Kairo had already figured it out—the crimson shard was a tear crystal shed by Stormterror in pain.
When Acting Grand Master Jean asked them to investigate the shard's nature, Kairo held his tongue. He waited. In his experience, rushing to reveal an answer often meant missing a better choice later.
And this time, he was right.
Even if he spoke up now, the "reward" he wanted would still require time—especially if it involved nudging Bronya's views about Cocolia. Some choices couldn't be forced.
"Kairo, Kairo—dinner? Want to eat together?"
Kairo's thoughts drifted back as he and Lumine unknowingly walked out of Jean's office. Once they stepped out of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, Paimon floated close, eyes bright. "We haven't had dinner yet. Come with us?"
"Right. Today went so smoothly thanks to you," Lumine added with a smile. "Let us treat you."
"Sure," Kairo said easily.
"Yay!"
Paimon clapped, then suddenly remembered something and glanced at Lumine. "By the way… there was one thing we didn't tell Jean."
"The one we saw in the forest," Lumine said, scratching her cheek. "Aside from the dragon and that red crystal… there was also someone else."
"I wanted to check it first," she admitted. "He didn't look like a bad person."
"Mhm! The green guy!" Paimon nodded hard, then pointed down the steps. "Just like that passerby—same exact shade of green!"
Down the stairway, a bard in a green cloak strolled past with a lyre in hand.
"…Wait," Lumine blinked. "Paimon—that looks like the same person."
"Eeeh—?! The same person?!"
Kairo followed their gaze and caught the bard's retreating back. Venti.
Paimon lowered her voice. "When we talked to Jean earlier, we didn't mention this: on our way to Mondstadt, we passed a forest and saw a green guy communicating with Stormterror. Then the dragon flew off, and the green guy vanished. We even felt a breeze."
"At the scene we found that crimson crystal," Lumine added. "At the time we thought it might be some kind of illusion. But then we reached Mondstadt and—Stormterror showed up for real."
Kairo smiled. "The Anemo Archon you're looking for—that is him."
"What?!" Paimon and Lumine froze. "The Anemo Archon is him?"
"Why not?" Kairo tilted his head. "Stormterror—Dvalin—is the wind god's familiar. Considering the dragon's hatred toward Mondstadt, who else could approach and talk to it safely? That answer should be obvious."
Paimon and Lumine stared, then glanced at each other, shock giving way to dawning logic.
"B-but… we just arrived in Mondstadt. Isn't it too random to run into the Anemo Archon right away?" Paimon's voice wobbled between disbelief and frustration.
Lumine frowned, thinking it through. If what Kairo said was true, then several of their earlier assumptions needed to be re-examined. With Stormterror attacking, things were more complicated than they'd thought.
"Stormterror is attacking Mondstadt," she said softly. "If it's the Archon's familiar, why hasn't the Archon stopped it?"
"That," Kairo said, a hint of meaning in his tone, "is exactly why you should ask him. No one knows Dvalin better."
Paimon puffed her cheeks. "You mean we should go ask the wind god ourselves?"
"What else? Weren't you here to find him?"
She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. He wasn't wrong.
"Hehe." Paimon bumped Lumine's shoulder. "Looks like we've got a new objective!"
Lumine nodded, eyes steady. Stormterror, the storm over Mondstadt, the crimson crystal—and the green bard. Threads were converging.
"Then we'll go now," she told Kairo. "Thanks for the hint. We'll look for that green guy."
"Go ahead," Kairo said. "If you come back this way, I'll be at Good Hunter. I owe myself dinner—and a drink."
He didn't follow. He'd already given them the answer, and sprinting around the city wasn't his idea of a good evening. Better to eat first—and later, test a few new tricks.
Paimon and Lumine exchanged a look, then took off toward where the bard had gone.
Mondstadt Plaza. The afterglow of evening washed the city in warm gold. At the base of the tall statue of the wind god, they found him.
A youth in green sat by the pedestal with a lyre in his arms. Fingers brushed the strings, and a clear, flowing melody rippled outward like water. Eyes half-lidded, a faint smile at his lips, he looked utterly at ease.
The music was gentle and lucid, like a breeze across a lake. It felt less like a performance than a story—of ancient days, of freedom, of a god's blessing. People slowed, then stopped to listen. Some closed their eyes; some smiled as if remembering an old happiness.
Paimon whispered, "This song… it's so soft. I feel relaxed just listening."
Lumine said nothing, letting the notes wash over her. It wasn't a battle hymn nor a farewell dirge; it was the sound of wind and wide skies.
They waited without interrupting.
When the song faded, the bard spoke, voice unhurried, like a storyteller at dusk.
"My tale begins in ages past, when gods still walked the earth.
A dragon of the skies descended, curious about all things.
Yet the world was noisy and cruel, and the dragon could not understand.
So the singer of the winds plucked the strings, and the Sky Lyre answered each question in turn.
The dragon was but a curious child, flying free and carefree—
until anger and sorrow, life and poisoned blood,
fell as tears from the dragon's eyes.
The singer grew silent; corruption found an easy home,
and even the Sky Lyre could no longer speak."
Coins clinked at his feet as a few townsfolk left small tips.
"Have to admit, Venti, your stories keep getting better," one man sighed. "I can't even bring myself to hate Stormterror while you're talking."
"Every time the dragon attacks, you give a speech here. Are you… defending it?" another grumbled. "It's not the same sky dragon anymore."
"Once a protector, now our calamity. What irony," an elderly woman murmured.
"Used to strike the outskirts—this time it hit the inner city. What next?" someone muttered.
After a round of murmurs and head-shakes, the crowd drifted off.
Paimon and Lumine stepped forward. The bard glanced up, mildly surprised. "Ah—you're the ones who scared Dvalin off."
"Dva… who?" Paimon scratched her head.
"The dragon's true name," Lumine deadpanned.
"Right—right!" Paimon waved her hands. "But most people call it Stormterror. Why do you use its real name… are you two close?"
Her eyes widened. "So you're the wind god!"
Venti: "...?"
The bard had been idly plucking the strings, wearing his usual lazy smile. At Paimon's sudden accusation—You're the Anemo Archon!—his fingers paused. A stray, discordant note shivered in the air.
For an instant, surprise flashed in the bright green of his eyes, as if she'd struck home.
Then the expression was gone. The lazy smile returned, and mischief curled at the corner of his lips. His gaze danced between Paimon and Lumine.
"Guess."
He blinked playfully, tone light—as if that moment of surprise had been an illusion.
"You—!" Paimon floated higher, hands on hips, cheeks puffed. "What do you mean 'guess'?! Quit dodging! You're obviously stalling!"
Lumine's brow knit. "You know Stormterror, and you called it Dvalin. Ordinary Mondstadters don't use that name."
"Exactly!" Paimon jabbed a finger at him. "And you're way too calm about all this—no way you're just some bard!"
Venti chuckled, resting his finger against his chin as though pondering the question seriously…
To be continued.
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