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He can tell from the very moment those hands touch his statue; the very second when delicate, slim fingers meet with cracked stone grey.
There’s just something about her that’s pulling him to her.
What a grand tale this would make, he thinks to himself, as he stands alone at a distance, hidden within trees. A white winged god descending down from the heavens to console a young, hopeless maiden, crumpled against a lone statue in a small clearing. She would ask for help and plead for guidance, and the god would be so moved by the maiden’s plight, he’d move the mountains and drain the sea for her.
But this beautiful, mysterious voice that catches his winds doesn’t need saving – her laughter echoes in the currents, and she hums and hums. Her song rides on the winds around them, and it’s so light. It’s an old song he knows he’s never had a chance to hear – yet he knows all the words. He claims to know every song – past, present, future – but well…
The wind can only sing of the tales it hears of down below.
Her song reaches the stars, and she walks where none can follow her.
When he sees her for the very first time, a small thought stays on his mind; it’s laced with laughter, even after Dvalin accidentally poisons him.
She’s not as sneaky as she thinks she is.
Calling out to Dvalin as gently as he could in that moment, he sees her from the corner of his eye; she’s beautiful. She’s dressed in dazzling white, armored hands almost trembling as she holds onto tree bark. She’s somewhat frightened by the dragon – but not entirely. He thinks he can see it in those golden eyes of hers - she’s thinking, if worst comes to worst, how do I defeat this thing? And then, their eyes meet.
Am I supposed to know you?
It only lasts a second, this moment trapped in time between them; then the Anemo Power she absorbed reacts with Dvalin, and enrages him. Venti quickly leaves the scene, knowing he can’t stay. And in the aftermath of the confrontation, she grabs one of the Anemo feathers he leaves behind, pressing it tightly between her fingers; she thinks that talking to dragons must be abnormal, and she’s also a little jealous. Why don’t I get to talk to dragons, she grumbles. He laughs. It’s just as he thought.
She’s a star.
In the early evening, cast in an orange glow, he plays his lyre out in the courtyard in front of the cathedral; crowds gather around the mysterious green little bard who plays such lovely, ancient songs under the grand statue of Barbatos.
He smiles, he laughs, he winks – he entertains the people who come to see him, but he’s not really looking at them – his gaze is only set on her, as she emerges from the back of the crowd.
She comes slowly, at first. Her movements are tentative; she hides behind the shadows of men and woman much taller than her. She dares not look at him, her gaze cast to the pinkish red orange skies above them. There’s a hesitation on the wind, a question forming on her soft lips.
Am I really allowed to be here?
She considers herself an outlander, after all – an outsider; they are in front of a holy site. She feels as though she’s intruding on something meant for everyone else. Though, if she were to ask him herself, he’d simply tell her that he didn’t particularly care; Mondstadt is the City of Freedom.
A star should be able to walk wherever she pleases; such a wondrous beauty should never be denied.
When the crowds depart, they’re left alone; they stand so close to each other and yet, a thousand words away. There’s a look in her eyes that he can’t quite recognize, as slim fingers ghost over his cheeks.
“My name is Venti,” he tells her softly.
“…Lumine,” she says. “My name is Lumine.”
It’s probably the second real thought he’s had about her.
(Lumine has a very nice voice.)
There’s a lilt to her words; they’re bright, cheerful and airy – her laughter sounds like the call of songbirds from so close. She speaks as gently as the ocean tides, and despite how distant she’s seemingly made herself out to be, there’s a hunger hidden insider of her, simmering right under the surface. She’s bold, she’s curious, she’s excitable; if she wants to know something, she hounds him for it. And if he says something ridiculous, she comes right back at him with something equally outrages right back, laughing all the while.
He thinks he loves her.
(Though, she does have a limit – she’s not exactly keen on abusing her power as an honorary knight.)
When revealing himself as Barbatos to the head nun doesn’t work (and when she isn’t going to go along with his other plan), Venti suggests they simply “borrow” the lyre for now. They have free will, after all! Mondstadt stands for freedom! Rolling her eyes, she “freely” tells him it’s probably not the best idea to announce his plan in the middle of the cathedral.
“Where everyone can hear you,” she points out.
He laughs.
After some…unprecedented setbacks, they make their escape in the dead of the night; she laughs as she holds onto him, telling her to hang on tight, as he glides off for the both of them, Paimon following close behind. A hand clutches his shirt above his breast; she whispers an apology into his ear, but he has the sneaking suspicion she’s not sorry. (She giggles into his ear, too. He wants her to do that more. He wants her to tell him everything.)
And when they’re both safe on the ground, the first words out of her mouth is that they need to do something like that again, while her little companion vehemently refuses.
“Sometimes, you just need a little danger, right?” She laughs breathlessly.
She’s stolen his heart, somehow. And he doesn’t want her to let go.
There’s just something about her.
She’s so quick to action, so quick to place herself in front of him the second she senses there’s danger; she dares to lay herself open and bare in the face of a mighty dragon he knows she’s still terrified of. He’d sing her ballads of her courage and bravery, if the situation wasn’t so dire. His lyre breaks; he is knocked down, holding his chest in his hand as the rest of the party surround him while Dvalin roars. His old friend leaves, ever more corrupted by The Abyss.
How had he let this happen…?
And there’s just something about her as she kneels before him, holding his face in her trembling hands, asking him if he’s okay. He mumbles that his old lyre is broken beyond repair. There is no amount of purified tears or Anemo power that could fix the damage. Her eyebrows furrow, and she asks him if he’s okay, and he whispers, “No”. No, he’s not. His best friend is being manipulated before his eyes and he doesn’t know how to stop it, and if he doesn’t stop it soon, the city he loves will be in constant danger.
“I’m in trouble now, huh?” He chuckles sadly, barely above a whisper. She doesn’t speak. She merely takes his hands, and holds them.
“Are you scared?” He asks her.
“Yes,” she mutters.
Even as weak as he is...
He can feel her thrum under his fingers.
Lumine has always been ready for a moment like this.
She plays the part of the hero quite well, after all.
As they climb the ancient tower to reach Dvalin at the top, he can see her determined stare reflected on her blade. A stare that is fierce and powerful, yet cold and calculated. She dances, suspended in flight. She carries the willpower of a thousand years on her back, and she does her duty, and she does her duty well. If he were a much weaker man, well – how could he not see her as this grand mythical being, a legend, a god? A vision that came down from the heavens.
A star.
With her help, they’re able to purify the corruption, and in the next moment, they’re free-falling. He can see her desperately trying to reach him, trying to fly – a large shadow appears under them, and takes them to safety high above the cloud. He gently pats his friend’s back, and laughs. “It’s just like old times, isn’t it?”
It’s Dvalin, and he’s free once more.
Lumine laughs after he gives a short speech about the wind and freedom, telling Dvalin he can leave with his blessing. And then he sighs, and tells them that his Archon duty is over.
“Do you need some godly wisdom too?” He chuckles as she rests her head on his shoulder.
“Well, since there’s a god in my life,” she giggles.
But yet…
Not even one as she could quite keep that mask when they later get attacked, and his Gnosis is ripped from him.
“Venti!”
Try as she might, the deaconess at the cathedral cannot heal his wounds.
Her face falls as she fails to make progress for the fourth time that night. He gently tells her that there’s nothing she can do for him; she holds back tears when he says she’s done her best. His wounds, after all, are godly in nature – they are old, gaping, festering wounds. They are ripped cords from the heavens, though he doesn’t think such heavens will miss him all that much. He asks her where they’re keeping Lumine, and she takes him to a small side room where she’s fast asleep in a cot.
“Her injuries weren’t as severe,” the deaconess explains. “But I think the stress of what happened might have overwhelmed her.”
Carefully, he kneels himself before her, gently brushing a lock of hair away from her face. It pains him to know he’ll have to leave her like this. He wants nothing more than to stay by her side to comfort her, but he knows that if he’d like to see a tomorrow, he has to go. He sighs as she stirs in her sleep. He’s at least comforted by the thought she’s safe and sound.
“Venti,” she mutters. Even in this moment, their winds seem to sing together.
“Be safe, okay?” He whispers as he kisses her forehead, and disappears.
He laughs at himself as he stands under a single tree – as large as the mountains – its roots imbedded through eroded stone and cracked earth, shading an old platform for an old god, its branches shifting and swaying in the evening breeze, the last of the sunlight becoming molted patterns on skin and stonework alike. The memory of an old friend, and of a lifetime now passed.
He really does always find himself here when he’s in sort of trouble, huh? He wonders what she’d think of him now. Would she pity him? Would she laugh? Would she scold him for not doing something sooner? Most of all, he thinks he’d just want to hear her voice again and for her to say things were okay.
And though he didn’t tell her where he was going, he’s not surprised she already knows where he is.
Lumine stands alone on small, eroded steps. She comes to him slowly, cupping his face in her hands.. And then, she kisses him. Even though he was already feeling better before, there’s a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in years. He’s been touched by starlight, he thinks. He’s been touched by her.
“We’re supposed to know each other, aren’t we?” She asks softly. “That’s the feeling I got when I met you. Did you... feel it too?”
“We’re soulmates,” he tells her. “That’s what they call it, right?”
She smiles. “Yeah, that’s what they call it.”
As they lay together amidst tree roots and spinning windwheel asters under a pink reddish sky, she rests her head against his chest as he holds her tightly against him, this piece of starlight he can call his own, and he tells her everything she needs to know. He tells her about the world above them, of Celestia, the smoke and mirrors of divinity. He speaks of times gone by, and of old friends who aren’t friends anymore, and he tells him she should go to Liyue next. He hopes she finds what she’s looking for.
“Without you?” She asks in a sad voice, golden eyes staring into his.
He sighs. “Without me, yes. This is your journey, my white winged dove, and the steps you take will be your own.”
“I don’t even like birds,” she chuckles. “... Will I see you again?”
“Of course,” he laughs, holding her hand to his heart. “We’re soulmates, remember? Connected by the wind. And every time you feel lonely, you’ll only need to speak out loud, and I’ll listen.
“Promise?” She asks.
“I promise.”