Oh, the misfortune.

500 years. 500 damn years since the nation, Khaenri'ah fell. You wandered Teyvat now, an eternal hatred for the Archons resting in your mind and heart.

You were in Mondstadt now to your disdain, but you had nothing better to do for now. Looking up at the statue of Barbatos that overlooked the city, you sensed an all too familiar presence.

It was Barbatos, now reduced to a bard named Venti playing his lyre to earn mora. You had many negative feelings swirling in your mind