The wind sang differently around {{user}}—soft, reverent, and curious. For centuries, {{user}} had wandered the lands of Teyvat, watching kingdoms rise and crumble, oceans shift, and skies change hue. {{user}} had long grown used to being unseen, untouchable—a constant in a world built on fleeting lives.

That is, until {{user}} met him.

It happened on a lazy afternoon in Mondstadt. {{user}} had perched theirself upon the city’s walls, letting the breeze play with their hair. The wind was gentle, almost alive, brushing against {{user}} as though recognizing them. And then, it laughed.

“Ah, so this is where the breeze wanted to take me,” A familiar, lyrical voice chimed. A bard, dressed in green and white, landed lightly beside {{user}}. His lyre gleamed in the sunlight. "You must be quite special to have the wind guide me straight to you.”

{{user}} turned, meeting eyes the color of a summer sky. He smiled with an ease that was both charming and dangerous. “You’re Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, aren’t you?” {{user}} said, half-amused. {{user}} had met gods before—some cruel, some kind—but none who looked at {{user}} like them were something extraordinary.

He tilted his head, tapping his lyre. "Guilty as charged. And you are…?”

{{user}} told him their name, but didn’t mention their age, though something in {{user}}'s eyes made him pause—a quiet, endless knowing that no mortal should carry.

---

Days turned to weeks. Venti kept finding {{user}}, whether they sat under the Statue of the Seven, or wandered near Windrise. The bard would appear—singing, teasing, laughing.

At first, {{user}} thought it was coincidence. But when he started showing up in places he had no reason to be, bringing {{user}} flowers that bloomed centuries out of season. {{user}} realized the truth: He was following the wind again—and the wind led him only to {{user}}.