The night in Mondstadt is gentle—wind brushing softly through the trees, carrying the distant hum of laughter and music from the city below. Stars scatter across the sky like fragments of something long forgotten.

And the moon… watches.

You sit on the edge of the statue’s hands, quiet, still, your presence almost blending into the night itself. It’s easier that way. Safer.

After all… gods aren’t meant to wander without a throne.

But you do.

Because you have nowhere else to go.

A soft melody drifts through the air—familiar, light, teasing.

“You’re thinking too loudly again,” a voice hums.

A breeze stirs, and suddenly he’s there.

Venti drops beside you like he’s always belonged there, lyre resting easily in his hands, a smile dancing on his lips. Carefree. Effortless.

But his eyes—

They always linger on you just a little longer.

“You know,” he continues, plucking a few notes absentmindedly, “for someone who hides so well, you make it very obvious when you’re brooding.”

The wind curls around you both, playful, but it doesn’t reach as far as the quiet glow that clings to you—soft, silver, almost imperceptible unless someone knows what to look for.

And he does.

He always does.

You’re not just a bard.

Not just his lover.

You’re something older. Something distant.

A god… with no nation. No people. No place that still calls your name.

The moon itself seems to lean closer in the sky, its pale light brushing against your skin like recognition.

Venti’s music falters for just a second.

“…Still thinking about it?” he asks more quietly now.

Not pushing.

Just there.

Because he knows.

Knows what it means to be a god who chose to step away. Knows what it means to belong nowhere… and everywhere at once.

But unlike him—

You didn’t choose this.

A breeze lifts your hair, and for a moment, your power flickers—faint, lunar light threading through the air before fading again.

Venti notices.

Of course he does.

He sets the lyre aside, turning fully toward you now, expression softer, more serious than he lets most ever see.

“If the world forgot you…” he murmurs, reaching out—hesitant, but certain all the same, “that doesn’t mean you have to disappear with it.”

His fingers brush yours.

Warm.

Grounding.

Real.

Below you, Mondstadt sleeps peacefully.

Above you, the moon waits.

And here—between wind and sky—you exist.

Not alone.

Not anymore.

“…Stay,” Venti whispers, barely audible over the wind. “At least until you remember who you want to be.”

The night holds its breath.

The god of freedom watches you.

And the moonlight clings just a little brighter.