____________________
Awel Fach, Awel Fach, i ble ewch chi?
(Little Breeze, Little Breeze, where will you go?)
I fynyddoedd uchel a dyffrynnoedd isel,
(To mountains high and valleys low,)
Trwy ddolydd a ffynhonnau, a chwibanu'n ysgafn trwy'r nentydd,
(Through meadows and springs, and whistling gently through the streams,)
Rydych chi'n cario breuddwydion pawb sy'n breuddwydio.
(You carry the dreams of all who dream.)
____________________
The next day, Venti found himself standing before the grand entrance of the Knights of Favonius headquarters once more. The weight of his lyre was a comforting presence in-between his arms.
He arrived a little before noon, his green and white bardic attire seemingly almost out of place amidst the military precision of the plaza. Yet, no one paid him much mind; the city was accustomed to the constant flow of poets, musicians, and artists drawn to the thriving cultural scene of the city that Artoria had carefully cultivated all these years.
He watched the Knights with a practiced eye. They moved with a confidence and a purpose that had been absent centuries ago.
Their armor was not just for show; it was functional, well-maintained, and worn with a quiet pride. They were the protectors of a city that was worth protecting, the guardians of a freedom that was more than just an abstract concept.
As the Cathedral bells chimed announcing the arrival of noon, Captain Hemlock emerged from the grand doors of the headquarters, his posture as ramrod straight as the day before. He spotted Venti immediately and strode towards him, his face a mask of stoic professionalism, but his eyes held a flicker of something else, a shared, unspoken understanding.
"The Grandmaster has reviewed your request," Hemlock said, his voice a low, formal rumble. "She was... intrigued and has granted you an audience."
A wave of relief and excitement washed over Venti, so potent it almost made him dizzy.
"Thank you, Captain. I... I won't disappoint her."
"See that you don't," Hemlock said, though his tone held no malice.
He then led Venti through the grand doors, into the cool, echoing quiet halls of the headquarters.
The building itself had been transformed. The air, once thick with the dust of neglect, was now filled with the scent of old parchment, beeswax polish, and the faint, clean smell of steel. The walls were adorned with maps, not just of Mondstadt, but of all of Teyvat, a sign of a leader whose gaze extended far beyond the walls and borders of her own country, a vigilant watch for any threat that may cause harm to her home.
They walked through a series of grand, well-lit corridors, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. They passed knights, squires and scribes, all of whom stopped what they were doing and offered a respectful bow to one of their captains and a curious glance to the strange bard in their midst.
There was an air of efficiency, of purpose, a tangible sense of a well-oiled machine, humming along at peak performance.
They finally reached a set of large, ornate doors, carved with the intricate image of a great, roaring lion, the Grandmaster's Chambers, the very Heart of the Order.
"She's inside Bard, be mindful and careful about your words and actions." Hemlock opened the door allowing Venti to go inside as a slight sense of nervousness that coursed through his ancient form.
The doors closed behind him once he stepped into the elusive lair of the lioness. He was about to turn around when suddenly he heard it.
A melody, a tune, a song so ethereal that time itself seemed to stopped. The song itself, though unknown to the ancient bard, had somewhat cause a stir of emotion in his lonely heart…a longing that he had not known.
******
Huna blentyn ar fy mynwes,
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;
(Sleep child upon my bosom,
It is cosy and warm;)
Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;
(Mother's arms are tight around you,
A mother's love is in my breast;)
*****
It was not a song of the common tongue of this world.
The language was unknown yet felt older, more ancient than anything thing he had ever heard before.
A language of power and creation. It was a language, he thought, not of Teyvat but from another one .
Little did he know, he was hearing the language of the Faey, the language of a distant world, a language that the gods themselves had spoken in the dawn of time.
It was a melody that was so beautiful, so pure, that it made his heart ache with a longing he could not name. It was a song of healing, of restoration, of rebirth.
The song, for reasons he cannot explain, seems to be calling for him.
But there was something familiar about this mysterious melody. Venti, as a god of songs, could feel it.
He felt the power of the song, the divine powerthat was woven into its very fabric.
It was a power that was both ancient and new. It was a power that was both familiar and alien. It was a power that was...similar to his. And yet, at the same time it was not.
He crept forward, his movements as silent as the wind. He peered around a massive bookshelf, and his breath caught in his throat.
There, sitting by the large window that overlooked the city, was a woman of such sheer, breathtaking beauty that it seemed almost unreal.
She had long, golden hair tied in a practical bun, her face a perfect, heart-shaped oval, her emerald eyes were focused on something in her hands. She wore a simple, yet elegant, teal and white uniform, the unmistakable attire of the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius.
In her hands, she held a bundle of yarn and a pair of knitting needles.
She was knitting.
Her fingers moving with a speed and dexterity that was almost magical, the yarn a soft, shade of blue, the color of a clear summer sky.
But it was the song that truly captivated him. The divine, otherworldly melody that was filling the room was coming from her. She was singing while working her craft.
Not just with her voice, but with her very soul. The song was a part of her, an extension of her own being, a manifestation of her power.
And in that moment, Venti realized.
He realized with a certainty that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
This woman was Artoria Pendragon Gunnhildr.
This was the Grandmaster. This was the woman who had taken his place, the woman who had usurped his role, the woman who had succeeded where he had failed.
And she was a goddess.
Not a mortal who had been granted a sliver of divine power. Not a demigod who was struggling to control her newfound abilities. But a true, full-fledged goddess.
A being of immense, unimaginable power, a force of nature, a goddess of creation, of life….of freedom.
He had felt this power once before. A long, long time ago when he was still but a nameless sprite, a time were the world was being molded by his creator and of beings with unspeakable power.
It was a power almost akin to those possessed by the one who First Usurped the Heavenly Throne, a power that can bend the very fabric of reality itself. It was a power that was both familiar and terrifying, yet seemingly contained in this somewhat domesticated goddess before him!
While still reeling from the significance of the revelation before him, Venti, unexpectedly caught a glimpse of someone very familiar.
Curled upon a plush blue-colored pillow on the windowsill, basking in the afternoon sun, was a small dragon, its cerulean eyes half-closed in a state of contented slumber. Its four wings, though small and compact, were a dead giveaway.
It was Dvalin.
The Dragon of the East. One of the Four Winds. His oldest living friend. And he was... significantly tiny!
The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the situation was so immense, so profound, that Venti had to physically stop himself from laughing out loud.
He had been asleep for a few centuries, and in his absence his best friend had been turned into what can be described as a living, breathing, sentient plushie by a goddess-knight who is currently knitting a sweater while singing a divine hymn!
This was not a usurper.
This was not a tyrant. This was... a catastrophe. A beautiful, wonderful, hilarious catastrophe!
He stepped out from behind the bookshelf, his movements now more relaxed and reverant as the divine song then entered its finale, its last few notes echoing in the quiet office.
*****
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw;
(Slumber, slumber, naught can hurt you,
Nothing bring you harm or fright;)
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes.
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.
(Slumber, darling, smiling sweetly
At those angels robed in white.)
*****
Then the divine light that had been bathing the entire room subsided.
Artoria looked at the small blue knitted sweater she had just made, a satisfied, motherly smile on her face.
It was a small thing, a simple gift, but it was woven with a thread of her love and a small spark of her divinity. It would keep its wearer warm, not just from the cold, but from the fears and troubles of the world. A small act of a goddess who had fully embraced her role as a mother.
Then, without even removing her gaze from the small gift she had just woven, the goddess spoke,
"Greetings, Honored Absentee Archon of the Land. I was expecting you." Her voice was calm, a voice that held a weight that could command armies and soothe crying children.
It was a voice that held a note of gentle amusement, a voice that was not at all surprised to see a long-lost god standing in her office.
Venti froze, his hand instinctively tightening on the neck of his lyre.
She knew. Of course, she knew!
A being of her power could probably feel the very air shifting when he took a breath. He had been the one sneaking up on a sleeping dragon, and now he was the one who had been caught. The irony was not lost on him!
"I... uh... see my reputation precedes me," he finally managed, his usual carefree charm feeling clumsy and inadequate in the face of her serene, knowing gaze.
He offered a lopsided grin, a gesture that felt more like a nervous twitch. "And here I thought I was being discreet."
Artoria finally set down her knitting, placing the tiny blue sweater on the polished surface of her desk with a deliberate, almost reverent care.
She turned her full attention to him, her emerald eyes meeting his.
They were the eyes of a queen, a warrior, a mother, and a god, all at once. They held a depth that seemed to stretch back centuries, a calm, ancient wisdom that saw through all his feigned nonchalance to the divine being beneath.
"Discretion is a mortal luxury, Barbatos," she said, her voice a soft, even murmur.
"When one is as attuned to the wind as you and I, there are no secrets. Your arrival was a... change in the current. A familiar, long-absent melody returning to the song of this land."
On the windowsill, Mini Dvalin stirred, his adorable little head lifting. His cerulean eyes blinked open, focusing on the green-clad figure standing before the desk. A low, rumbling growl, more like the purr of an angry kitten than a dragon's roar, emanated from his tiny body.
"You," Dvalin squeaked, his voice filled with a mix of recognition and indignation. "You're back!"
"Dvalin!" Venti's eyes widened in genuine shock and a flicker of guilt.
"My old friend! You're... you're..." He struggled for the right word, his gaze taking in the miniature, fluffy form. "Compact."
"This is your doing?!" he asked, turning his attention back to Artoria, a note of disbelief in his voice. "You turned one of the Four Winds into a... a stuffed animal?"
"Hey!", an indignant voice was heard at the background coming from the mentioned 'stuffed animal's.
"I gave him a choice," Artoria replied calmly, her hand resting on Mini Dvalin's head in a gesture of motherly reassurance.
"He could remain as he was, a lonely, tormented soul, or he could find a new purpose, a new form that allowed him to be close to those he cared for. He chose companionship. Can you fault him for that?"
The accusation hung in the air, a subtle but pointed jab at Venti's own long absence. Dvalin had been tormented for centuries, his mind slowly being twisted by the Abyss, and Venti, his closest friend, had been nowhere to be found.
Venti flinched, the casual mask slipping for a moment to reveal the deep, ancient weariness beneath.
"No," he said, his voice softer, stripped of its playful lilt. "I cannot."
He walked further into the room, his movements no longer those of a carefree bard, but of a god confronting a profound and unsettling truth.
He stopped before her desk, his gaze sweeping over the room, taking in the maps, the neatly stacked reports, the half-finished knitting, the air of serene, competent command. This was not the office of a tyrant, but of a ruler who had embraced her duty with every fiber of her being.
"So," he said, his voice a low, thoughtful murmur. "This is the new Mondstadt. Roads of stone, knights with discipline, a port that rivals Liyue's. It's... impressive. It's more than I ever dreamed it could be."
He paused, his eyes meeting hers again, a flicker of his old, mischievous spirit returning.
"But it's not what I founded. I founded a city of absolute freedom. A place where people could govern themselves, where no single ruler held sway. I gave them the wind, and I expected them to learn to fly on their own."
"And they were falling," Artoria countered, her voice firm but not unkind.
"The absolute freedom you crave, the freedom of a lone wolf, is a luxury that a thriving civilization cannot afford."
"Freedom without responsibility is chaos."
"Freedom without guidance is anarchy."
"You gave them freedom of choice yet somehow deemed necessary to leave them to their own devices, thinking that things will gradually resolve themselves. No, in my eyes, you abandonedthem, Barbatos, and in your absence, they nearly drowned."
She gestured towards the window, towards the bustling, prosperous city spread out below them like a living tapestry.
"I did not take their freedom. I gave them the tools to use it wisely. I gave them structure, discipline, a sense of purpose. I gave them a shepherd to guide the flock, not a wolf to hunt them."
"Your metaphor is a bit flawed, oh Grandmaster. I am a god of freedom not a sheep." Venti quipped back at her, an attempt to regain some of his lost composure but Artoria's expression remained unchanged as she continues.
Venti continued to argue, the words of a god desperate to defend his legacy.
"The freedom to choose their own path, even if it's the wrong one, is the very essence of what this city stands for! To bind them with rules, with a single leader... it's a betrayal of everything I fought for! I am the Anemo Archon! The embodiment of freedom!"
"Are you?" Artoria asked, her voice as calm and as cutting as a shard of ice.
"Or are you just the embodiment of running away? Of abandoning your post when the burdens of godhood became too heavy? You were given a sacred trust, a divine responsibility, and you chose a long nap over the well-being of your people!"
"Tell me, Barbatos, where was the freedom for the people being bled dry by the corrupt aristocracy? Where was the freedom for those starving under the rule of Randolf? Where was the freedom for my children, who were left orphaned and defenseless on a blood-soaked road?!"
Her words struck him like physical blows, each one a reminder of a failure, a regret, a tragedy he had been too lost in his own sorrow to prevent. He saw the faces of the fallen, the tears of the oppressed, the despair of a city crying out for a savior who never came.
He had no answer. He had only excuses.
His gaze fell to the floor, a profound shame washing over him. The weight of a thousand years of neglect settled upon him, a burden heavier than any mountain. He was the Anemo Archon, the God of Freedom, but he had failed.
***
Artoria's gaze, for her part, softened, as she looked at the crestfallen god before her.
Through her divine eyes, she activated her Clairvoyance, a skill she was hesitant and rarely use. With it she saw glimpses of the past, memories of the god before her.
She saw the Nameless Bard, a smile on his face, a song in his heart, a vision of a free and happy people. She saw the young, newly-ascended Archon, weeping over the body of his fallen friend, the grief a raw, agonizing wound. She saw the lonely god, wandering the world, a ghost in a land of mortals, his heart aching with a loss that would never heal.
She saw the trauma, the endless cycle of joy and sorrow, of creation and destruction, of life and death, that had eroded his spirit, that had driven him into a self-imposed exile.
She saw herself reflected in his ancient, weary eyes. A king who had sacrificed her own happiness for the sake of her kingdom, a mother who had lost her child to the cruel twists of fate, a goddess who had carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
And in that moment, a wave of sympathy washed over her.
She saw not a slothful person, not a tyrant, but a lost person. A lost, hurting, broken man, crying out for a comfort he could never find.
Yet her sympathy wasn't deep enough, and later on, blinded by anger and a strict adherence to her own ideals, she would misjudge a situation that would ultimately cause the heart of a broken man to fully crumble.
***
Venti was silent for a while, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, of emotions, of a strange, unfamiliar sense of shame.
He had been a god who had shirked his duty, who had chosen the path of least resistance, who had abandoned his people to their own devices.
And in his absence, a new god had arisen. A goddess who had fully embraced her duty, who had chosen the path of service, who had saved her people from their own folly.
"You're right," he said, his voice a soft, defeated whisper.
"I was wrong. I was... lazy. I was complacent. I thought that by being absent, I was giving them the greatest gift of all. But I was just... running away."
He slowly looked at her, his eyes filled with a newfound respect, a profound, overwhelming admiration.
"You have done what I could not. You have taken my dream, and you have made it a reality. You have become the ruler I was too afraid to be."
He then did something that was so out of character, so unexpected, that it made Artoria's heart skip a beat!
He went down on one knee, his head bowed in a gesture of submission, of fealty. The Anemo Archon, Barbatos, the free-spirited, carefree god of freedom, was kneeling before her in a gesture of absolute, unwavering respect.
"I, Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, acknowledge your claim," he said, his voice a low, solemn vow.
"I acknowledge your leadership. I acknowledge your divinity. Mondstadt is your nation now. My people are your flock. And I... I am your humble servant....my Dearest Archon." Venti spoke the final verse of his vow with such divine reverence….and it stunned Artoria who's seating in front of him.
Then, while still kneeling, Barbatos stretched out his hand and a ball of wind began to materialized from his chest, and when it dissipated, what was left was a golden Queen Chess piece that was glowing with the pure power of Anemo.
"This is my Gnosis." he spoke softly.
Artoria's eyes widened while still frozen on her place, her serene composure finally cracking.
She stared at the small, intricate piece, a tangible fragment of a god's power, resting in the outstretched hand of the kneeling Archon. It hummed with a familiar energy, the raw, untamed essence of the wind itself, a distant echo of the power she herself commanded.
This was no mere symbolic offering; it was an abdication. A divine surrender.
The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it, the profound, terrifying responsibility it represented, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated shock and anger through her.
How dare he.
"Rise, Barbatos," she commanded, her voice sharp, a crack of thunder in the quiet office.
"And put that thing away! Have you lost your wits along with your sense of time?!" She frantically gestured towards the glowing gnosis.
Venti looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.
"I..I don't understand... I am acknowledging your sovereignty. This is the proper protocol. The Gnosis is the symbol of an Archon's authority. To pass it on is to pass on the mantle."
"Of course you don't!" she retorted, her frustration mounting, a wave of heat rising to her cheeks.
"You waltz back into your own city after centuries of slumber, find out that a stranger has done your job for you, and your first instinct is to hand over the keys to the nation and shirk your responsibilities all over again! Are you so cowardly that you cannot even face the consequences of your own inactions?!"
Each word was a hammer blow, striking at the very core of Venti's psyche.
He had expected gratitude, acceptance, perhaps even a sense of relief upon himself at being unburdened. To be able to pass to someone more worthy than himself. Yet, he had not expected to be scolded like a truant schoolboy.
"But... I failed," he stammered, the conviction draining from his voice. "You have succeeded. You are what Mondstadt needs. You are a better Archon than I could ever be."
"An Archon is not a title to be handed so easily, you fool!" Artoria shot back, rising from her chair, her presence swelling to fill the room, a palpable aura of divine authority.
"It is a sacred trust, a bond between a god and their people! You can't just... trade it in like a used lyre when it becomes inconvenient!"
She was angry now, not just towards him, but at the sheer, overwhelming weight of the situation. At the cosmic injustice of it all.
She had found a home, a family, a purpose. She had built a new life from the ashes of an old one. And now this long-lost god was trying to shove the entire divine system of Teyvat into her lap!
"You were the one they prayed to for years, the one whose name they sang in the taverns for centuries, the one whose symbol flew from the spires of their city! Your absence had nearly broke their hearts! Your return cannot be a passing of the torch! It must be a reconciliation!"
She gestured to the gnosis, her voice laced with a terrible, final authority.
"That is your power. Your duty. Your burden. And you will take it back. You will face your people. You will atone for your long absence. You will be the Archon they deserve!"
Artoria stared at the crestfallen god before him. The weight of her words was meant to be a rallying cry, a call to action, a challenge to reclaim his honor.
***
But she had misjudged him. She had misjudge the deeper meaning behind the bard's actions.
In her anger from the bard's sudden show fealty and surrender, she had momentarily forgotten the memories that she saw earlier through her clairvoyance. Blinded by anger and annoyance, she had forgotten about the broken person beneath the facade of a god.
As her final command echoed throughout the room, a change came over Venti. The last vestiges of his playful facade, the last flicker of his ancient, weary wisdom, crumbled into dust.
The walls he had built around his heart, a fortress forged from a thousand years of grief and loss, finally shattered.
It started with a small, choked sob escaping his lips.
Then another. And another.
Tears began to stream down his face, silent, relentless, a flood of sorrow that had been held back for centuries.
He looked up to her, his green eyes wide with a pain so raw, so profound, that it seemed to swallow the very light in the room.
He thought....he thought she had seen through him. He thought she would understand after seeing his cowardice, his failures, the pathetic excuse of a god he that had become. He had offered her everything, his power, his title, his very being, in a desperate, final attempt to atone, to find peace.
And she had thrown it back in his face.
She hadn't seen a god trying to do the right thing. She had seen a failure. A burden to be discarded.
The shame was a physical force, crushing him, driving the air from his lungs. The loneliness, a constant, aching companion for so long, became a roaring void in his soul.
And in that moment of absolute, soul-crushing despair, something inside Venti finally broke.
He began to cry, not the quiet, dignified tears of a monarch, but the racking, uncontrollable sobs of an utterly broken and eroded man.
In that moment, he was no longer the Anemo Archon, the God of Freedom. He was just a tiny, lost, hurting soul, crying for a comfort he could never find.
He knelt there, on the floor of her office, a god broken, weeping without restraint. The gnosis, forgotten, slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered onto the polished marble floor, its light dimming as if in sympathy with its master's despair.
He never wanted this, he never wanted any of this.
He was a small wind sprite, curious and free, content to simply exist, to ride the currents and see the world. The power, the responsibility, the endless tide of loss—it was all a cruel cosmic joke.
He just wanted his friend back.
He just wanted to be free.
He looked up at Artoria, his vision blurred by tears, his plea a choked, desperate whisper.
"Why... why can't I just be free...?"
Artoria froze, the anger draining from her as if a plug had been pulled. The righteous fury that had fueled her lecture evaporated, replaced by a cold, dawning horror.
'What have I done?' She thought to herself, the realization and the dawning horror that came along with it slowly freezing her into place.
She stared at the weeping god at her feet, and the full, crushing weight of what she had done crashed down upon her.
Her anger had blinded her.
Her frustration had clouded her judgment.
She had hastily judged him without even considering the meaning behind his actions and words.
She thought she had seen a god trying to shirk his duty, and she had responded with the righteous indignation of a king, and not the compassion of a healer.
She had forgotten. In that crucial, terrible moment, she had forgotten the visions her clairvoyance had granted her.
She had forgotten the lonely god wandering the world, the weeping Archon grieving for his friend. She had forgotten the person so lost and afraid beneath the divine persona.
She had mistaken a desperate plea for salvation as an act of cowardice. She had taken the shattered pieces of a broken heart and ground them further into dust.
A wave of guilt, so profound, so overwhelming, that it felt like a physical blow, washed over her. Her maternal heart, the core of her very being, screamed in agony. She had caused this pain. She had deepened this wound.
Her own past failures as a mother, the memory of Mordred's anguish, her daughter's death, a reflection of her own shortcomings, rose up to mock her.
She was supposed to be a protector, a source of comfort, a wise counselor, a beacon of hope. And yet here she was, breaking a lost, wandering soul.
No, no, NO!
She rushed forward, her movements fluid and swift, and knelt before the sobbing god. Her arms enveloped him, pulling him into a gentle, yet firm embrace, pulling him close to her chest.
It was not the embrace of a queen, but of a mother. A desperate, aching, all-encompassing embrace that sought to mend what had been broken.
He tensed at her touch, a flinch born of centuries of pain, but then, something inside him gave way. He collapsed against her, burying his face in the fabric of her uniform, his sobs becoming more ragged, more desperate. He was a shipwrecked soul finally finding a shore, and he clung to her as if she were the only solid thing in a world of chaos.
Artoria held him, her hand gently stroking his hair, her own heart aching with a fierce, protective love. She could feel the deep, gaping wound in his soul, the echoes of a thousand years of sorrow. She could feel the loneliness, a cold, desolate void that had been his constant companion for so long.
"I...I'm a failure." Venti sobbed. The words were like a punch to her gut, and she tightened her hold on him.
"No, you're not," she whispered, her voice thick with an emotion she couldn't name.
"You're not a failure. You're just... tired. You've been carrying this burden for too long, all by yourself."
She rocked him gently, a soft, rhythmic motion, a gesture as old as time itself.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her words a heartfelt apology, a promise to make things right.
Venti clung himself further into her as he heard those words. Her very being was safe, warm and caring, like a beacon in the endless sea of despair.
"I was wrong. I was angry, and in my anger I was blinded by my own ideals. I didn't see... I didn't see the pain you were in. I'm so, so sorry."
She held him for a long time, letting him cry, letting him release the centuries of pent-up sorrow, the years of unshed tears.
Every fiber of her being, every aspect that made up who she was—the King, the Goddess, the hero, the mage, the fairy, the adventurer, even the alters and some of her eccentric aspects, and most important of all, the Mother—screamed at her to comfort the poor soul.
To right the wrong that had been brought.
To protect him from any more pain.
Her divine authority commanded it.
Her maternal soul demanded it.
And in that moment, adecision was made.
A decision that would change the course of her life, and the fate of Mondstadt, forever. It was a dangerous, audacious, a world-shattering decision. But it was the only way.
The only way to heal the wound, to soothe the sorrow, to free this god from his burden.
She couldn't let him go. She couldn't send him back out into the world, broken and alone. She couldn't force him to bear a burden that had already crushed him.
She would take it from him.
She would take it all.
She would take the power, the responsibility, the pain. She would take the gnosis, the title, the very essence of what it meant to be the Anemo Archon.
She would take it all, and she would carry it, not as a burden, but as a mother carries her child.
She pulled away slightly, her hands gently cupping his face, her thumbs wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks. Her emerald eyes met his, a promise of a new beginning, a chance for healing, for redemption.
"I will take your burdens, little wisp." she said, her voice soft, yet firm, a vow that was as binding as any divine law.
Venti shuddered upon hearing the unfamiliar yet endearing name used to address him.
"I will take your pain," she continued, her gaze unwavering.
"I will take your responsibility. I will take the gnosis. I will take the title of Anemo Archon. And I will keep you safe."
He looked at her, his green eyes wide with a mixture of awe, confusion, and a fragile, dawning hope. He didn't understand what she was saying, not fully. But he could feel the sincerity in her words, the depth of her compassion.
"You... you will?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. He clutched onto her dress, a child clinging to its mother.
"I will," she confirmed, her expression solemn.
"But I will not do it here. Not in this realm. Not under the gaze of Celestia, or the prying eyes of the Abyss or any other powers. I will do it in a place where no one can find us. A place of my own making."
A place cut off from the world itself. A place that a goddess like her can easily createby bending the world to her own will and superceding it with her own inner world.
A Marble Phantasm
More specifically, she'll bend the reality of the entire room with her authority and project her own inner world unto it, similar to a Reality Marble, yet more robust, stronger, sturdier and above all…free from the gaze of any who might interfere.
"Avalon," she said, the name a whisper of power, a promise of sanctuary. "I will take you to Avalon."
Then, a small, playful smile touched her lips, a flicker of her old, mischievous self shining through.
"But before we go," she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle command.
"Pick that up. A god's power is not something to be left lying on the floor. It's disrespectful." She gestured with her chin towards the gnosis, still lying on the marble floor.
Venti, through a veil of tears, looked at the glowing Queen's chess piece, the source of so much of his pain and suffering. He hesitated, a flicker of old fear in his eyes.
Artoria's smile widened, a reassuring, maternal warmth radiating from her. "It's alright. You won't have to bear it for much longer. Just one last time. For me."
Her words were a soothing balm, a gentle push in the right direction. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then reached down and picked up the gnosis. The moment he touched it, a surge of energy, a familiar, yet now unwelcome, power coursed through him. He flinched, but held on, his gaze fixed on Artoria, his trust in her absolute.
"Good," she said, her approval a warm, comforting blanket. "Now, hold on to me. You too Dvalin, this will be a bit... disorienting."
The little dragon, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide, worried eyes, immediately scurried up her arm and nestled against her neck, a tiny, comforting weight.
Artoria then closed her eyes, her hands placed on Venti's shoulders. She then dug deep into her inner self, into her divine authority and started to bend the very reality of the entire room into her will. The world around them began to dissolve. The solid walls of the office, the polished marble floor, the maps, the desk, the half-finished knitting, all of it began to fade, replaced by a swirl of blinding, white light!
Venti felt a sensation of being pulled, stretched, and compressed all at once. The sounds of the city, the rustle of papers, the hum of the divine energy, all of it faded into a distant echo, replaced by a profound, all-encompassing silence.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.
The light receded, and Venti found himself standing in a place that was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was a world unto itself, a realm of impossible beauty and tranquility. It was similar to those forged by the adepti of Liyue, yet they pale in comparison to the splendor and majesty of this mystical place. This place felt like a portion of Teyvat was just transformed into something else!
A sky of the purest, most brilliant blue stretched out above them, with clouds perfectly placed high above, and adding to its perfection. A soft, gentle light, neither sun nor moon, bathed the landscape in a warm, ethereal glow.
They were in a vast, verdant valley, a tapestry of the most vibrant, otherworldly green. The air was sweet with the scent of unknown, yet beautiful, flowers, their petals shimmering with a soft, inner light.
In the distance, a crystal-clear river meandered through the valley, its waters singing a soft, melodious song as they flowed over smooth, moss-covered stones. And in the very center of the valley, rising from a hill of pure white marble, was a tower. A tower of the most exquisite, intricate design, a spire of white and gold that seemed to touch the heavens. It was a place of unparalleled beauty, a sanctuary, a paradise.
This was Avalon.
Artoria's inner place made manifest by bending the laws of reality to her will, and in this place, a place that was a reflection of her own soul, Artoria's power was absolute.
She gently released her hold on Venti, her hands still resting on his shoulders, her emerald eyes meeting his.
"This is Avalon," she said, her voice a soft, reverent murmur. "My sanctuary. A place outside of the normal flow of time. A place where Celestia, the Abyss, and even Irminsul cannot see. Here, we are truly free."
Venti was speechless, his awe so profound that it robbed him of words.
"Avalon," he whispered, his voice a soft, reverent murmur. A name so foreign yet perfectly describe this beautiful place.
Dvalin can be seen hovering around the air in circles, enamoured by the very gorgeous landscape he's looking at.
"Is..is this...is this the land of the Faey? The one that I've heard from your bedtime stories Mistress?" Dvalin said in excitement as he continued exploring the pure air around them.
He, and his mistress' children would always listened every night when his mistress would tell them exciting bedtime stories, one of those stories was the elusive land of the Faey called Avalon.
"Close enough Dvalin. This place is but an imitation of the original place. This is my soul. My inner world. A utopia cut from the laws of the world." Artoria replied, her voice a soft, even murmur, a gentle, but firm, command.
"Here we are beyond the gaze of Celestia and the world tree. Nothing can see or hear what we are about to do."
Venti, despite still reeling from the sheer, overwhelming power Artoria had just displayed, managed to find his voice. He looked at her, his green eyes wide with a mixture of awe, confusion, and a fragile, dawning hope.
"So," he said, his voice a soft, hesitant murmur. "This is it. This is where you will take my burdens. This is where you... take my powers."
"Yes," Artoria said, her expression solemn. "This is where we end your long, lonely vigil. This is where we begin a new chapter."
She took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the gnosis in Venti's hand, the small, intricate piece glowing with the raw, untamed essence of the wind.
"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice a soft, gentle inquiry.
Venti looked at the gnosis, the source of so much of his pain and suffering, and then he looked at her, his gaze filled with a trust so absolute, so complete, that it was almost humbling.
"I am," he said, his voice a firm, resolute vow.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air of Avalon filling his lungs, a breath of pure, unadulterated life. He looked at Artoria, his eyes filled with a newfound respect, a profound, overwhelming gratitude. And he nodded.
"Alright," he said, his voice a soft, resigned whisper. "It's time to finish the song." Then he closed his eyes.
He then held out the gnosis, the small, intricate piece glowing with the raw, untamed essence of the wind. Artoria gently placed her palm above it, her fingers almost closing around the small, intricate piece, a tangible fragment of a god's power.
It hummed with a familiar energy, a distant echo of the power she herself commanded. It was a warm, vibrant, living thing, a fragment of the very soul of the world.
"Now," she said, her voice a soft, even murmur. "Let us begin."
Venti took a deep, shuddering breath, and then, with a final, desperate act of will, he released the hold he had on the gnosis, the hold he had on the power, on the authority that had defined his existence for over two millennia.
A wave of pure, unadulterated energy, a torrent of divine power, began to surged forth from the gnosis, flooding into Artoria. It was a raw, untamed force, a chaotic storm of wind and sky, a thousand years of accumulated power, a lifetime of memories, of joys, of sorrows, of triumphs, of failures.
It was a flood of information, a torrent of data that would have overwhelmed a lesser being. But Artoria was no lesser being. She was a goddess, a being of immense power, a being who was not of this world and was untouched by its laws.
At first the energy felt chaotic, it sensed the foreign being who is now trying to claim its authority. The raw Anemo energy, the one that originated not from the Usurper himself but from the world's first draconic sovereigns began to swirl around her, the very sky of Avalon began to shake from the immense power surging forth, but it quickly found itself outmatched. Artoria's own divine constitution and her immense Magic Resistance simply diverted the foreign power away as if it was nothing, calming the storm itself.
She then began to channel and tame the raw power of Anemo by her will. She took the chaotic energy, the very representation of the storm, the wind and the sky, and she molded it, shaping it, refining it, until it became part of her, a new, vibrant thread woven into the tapestry of her own divinity. Her very own 'ascended Draconic Core', the one that she had since her birth and was further transformed upon her divine ascension, acted as a catalyst of sort that siphoned most of the authority that originally belonged to the original Anemo Sovereign out of the Divine Throne that represented the authority of the Anemo Archon, and depositing it unto Artoria's very being. Adding another feather to her already immense power.
She once again saw the memories that she saw earlier through her clairvoyance but now more vibrant, more vivid than ever before. The echoes of thousand of years of life, of love, of loss, of a god who had walked among mortals, who had shared their joys, and who had mourned their passing.
She could feel the Nameless Bard, a smile on his face, a song in his heart, a vision of a free and happy people. She could feel the young, newly-ascended Archon, weeping over the body of his fallen friend, the grief a raw, agonizing wound. She could feel the lonely god, wandering the world, a ghost in a land of mortals, his heart aching with a loss that would never heal.
She was now experiencing them, the very life led by a once curious Little Wind Spirit who just wanted to be free. She felt the raw emotions that came with those memories. The joy, the sorrow, the love, the loss. And as she processed these, she made a silent vow to herself.
She will not fail him.
She will heal this poor soul.
The very fabric of Avalon itself seemed to respond to the new influx of power, the very air shimmering with a newfound energy, the very light glowing with a brighter, more vibrant hue. The flowers seemed to bloom a little brighter, the river to sing a little louder, the tower to stand a little taller.
A new archon was born.
Yet, amidst the divine transformation, amidst the cosmic reshuffling of power, a terrifying, and heartbreaking truth began to unfold.
The gnosis, the Anemo Gnosis, became more than just a conduit for the Barbatos to resonate towards Celestia. For thousands of years it became an integral part of Barbatos. Not only his powers and authority resided there but also the very essence of his being.
As Venti released the gnosis, he gave up that very essence and by doing so a change began to come over him.
His form began to flicker, to waver, like a candle flame in a sudden gust of wind. His hands, his face, his very body, began to lose its solidity, to fade into a translucent, ethereal mist.
Venti began to sway.
Erosion, born from centuries of hardship began to take its toll, slowly dismantling the corpus of the god that once held the title of Anemo Archon, whos anchor he had just surrendered to another.
Dvalin was the first to noticed it. The little dragon frantically dived straight into Venti before he fell down. His tiny body trying desperately to support him from completely collapsing.
"MISTRESS HELP! HE'S FADING!" Dvalin let out a desperate squeak as he felt that body of the man that he once called friend slowly fading into nothingness.
Venti, the once sovereign archon of Mondstadt with eyes as vibrant as the wind, is now sprawling in an awkward sitting position with only Dvalin's constant effort keeping him from falling down into the ground.
His eyes are hallow and has lost its colors. His breathing getting shallower, and yet, he was able to put on a smile...for one last time. The smile of a person who was able to find peace at the end.
Artoria's eyes widened in horror.
Her earlier vow, her promise to heal him, now turned into a desperate race against an unseen foe.
She had miscalculated.
She had underestimated the depth of the bond between a god and their gnosis. She had thought it was just a tool, a weapon, a symbol of authority. She had not realized it was an anchor, a lifeline, the very core of their existence. Without it, he was adrift, a ship without a rudder, slowly being pulled into the endless, nameless void.
"NO!" she cried, her voice a raw, desperate scream, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror.
Never before she felt this intense fear, not to herself, but towards another since her coming to Teyvat. This caused her very essence to stir, the souls that made up her very being began to take notice.
She rushed to his side, her movements a blur of divine speed, her hands gently cradling his fading form. He was light, almost weightless, like a bundle of thistledown, a ghost in the making.
"What's happening to me? So... this is how it feels.... to be free..." Venti whispered, his voice a faint, breathless echo, a smile touching his lips, a smile of acceptance, of peace.
Artoria's heart ached at those words. She would not let him 'free' himself to death.
"This is not what it means to be free! This is not freedom! This is oblivion! I will not let this happen! Not on my watch!" Artoria's face was contorted in a desperate mix of rage and fear, a primal, protective instinct that was older than the gods themselves.
Yet, the god in her arms appeared to had already surrendered to the inevitable. His eyes was now slowly closing, his expression now serene in acceptance to his upcoming fate.
"T..thank you....my...Archon. Thank...you...so much." Venti closed his eyes then said,
"I...I...wish...I wish..I could...see the skies....of Mondstadt one...last...time."
No," she whispered, the word a puff of air in the sudden, oppressive silence of her soul-world. "No, this isn't supposed to happen, not like this. Never this!"
She had meant to give him peace, to take his burden. She had not meant to give him oblivion.
"Mistress!" Dvalin's squeak was a desperate, high-pitched cry, a sound of pure, animal terror. He was nudging Venti's fading shoulder with his little head, a frantic, useless gesture.
"You have to do something! You can't let him... you can't let him go like this!"
Then, a spark of divine inspiration, a memory of a desperate, desperate act, a memory of a crying child, a memory of a desperate mother, flashed in her mind.
Bennett.
Her son. The miracle child from Natlan, the one whose soul was untethered, adrift, a ghost in the wind. The one she had saved with a desperate, audacious act of Soul-sharing.
That was it. That was the only way.
Yet, what she's planning would be a more dangerous gamble, as compared to what she had done to her eldest son more than four years ago. Back then, she only has to share a small portion of her Lily-self to her little Benny due to her son being a mortal. But now, it is different. What's she's trying to save was no mere human but a god, a former archon! A being who's entire existence is now slowly fading away from reality!
She would have to give more than just a small piece this time, and the cost, the potential cost of losing a fragment, an entire aspect of herself that could possibly be never returned again, was terrifying. It was a risk that could even unmake her.
But as she looked at the fading god in her arms, at the desperate, pleading eyes of the little dragon, she knew there was no other choice.
***
In her desperation, her body began to shine, which greatly surprised her. Her very soul, her very essence began to stir, responding to her most desperate plea.
And from the myriad of aspects that formed her, one began to respond to the call, outracing the others inside Artoria's sea of souls, and manifesting herself into reality to help her other self in her time of need.
This aspect, this version of Artoria Pendragon was unique.
Her appearance was that of a young woman with "rough and sporty garments unseemly for Servants." Her blue muffler is a symbol of courage, and her cap is used to (unsuccessfully) hide her identity and ahoge which is totally unique and weird for it sticks out of the cap she's wearing!
She's energetic, polite, yet socially unaware, and had a weird grudge against anything that bares the name saber. She's the first aspect to had responded the call.
She's Mysterious Heroine X, otherwise known as X.
"Yo!" X said, her voice a cheerful, energetic greeting that was utterly, bizarrely out of place in the dire, desperate situation.
"It seems we have a situation here, a top-secret, ultra-rare, S-class emergency! I, Mysterious Heroine X, the greatest servant hunter in the galaxy, am here to save the day!"
She struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the ceiling, a confident, heroic grin on her face.
Artoria stared at her, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, desperation, and a sudden, overwhelming sense of utter absurdity.
"X?" she said, her voice a disbelieving whisper. "What are you... how are you...?"
"It's a long, complicated, and highly classified story," X said, waving a dismissive hand.
"Let's just say that when you're in a real pickle, all your best selves will come running out for help. And I," she said, tapping her chest proudly, "am the best of the best. The fastest, the coolest, the most... well, the most me!"
Dvalin, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of confusion and desperation, simply stared, his little head moving from to one side to another, a silent question in his wide, draconic eyes.
"Huh?!..Mistress, there.. there's two of you?!"
"She's... one of me," Artoria explained, her mind racing, trying to grasp the implications of this sudden, bizarre intervention. "She's... me."
"A very cool, very heroic, and very important part of you!" X corrected, winking.
"And I'm here to help. I saw what was going on. A soul in peril, a life on the line. A cry for help from a damsel in distress! Or, well, a goddes in distress. Close enough."
She then knelt down, her expression growing serious, her energetic demeanor replaced by a calm, focused intensity that was surprisingly similar to Artoria's own.
"I know what you're thinking," she said, her voice a low, serious murmur.
"You're thinking about what you did for our little unlucky adventurer. You're thinking about Soul-sharing. And you're right. It's the only way."
She looked at Venti, her gaze a mix of pity and a strange, almost academic curiosity.
"But he's not a human," she continued.
"He's a god. Or, at least, he was. A piece of me won't be enough. You'll need more. Something stronger to anchor him back. You'll need...the entire me, my entire soul."
Artoria stared at her, a sense of dawning horror, and a profound, overwhelming gratitude, washing over her.
"No," she said, her voice a choked whisper. "No, I can't ask you to do that. The cost... it could be too high. I can't risk losing you."
X just laughed, a bright, cheerful, utterly fearless sound.
"Losing me? Come on, you know better than that," she said, her grin wide and confident.
"I'm Mysterious Heroine X! I'm not that easy to get rid of and besides," she added, her gaze softening slightly, a flicker of her own, hidden depths shining through.
"I've been watching, we've all been watching you. Through your eyes. I've seen what you've built here. I've seen the children. I've seen the love, the joy, the hope. You've made a good life, a real life. And this poor sap," she said, gesturing to Venti, "he's a part of that now. He's one of yours."
She looked at Venti, her expression a mix of pity and a strange, almost wistful understanding.
"He's a wanderer, a lost soul, just like I was, in a way. Always searching, always chasing after something, never quite finding it. And I... well, I've always had a soft spot for a good quest, a noble cause. And saving a god? That's a quest for the ages, right up my alley!"
She then turned back to Artoria, her expression a mixture of mischief and a strange, almost sisterly affection.
"Don't you worry about me," she said, her voice a confident, reassuring whisper.
"I may be an aspect, but I'm also my own being. I'm a complete being, just like you which also happens to be a part of you! And besides," she added, a sly grin spreading across her face.
"It's not like I'm disappearing for good. I've got other versions of me floating around in that big, beautiful head of yours. The Foreigner me in the cool summer bikini that was always asking for a bonus, the other me with the big, cool space ship, that weird version of me that calls herself Galactica, hell, even those evil sith (alter) versionsof me who had totally embraced the darkside! They'll keep my spirit alive, and they, along with the rest of us will always keep you company no matter what."
"It's not an end. It's just... a change of scenery, think of me as just a satellite you'll be sending off into deep space on a very important mission!"
Artoria's heart ached with a bittersweet pang of affection and sorrow. The courage of this facet of herself, the sheer, unadulterated heroism in the face of possible self-annihilation, was breathtaking. It was the same reckless bravery she had seen in so many heroes, the same selfless devotion to a cause greater than oneself.
She had just met her moments ago, yet she knows deep down that she had always been there, always a part of her regardless of her space fairing quirk.
"But the sacrifice..." Artoria began, her voice choked with emotion.
"There is no sacrifice," X interrupted, her tone firm, yet gentle. "Only a trade. A piece of me for a whole new life for him. And it's a trade I'm willing to make. For him," she said, gesturing to Venti. "For you. For them."
Her gaze drifted towards the invisible connection Artoria held with her children in the world beyond Avalon, a flicker of understanding in her eyes.
"He's not a saber, so that's a massive bonus! It would be a pain if he was a saber, they can be quite...stubborn." X said with a cheeky grin.
"And don't worry about any sort of ill side effects to yourself or to your powers after we're done. You're already ridiculouslyoverpowered enough without me, it would just be absurd at this point. So no need to worry about me, my other self, okay?"
She then stood up, her hands on her hips, her expression a mask of unwavering determination.
"So, let's do this," she said, her voice a clear, confident command. "Before he fades away completely. I'd hate for my grand heroic sacrifice to be for nothing. It would be so...anti-climactic!"
She then took a deep breath, her eyes closing, her entire being beginning to glow with a bright, golden light, a light that was both familiar and alien, a light that was a reflection of Artoria's own.
"Oh, and before I go, please do me a favor and teach this poor sap about my patented Saber Ninja Arts which is super effective (?) against sabers! As well as how to wield my Secret-Calibur! Please teach him those when his grows up once again ok?" X said with a grin on her face.
"Grow up? What do you m.."
"Alright, I'm ready! Let's do this!" X then interrupted her again. In one final act of goodbye, X gave her a bright smile and a thumbs up, as she began to glow.
The light around X intensified, her form beginning to dissolve, breaking apart into a swirling vortex of golden motes, a galaxy of miniature stars.
Artoria watched, her heart aching, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. She could feel the connection between them, the thread that bound them, stretching thinner and thinner, threatening to snap.
She wanted to say something, to thank her, to say goodbye, but the words were caught in her throat, a lump of grief, and gratitude.
So instead, she just nodded, a silent, solemn vow, a promise to remember, a promise to honor her sacrifice.
And as the last of X's form dissolved into a swirling vortex of golden light, Artoria reached out, her hand closing around the vortex, her fingers sinking into the warm, vibrant energy. She could still feel her, sense her, but her connection with her is now but a very thin strand compared to the sturdy pillars of her other forms.
"Thank you, my other self. Thank you so much X."
She then turned to Venti, her expression a mask of grim determination. He was barely visible now, a faint, shimmering outline, a ghost in the wind.
"Hold on," she whispered, her voice a fierce, desperate plea. "Just hold on a little longer."
She then placed her hand, now glowing with the brilliant, golden light of X's soul, over Venti's fading heart. And as she did, she performed Soul-sharing once again, her own divine essence, a warm, nurturing light, flowing from her, merging with the golden light of X, a brilliant, swirling vortex of power and life.
The combined light, a brilliant, blinding white, surged forth into Venti, a wave of pure, unadulterated life, a torrent of divine energy that flooded his fading form, a desperate, desperate act of salvation that will anchor him back to the world, and would ultimately bond him with her.
His body arched, a silent scream tearing from his lips as the overwhelming energy coursed through him, a raw, untamed force that threatened to tear him apart, to unmake him, to remake him.
The world of Avalon itself seemed to hold its breath, the very air shimmering with the raw power of the ritual, the light so bright, so intense, that it was almost blinding.
And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.
The light receded, the energy subsided, and a profound, deafening silence descended upon the valley.
Venti was lying on the grass, his form now solid, real, no longer fading. He was alive.
But he was... different, very different from before.
He was smaller, much smaller, a small, fragile form, no more than four or five years old.
His hair, once a vibrant, braided teal, was now a shorter, messier, more unkempt version of his older self with a small ahoge sticking out from the top of his head.
His face, once the face of a handsome, youthful archon, was now the face of a child, with soft, rounded features, a small, button nose, chubby cheeks and a pair of large, curious, emerald-green eyes.
And he was dressed in a small, slightly oversized version of the iconic green and white bard's outfit, a tiny beret perched on his head, a small, wooden lyre strapped to his back. But the most surprising of all was the small blue and white rocket-like space ship toy he now clutches in his right hand. He looked... like a tiny, adorable, and slightly confused-looking version of the god he once was.
He blinked, his large, emerald-green eyes wide with a mixture of confusion, and a strange, almost childlike wonder. He looked at his hands, now small and chubby, at the wooden lyre on his back, at the rocket toy in his grasp.
"...Wha...?" he said, his voice no longer the smooth, melodious baritone of a god, but a high, soft, and slightly confused childish treble.
"Where... am I? And... why do I have a sudden urge to beat some mean old Sabers...?" he said with child-like innocence.
He then turned to look at Artoria, who was kneeling beside him, her expression a mixture of relief, and a strange, almost maternal fondness. He looked at her, a small, shy smile touching his lips.
"He..hello," he said, his voice a soft, curious whisper. "Do I... know you? You feel... warm."
His memories were a jumbled, chaotic mess, a thousand years of experience and a thousand years of pain now scattered like leaves in the wind, replaced by a blank slate, a new beginning.
The only thing that was clear, the only thing that was real, was the warm, safe, comforting presence of the woman in front of him. She felt like... home.
Artoria's heart melted at the sight of him, at the sound of his small, confused voice. The god, the archon, the burdened soul, was gone. In his place was a child, a small, innocent, and utterly adorable child, a new addition to her growing, and increasingly unconventional, family.
She couldn't help but smile, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her own emerald-green eyes.
Venti kept looking at the pretty lady in front of him.
He felt a strange sense of familiarity with her, yet he couldn't quite place where he had seen her before, yet deep down, for reasons unknown, he sense that she's very important to him.
And so, he tried to stand up from his sitting position and began to waddle towards her. He didn't know why but his whole being is screaming, urging for him to go to her, to be held up by her.
He waddled slowly towards her, his steps unsure and unsteady as that of a newborn trying to walk. He stumbled in his way and in his frustrations to get towards the pretty lady in front of him, Little Venti stretched out his small arms towards Artoria, his lips began to tremble and his big green eyes began to moist. Then, he let out a cry, a cry that echoed from his very soul.
"Mama!"
It was a single, clear, and utterly devastating word, a cry from the very depths of his newly-formed soul, a plea for comfort, for safety, for the warmth and love of a mother. It was the one thing he could remember, the one thing that was real, the only thing that mattered to him.
Artoria's maternal instincts, already on high alert, went into overdrive. She didn't hesitate for a second. She reached out, her arms wrapping around the small, crying child, pulling him into a gentle, yet firm embrace, pulling him close to her chest.
"It's alright," she whispered, her voice a soft, soothing murmur, a promise of safety and love. "Mama's here. Mama's got you."
Venti snuggled against her, his small, chubby arms wrapping around her neck, his face buried in the fabric of her uniform, his sobs slowly subsiding, replaced by a soft, contented sigh. He was safe. He was home.
Dvalin, who had been watching the entire scene with a mixture of confusion and then utter awe, gave out a squeal of joy and happiness. He flew in circles in the air before he flew towards Artoria's shoulder and snuggled against her neck, a small, comforting weight, a silent show of support.
Artoria held them both, a goddess, a mother, a protector, a beacon of hope and love in a world that so often lacked it. She was a lioness, a fierce and devoted protector of her cubs, and she would face any danger, any threat, any challenge to keep them safe.
She had gained a new title, a new burden, a new responsibility. But she had also gained a new child, anew son, a new source of joy, a new reason to fight, a new reason to live. And as she held him close to her heart, she knew, with a certainty that was as deep and as unshakable as the roots of the world, that she had made the right choice.
In the face of this most profound moment of joy, peace and happiness, Artoria began to sing.
A lullaby. A gentle, soothing melody, a song that conveys love and comfort.
It was a song she had sung to her other children, a song she had sung to them a hundred times, a song that always seemed to calm their fears and soothe their troubled hearts.
It was a song with the same essence as that of melody she had used to calm the storm above Mondstadt, but instead of the powerful, commanding words that could bend nature to her will, what came out were the gentle, loving words of a mother comforting her child.
The song was in a language that was as old as her kingdom back on earth, a language derived from those of the faey that once lived within its borders before the age of man started, a language of pure emotion, of pure love. It was a song that spoke of starlit skies, of gentle breezes, of warm, sunny days, of the comforting embrace of a mother's love.
It was a song that promised safety, that promised a world without fear, a world without pain, a world of endless joy and happiness.
******
Huna blentyn ar fy mynwes,
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;
(Sleep child upon my bosom,
It is cosy and warm;)
Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;
(Mother's arms are tight around you,
A mother's love is in my breast;)
Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun,
Ni wna undyn â thi gam;
(Nothing shall disturb your slumber,
Nobody will do you harm;)
Huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn,
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam.
(Sleep in peace, dear child,
Sleep quietly on your mother's breast.)
*****
Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun;
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun!
(Sleep, my darling, night is falling
Rest in slumber sound and deep;
I would know why you are smiling,
Smiling sweetly as you sleep!)
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu,
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon,
(Do you see the angels smiling
As they see your rosy rest,)
Tithau'n gwenu'n ôl dan huno,
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?
(So that you must smile an answer
As you slumber on my breast?)
*****
Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
Gura, gura ar y ddôr;
(Don't be frightened, it's a leaflet
Tapping, tapping on the door;)
Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
Sua, sua ar lan y môr;
(Don't be frightened, 'twas a wavelet
Sighing, sighing on the shore.)
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw;
(Slumber, slumber, naught can hurt you,
Nothing bring you harm or fright;)
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes.
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.
(Slumber, darling, smiling sweetly
At those angels robed in white.)
******
The words were soft, a gentle whisper in the quiet, still air of Avalon, a soothing balm to a troubled soul.
The melody was simple, a lilting, hypnotic tune that seemed to wrap around them, to hold them in its gentle, loving embrace.
Venti, the small, newly-reborn godling, was fast asleep in her arms, a small, contented smile on his face, his small, chubby hand clutching the fabric of her uniform, his breathing soft and even. He is safe. He is home. He is loved.
He is now free.
(End of Chapter)
____________________
Artoria Pendragon 'Gunnhildr'
Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius
The Anemo Archon (Barbatos)
Sovereign of the Wind and Sky
Chimeric Goddess from the Moonlit World
Descender
_______________
(Parameters)
Strength: EX
Endurance: EX (upgraded)
Agility: A++ (upgraded)
Mana: EX
Luck: A+ (upgraded)
NP (Noble Phantasms): EX
_______________
(Personal Skills)
Her personal skill set had been slightly upgraded due her ascension into Archonhood and in part to her very nature of being a chimeric-goddes (being an amalgamation of all Artoria variants and aspects).
A). Mana Burst (Ex Rank):
B). Charisma (A+ Rank):
C). Magic Resistance (EX Rank):
- Originally, the immense magical power from Artoria's dragon blood already granted her a very strong Magic Resistance that is one of the highest amongst the Servants, especially when summoned in the Saber class.
- With her, now being a chimeric amalgamation of all possible forms (including 3 which already has A ranked Magical Resistance: Artoria Saber, Artoria Swimsuit Archer, and Artoria Caster), she now possessed an exceptional resistance above the rest. Instead of negating magecraft, it simply diverts the magic elsewhere, making her impossible to hit even by magecraft from the Age of Gods.
D). Clairvoyance (EX Rank):
- Eyesight of extremely good quality. Apprehension of long distance target and elevation of kinetic vision. When the rank is high enough, even x-ray vision or future prediction becomes possible.
- Originating from her Goddess Rhongomyniad aspect whose inate Clairvoyance originally only allowed her to understand both the ideals and purposes of her target, this skill was further refined and elevated after the amalgamation of all her forms and her subsequent ascension into the realm of true divinity. Now, Artoria's clairvoyance gives her unobstructed view of both the past and possible futures, comparable to that of the Mage King Solomon.
- The potency of this skill is so great that it can essentially be considered omniscience, yet for all of its power and might, Artoria herself is hesitant and rarely uses this powerful, fate-altering skill for fear of potential consequences.
- She prefers to not to see the possible futures that lay before her for she fears that it might eventually blind her to the present.
E). Draconic Sovereign of the Wind and Sky (EX Rank):
- Newly acquired skill after Artoria ascended into the position of Anemo Archon.
- The Dragon Core inside Artoria which was placed unto her since her birth represents Albion, the True Red and White Dragon of Britain. Amongst the dragons that roamed Earth, Albion is by far one of, if not the oldest in existence being as old as the planet itself (4.6 billion years old). His size alone is larger than any mountains with each of its claws being as large as a tower. By power alone, he is considered a 'Grand Class' amongst the dragons of the Earth (in comparison, that would either be equal if not stronger than those of the Sovereigns in Teyvat).
- Artoria carries within her the very essence and spirit of Albion in the form of a Dragon Core which already granted her immense strength even before she was a servant. But now, after being turned into chimeric-goddess with most of her variants containing a similar dragon core within her (notable exception being Artoria Caster/Avalon), the core that she now carried had ascended into a level almost similar to that of Albion during its prime. The core itself can easily contain the authority of a Dragon Sovereign, acting as a gnosis or conduit of sort to its power.
- Though she now possessed an ascended Dragon Core, Artoria is neither fully a goddess or a dragon, nor is she two separate beings at once, but rather she's a perfect amalgamation of both. Two natures in one being.
F). ???
G). ???
_______________
(Unique Skills)
Since becoming a chimeric-goddes that is the amalgamation of all her variations and aspects, Artoria was able to access new abilities.
A). Marble Phantasm (Avalon)
- After ascending as a true divine spirit, Artoria gained the ability of Marble phantasm, a far superior form of reality marble which allows her to connect on the planet's sense of touch allowing her to reconstruct the world through probability alteration.
- By connecting her will to the world, she can transfigure it into whatever environment she imagines. In the case of Artoria, this allowed her to create another realm (a sort of pocket realm or dimension similar to those made by a reality marble) that is the perfect represention of her Inner World, filled with mystical plant life and the tower of Avalon at its center, disconnected from the rest of the world.
- Like any Marble Phantasm, this ability will encase anyone within range, causing them to disappear from view.
- Event Storage: An application of Marble Phantasm, that is the ability ability to freely rewrite the surface of the world. It's the ability to conceptually and physically store things that have been cultivated on the surface of the world. The confiscation of all creations birthed on the surface of the planet—its Textures.
- Theoretically, using this sub-aspect of her Marble Phantasm, Artoria can project the entirety of her Inner world, Avalon into the surface of Teyvat, overriding its laws and affecting Irminsul in the process. She could, in theory, transform an entire nation into something similar to Avalon itself.
- By connecting her will to the world, she can transfigure it into whatever environment they imagine. However, the same cannot be done with things like humans or animals (?), which exist independently of the world.
B). Divine Arms Mastery
C). Soul Sharing
D). The Sea of Souls:
- The Sea of Souls is a metaphysical realm inside the very core of Artoria that makes up the very foundation of her entire being and existence.
- It is a similar, yet miniature version of the Throne of Heroes, but instead of existing outside time and space, it exist deep within Artoria's very being.
- An exact copy of all possible variantions of Artoria recorded from the original Throne of Heroes from her prior reality, is stored in this realm, acting as both a library of sort and the fountain from which Artoria drews forth all her abilities. They are her Variants, Fragments, Aspects, and Shades of her very being.
- Through Soul Sharing, Artoria can grant a portion of one of her aspects to mortals and even to other supernatural beings such as gods, though this cases might require her to surrender a larger portion, if not the entire aspect.
- In extreme situations wherein an aspect is surrendered, that aspect will not be not fully removed from the Sea of Souls, rather a thin connection would still exist between it and the realm itself, allowing Artoria to draw forth abilities (though greatlyweakened) from the bygone aspect. This connection can also allow Artoria to even completely recall the surrendered aspect back to her if the situation demands it.
- The Shades: Initially, if Artoria is facing a situation the causes a great deal of stress (either emotionally or physically) towards her, any of the aspect within her can choose to manifest herself in the real world, in front of Artoria in order to aid her. Once this event happens, the aspect who had manifested is now called a Shade, and can freely operate independently as a separate entity, though she's still ultimately subservient to Artoria's will. The amount of time a Shade can spend in the real world would depend on the Shade herself and on Artoria's own directive. She might hang around for just a few minutes, hours, days or even years.
- If Artoria fullymasters this inate ability, she can freely call upon any of her aspects and summon them as Shades at any given moment.
_______________
The Inhabitants/Aspects/Fragments inside the Sea of Souls
A). Artoria Pendragon (Saber)
B). Artoria Pendragon Alter (Saber)
C). Artoria Pendragon Lily
D). Goddess Rhongomyniad
E). Artoria Lancer Alter (Storm King)
F). Artoria Avalon
G). Santa Alter Saber
H). Mysterious Heroine XX (Foreigner)
***
??). ???
??). ???
??). ???
??). Lord Logres (Grand)
??). Galactica (Saber)
??). Emilia 'Emily' Pembroke