the night sky, dancing and waving to the world below.
He had always wondered what the night sky looked like beyond the barrier.
Is this…what it looked like?
He didn’t know how long it was since he started wandering Teyvat, only knowing that several seasons had passed since he first set off.
There was a part of him that wondered how Vennessa was doing now as Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. Oh, what a beautiful, magnificent soul she was.
Dorian would like her.
But he was surprised when he heard her voice upon the wind once more, no longer that desperate voice from the shackles of a basement cage. This was quiet, tired.
Venti knew what it meant.
He appeared in the open field of Mondstadt in a teal breeze, finding an elderly Vennessa surrounded by her clan and several key figures of Mondstadt.
“Ah, my dear friend,” her raspy voice called, beckoning him closer. “Have you come to take me home?”
He stepped closer, his face obscured from the crowd due to his white hood.
Good, they would not see the teal tears on his cheeks.
He knelt by her side, taking an old, weathered hand into his own. She looked so frail, so weak, and yet her eyes shone with the same intensity when he had met her all those years ago.
His chest felt tight in a way it had not been since Dorian’s pass—erasure from time. It was the same scenario once again, only this was a natural death.
It did not soothe the sting any less.
“I have,” he whispered, brushing the gray hair from her face. “Vennessa—”
“Will be ascending to Celestia for her heroic deeds.”
Venti flinched, his eyes dilating in panic.
It was Celestia—the gods who meddled with fate and sat on a throne of lies. They did not like him, though they did not remember why.
Venti did not like them either, but he was Time’s envoy. They had forgotten his bard’s feat, and not even him wearing his beloved Dorian’s face was enough to jog their seemingly omniscient memory.
“But—” he started, only to be hushed by the Celestial.
“Be silent, Barbatos,” they commanded. “You have done well. Come, Vennessa, your new home awaits.”
The Dandelion Knight’s eyes met her archon’s in fear, words upon her lips before she disappeared in a swirl of stars and ascended toward the sky Venti knew to be fake.
In her place, a tree began to grow, becoming taller and taller with each passing second until its canopy shaded the congregation.
Venti could hear the whispers of the people behind him, proclaiming it was a divine miracle orchestrated by Barbatos himself—how the winds themselves rose Vennessa to Celestia.
But Venti knew her true fate. Instead of guiding her soul to the Ley Lines, the heavens had pruned her from the timeline. She was too powerful, too dangerous.
Dorian may have been purged from Time, but Celestia remembered the ‘dangers’ humans seemed to possess.
He balled his hands into fists. Despite being an archon, Celestia was not somewhere he could freely wander. Only those invited were allowed in.
It was yet another person ripped from his hands by fate.
Dorian’s chest hurt.
It was strange. He could barely feel anything in this unnatural void, but it felt as though a great weight were sitting on his chest.
Oh, his cheek was wet again.
What…was happening?
Venti sat alone on an island off the coast of Mondstadt. To anyone else, it was entirely unremarkable.
But to him and Time itself, it was where they made an unbreakable vow millennia ago.
“I won’t lose anyone else to the machinations of the Heavens,” he solemnly decreed, his eyes turning golden as he channeled Istaroth’s power. “I don’t care what it costs me. I must know how our story ends.”
Wherever Dorian was…it was warm. And bright. It wasn’t scalding and overwhelming. This was…nice. Pleasant.
For once, his eyes didn’t feel like they were weighed down by stones, and no immense pressure sat on his chest.
His eyes slowly slid open, and he felt precious air enter his lungs. It burned, oh, how it burned, but it felt so good.
And then…he saw it.
The sky. It was so blue, so beautiful, that he couldn’t help but push himself into a sitting position to get just a few inches to the wonder above him. And that bright thing…was that the sun? He had heard so many stories about the sun—how its gentle rays warmed one’s skin even on the coldest days. Was that where the warmth was coming from?
He looked around, finding himself on a strange island surrounded by some sort of…lake? No, this appeared to be a sea of some sort. There were a few dilapidated pillars, but the only thing seemingly untouched was some sort of strange dais in the center.
His curiosity got the better of him. What did he have to lose, anyway?
The moment his fingers caressed the pointed arrow, it felt as though his soul was being torn apart once more.
Everything erupted into iridescent golden light.
Dorian’s head hurt and his eyes burned. For a moment, he saw things—many, many terrible things.
The world was on fire, a war consuming everything in its path. Some were buried beneath floodwaters, others torn to shreds by beasts that made his soul shiver.
And at the very center of it all was someone who looked just like him.
Their eyes met for a moment and Dorian knew. It was no reflection, no trick. They mouthed his name, no sound leaving their lips, but it was then the bard was certain.
It was Venti.
The golden light disappeared, and Dorian was alone in the void once more.
Time cast a fleeting glance in her envoy’s direction. She knew his pain all too well. It was why she had grown distant—aloof.
For she too had loved and cherished the many wishes and mortals in her heart. She knew the fate of this world long before it came to be, all the twists and turns that would and would not take. Her meddling had caused her great pain in the past, and now she only existed as a shell of her former self.
Barbatos’ lover—whose existence even to her was like grasping at sand—had been nothing short of a miracle. He had saved Teyvat from certain ruin by dispersing Decarabian’s death across the timeline, allowing Freedom to take root and allowing it to blossom into the most beautiful tree of rebellion once the prophesied time would come.
It was a day Istaroth eagerly awaited. No more chains on her, her sisters, nor the inhabitants of Teyvat.
So…perhaps she turned a blind eye to Barbatos’ antics in the hope of one day achieving that ‘happily ever after’.
After all, she would not remember her envoy’s lover by the time the Heavenly Principles awoke from their millennia-long slumber. Her hands were clean of any wrongdoing in the eyes of the Heavens.
She could only hope Barbatos could continue to nurture the seeds of freedom until then.
And if it meant keeping his beloved bard in a state of non-death for the rest of eternity…she would do it.
Venti felt as though his heart was in his throat. He had not only glimpsed into Teyvat’s prophesied future, but for a fleeting second of time, he had seen his beloved Dorian again.
He cried, paying no heed to the invisible chains of Time cuffing themselves around his limbs.
“Please, my friend,” he whispered brokenly, each syllable growing more languid than the last. “Don’t…leave me….again.”
When the archon awoke, he was in Her domain once more.
He rushed toward Dorian’s side, his body still encased in the golden, sandy hue of Time. He whispered reassurances to his beloved bard that he’d left him on purpose—that Mondstadt had summoned him to deal with another tyrant and it took him so long to find his way back, but now he had so many new stories to tell him.
Dorian, of course, made no sign that he even knew Venti was there. But that was okay, Venti expected as much.
The chains around his appendages grew heavier, and with it, he felt his consciousness fleeting. He laid his head down on Dorian’s chest—something he had often done while he was still a wisp, and closed his eyes.
He just wanted…to sleep…awhile.
It was dark again.
Dorian knew he should have never touched that dais, but it was as if something compelled him—a mere puppet on strings obeying the will of whomever was guiding his body.
He should be disgusted, appalled. And yet…he had seen Venti. He knew he did.
He didn’t know why his little wisp had a form like his own, only that he felt that momentary resonance in their souls. Just like…just like….
When he...died.
Yes, that was it—that sensation he felt before coming to this endless void was caused by his wisp. Venti had been the one to tether his soul—to what, Dorian didn’t know—but it’s probably what spared him from nonexistence altogether.
The weight of the action sat heavily on the bard’s chest—far heavier than any imaginary weight this state of non-being could manifest. What had Venti sacrificed or done to ensure he would continue to live, even in a state such as this?
He heard crying again. Was that…Venti? The words were faint, almost intelligible, but he could barely make out the shapes of words
“Love you, Dorian,” he heard the voice whisper, eerily similar to his own yet more nasally. “‘M gonna sleep…a while.”
Celestia above…it was Venti speaking to him. His heart twisted in both relief and anguish. His wisp was still by his side despite everything that had transpired.
He wished he could hug Venti, reassure him that he was fine—still here despite being unable to do literally anything. Whatever the wisp had done wasn’t for naught…he was still here.
And it was then that the void became even more oppressive, threatening to pull him under yet again. He didn’t want to succumb to the flow of Time once more! Not when Venti was so close!
But he knew it was futile. His soul clung to the anchor he assumed to be Venti, surprised to find that it only dragged him under further.
Venti….
Venti was so tired…he didn't know how long he had been ‘asleep’, but it felt like millennia. Occasionally he would hear whispered prayers in a brief moment of lucidity before succumbing to slumber once more.
But then it started growing louder…more insistent. It sounded like thousands of overlapping voices, and yet he couldn’t discern what they were saying.
More time passed, how much, he didn’t know. Last time he was here he was able to stay conscious as he told Dorian about the outside world…but it seems like his little stunt of glimpsing into the future of Teyvat did more than just send him into Time’s domain.
The noise in the back of his mind was growing louder and louder…he wanted to wake up and see what it was…but the chains that brought him here held tight.
He hoped Dorian and Mondstadt were okay….
Istaroth watched calmly as the prophecy Vedrfolnir whispered to the King of Khaenri’ah unraveled exactly as predicted.
She did not act. Despite the man holding a corrupted facet of her power…this untold devastation was unfortunately necessary to reach Teyvat’s best ending.
She watched and watched as the kingdom fell—a sight she had seen time and time again despite her and her envoys best attempts to spare the innocent.
She may be a ‘Shade’ of the Heavenly Principles…but she was an outlier even to her own ‘sisters’. She birthed her own existence—the title of ‘Shade’ merely a chain the Heavenly Principles placed upon her to keep her in line.
Time required patience and a clear mind to understand, and even then it took most of her mental faculties to ensure the timeline was on track. She had learned in her past attempts to spare humanity from the Heavens divine punishment. She needed to be crafty, elusive, and diligent.
Istaroth learned to move in the shadows, nudging tiny details in the background that would become seeds and would be nurtured slowly and steadily, ultimately blooming in due time.
She looked over at the corner of the domain containing one of her envoys—the Anemo Archon and his look-a-like friend whom she could no longer recall how he came to be here. It was likely due to one of their actions, but since she allowed the human to be here…she must have allowed it for a reason.
She would just have to see what this seed bloomed into.
As the Cataclysm progressed, she knew it was time to meddle once more. She could not erase Barbatos’ toll from using Time as powerfully as he did, but she could temporarily take the burden.
The chains on her envoy’s arms and legs were nearly rusted away, but she knew if he took any longer to wake up, Mondstadt would not survive.
So she transferred the burden to herself, her powers immediately tempered as the divine weight settled upon her. No wonder Barbatos struggled to wake.
She knelt down beside him, her movements lethargic yet her wits remained about her. These chains would only slow her down and dull her abilities—not outright send her into slumber as payment.
“Barbatos,” she whispered, voice holding that distant quality it always did when she spoke. “It’s time to wake up. Mondstadt needs its archon.”
She watched as her envoy stirred slowly. She shook him again, eyes sliding briefly to the human he had been using as a pillow.
Only for stormy blue eyes to look back at her.
Istaroth recoiled in surprise. How…how was he awake?
She blinked once, and the human was ‘asleep’ once more. Just…what had she invited into her domain?
Barbatos woke suddenly and with a shout, startling the Goddess of Time from her thoughts. Their eyes locked, and she could tell that the screams of Mondstadt’s people echoed in his mind.
“Go,” she urged. “I have taken your burden. Ensure Teyvat does not fall, and I shall keep him safe.”
Barbatos nodded, his soul disappearing into strands of Anemo and escaping the domain.
Istaroth tilted her head at the human, carding her hand through his bangs. He looked so much like Barabtos…or maybe Barbatos looked like him?
She didn’t remember.
But she could tell that this human was someone very dear to Barbatos. If her envoy thwarted the abyssal dragon attacked Mondstadt, stopped the influx of forbidden knowledge, and wiped the Mare Jivari off the timeline as she foresaw….
Perhaps she could ensure his next slumber here was a peaceful one.
When Venti arrived in Mondstadt, the sky was raining literal abyssal corruption.
This…is what he had seen on Time’s Island. The world on fire…in ruin.
He knew what he needed to do.
Every area of his body felt like agony. He and Dvalin had…stopped Durin. And then he was summoned to Khaenri’ah where he was forced to commit…terrible, terrible things.
He felt so dirty, so vile. But…he had to do it to save everyone else.
And with the Pyro Archon now out of commission, he took it upon himself to investigate the strange temporal disturbance he felt.
He knew Natlan bore the brunt of the abyssal invasion due to its already weakened Ley Lines, but when he arrived at Mare Jivari, the level of corruption he found was…horrifying.
It was as if there was a tear of some kind within time, calamities pouring from all over the timestream in one location. Venti didn’t know what had caused such a thing to occur, but at this rate…it would consume all of Teyvat eventually.
He thought about Mondstadt. Although the threat had passed…it would take them so long to heal. He knew Istaroth had only temporarily relieved him of his duties…and it was likely for what he was about to do.
She could not interfere directly.
But he could.
He took a deep breath, the golden markings of Time alighting across his skin as he manifested his lyre and began to sing. His agony doubled, tripled, quadrupled, but he endured it.
Because at the end of this…Dorian would be waiting for him.
Dorian felt someone caressing his hair, a different, more feminine-sounding voice speaking to him.
It was the most lucid he had felt in…he didn’t know.
He felt the brush of something against his forehead, then the voice whispered: “Sweet dreams, favored of Barbatos.”
Venti was barely conscious when arrived back in Istaroth’s domain. The Goddess of Time regarded him sadly, and he was surprised to find Dorian cradled in her arms.
“Thank you, Barbatos,” she said, placing the bard on the ground and gesturing for him to do the same. He limped, wings trailing behind him as he clumsily sat down beside Dorian. “Although I regret to inform you, you’ve added to your debt once more.”
“I-I know,” he rasped out, laying beside Dorian and intertwining their hands together. “You can give me my burden back as well. Thank you for taking it.”
Istaroth hummed, and Venti felt his soul grow heavier as the chains manifested around him once more. “The next time you wake, it will be a long, arduous journey. You will need to be well-rested when that day comes.”
Venti blinked slowly, his mind becoming more and more foggy. “Meaning…?”
The Goddess of Time’s golden eyes crinkled, a small smile appearing on her normally indifferent face. “Rest well, Barbatos. Consider this a thank you for what you’ve done.”
Venti’s mouth opened to respond, but he was fast asleep before the words left his mouth.
After what felt like simultaneous millennia and mere moments, Dorian opened his eyes.
The sky was beautiful. Great, puffy clouds stretched across the entirety of the sky, which was several shades lighter than his own storm-colored ones. Trees filled with leaves rustled in a gentle wind, surprising warm and not the bitter chill he was used to in life.
His body ached, but it was a sensation he hadn’t felt in ages—one to take a deep breath, to move, to explore. The grass tickled his exposed skin, swaying in the breeze that seemed to be saying the same thing.
Wake up, wake up. He is waiting for you!
He? He who? Dorian’s mind felt all fuzzy from his time adrift in the vast sea of nothingness. Everything felt so blurry, so…distant.
How had he ended up here?
He sat up, trying to orient himself for a moment when he heard that familiar voice once more.
“Dorian,” a voice more nasally than his own whispered. “It’s time to get up.”
He turned his head to the side, finding his beloved wisp of wind floating gently in the wind. Venti butted his head against Dorian’s own—a familiar greeting he would never forget. The bard’s breath hitched, and he reached a hand out toward his companion, only for it to fracture like glass and a human stood in the wisp’s place.
The human exhaled in awe, his thumb brushing Venti’s cheek wiping a teal tear away.
“Venti,” he whispered, voice hoarse from disuse. “It really is you. How is this…possible?”
Venti chuckled, wrapping his arms around the bard and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “I have so much to tell you about, Dorian. But first.” The wisp-turned-archon placed a kiss on his lips, and Dorian felt his own fingers reach up and caress the spot in awe. “I’ve waited so long to do that. Forgive me for not asking, I simply couldn’t—”
But the bard threaded his hands around the other’s neck, kissing him deeply.
“I have, too,” Dorian confessed, rubbing Venti's knuckles. “I don’t know what you did…but you saved me. I see things…hear things every now and again. But I would love to hear what the world is like from your lips, my little wisp.”
Venti hummed contentedly, squeezing the bard slightly more firmly. “We have all the time in the world, Dorian.”