Outside the Snezhnayan Embassy
Chaymenhoff took two long strides for the door—
—and froze at the barked command outside.
"By order of the Knights of Favonius, the embassy is sealed. No one leaves without authorization!"
His jaw knotted. The street beyond was a net of steel and torchlight: squads at every corner, shields up, spears braced, eyes fixed on the embassy walls.
Damn them.
He slammed a fist against the doorframe, knuckles splitting against wood. The Holy Lyre der Himmel had clearly been activated—its Anemo wake still tingled along his skin. Which meant someone had it. Which meant if he could just get out there—
He couldn't. Not now. Not without handing them the excuse they wanted.
Rage surged; discipline smothered it. Move and he'd burn the Fatui's position. Wait and someone else would cement the Lyre beyond reach.
He stood there, trembling with the effort not to choose.
Swords rasped from sheaths outside. The Knights held their line.
Angel's Share, Upstairs
"…so we're supposed to hunt Dvalin's Tears next," Lumine said, scratching her head. "Where do we even start? We barely know our way around Mondstadt."
"As the Anemo Archon, you must know, right?" Paimon added, hopeful.
Venti rubbed his own head, sheepish. "Ehe… not perfectly. Go where Dvalin lingered. I can say for certain the Temple of the Thousand Winds holds one. The others—give the winds a moment to answer." He raised his bottle. "Until then—cheers to not being arrested~"
The door below thumped open.
Bootfalls up the stairs; a quiet presence like a held breath.
Jean stepped into view—with Diluc just behind her—eyes lifting at once to the Lyre on the table. The strings still hummed, shedding a faint aureole of wind.
"Just as I thought," Jean said, gaze flitting from instrument to faces. The Lyre shone cleaner than she had ever seen it—like a relic washed in dawn.
Venti set the bottle down and gave a lazy little wave. "Acting Grand Master—long time no see~"
Paimon turned to stone mid-air. "J—Jean?!" She looked from Lumine to Venti to Kairo as if one of them might have a script.
Jean's stare was a blade. "We received reports that the Holy Lyre was stolen by the Fatui. Witnesses saw an Electro Cicin Mage near the Cathedral. And yet…the Lyre is here."
Lumine stepped forward without missing a beat. "We did encounter the Fatui. They were moving suspiciously around the Cathedral. When they bolted with the Lyre, we intercepted them outside and took it back."
Paimon nodded so hard she almost flipped. "Y-Yeah! We're Mondstadt's helpers—how could we steal a holy thing?"
Kairo hid a smile. Genius. Half the truth, none of the guilt.
Jean's scrutiny lingered. The story was neat—maybe too neat—but the facts were staring back at her: the Lyre responded, wind alive in the strings. The Cathedral's sisters—and Jean herself—had failed to coax a whisper from it for years. Now it sang.
She exhaled slowly. "Very well. We will investigate further. In the meantime, I expect your cooperation to avoid…misunderstandings."
"We'll cooperate," Lumine said, steady.
Venti's fingers brushed a chord; the room breathed.
"I'll take the Lyre back to—" Jean began.
"Ah—sorry," Venti cut in, gently but firm. "It can't return yet."
Jean blinked. "Excuse me?"
Paimon jumped in, words tumbling over each other. "The bard says the Lyre can soothe Dvalin! We purified a Tear, dripped it on the strings—look! It woke up!"
Jean's doubts faltered. She had seen Lumine cleanse a Tear with her own eyes. And now…the Lyre answered.
Wind traced the carved filigree. Jean looked from instrument, to Lumine, to the green-cloaked bard and back again.
"The Lyre's song can truly free Stormterror from corruption?" she asked quietly.
Venti nodded. "You've done enough to prove the path."
Jean set her shoulders. "Then I can't say that out loud. With the Fatui pressing their 'aid,' anything that sounds like mercy for the dragon will be called weakness. But privately—I will help. If Dvalin is restored, Mondstadt regains a guardian…and Snezhnaya loses leverage."
Diluc's eyes narrowed at Venti's earlier talk of gods and aims; Venti only smiled that infuriating, knowing smile.
He cocked his head as if listening to a wind only he could hear. "Message received. Three sites hold Tears: Temple of the Thousand Winds, the Forest Ruins by Whispering Woods, and Dadaupa Gorge."
"So far?" Paimon sagged. "All of them sound far."
Jean weighed the map in her mind and nodded once. "I will come. With my Vision and the traveler's Anemo, we can sweep all three by sundown. Purify what we find. Then we call to Dvalin."
Her decision steadied the room.
"Rest tonight," she added, commander once more. "We rendezvous here at nine."
"Deal," Paimon chirped. "As long as it's not now. Paimon is exhausted."
Venti stretched and yawned. "I'll even play you off in the morning."
Paimon shot him a glare. "That's not helping—that's busking!"
"Strings require hands," he said primly, then ruined it with a wink.
Jean inclined her head, the fatigue in her eyes softening. "Nine o'clock."
She and the Knights withdrew; the pressure in the tavern eased like a storm turning its face away. Venti hummed a tune, already drifting for the stairs.
"Don't be late," he sang over his shoulder.
Lumine rose with Kairo. The bard's melody faded into the night outside.
"See you tomorrow, Kairo," Paimon said, wagging a tiny finger. "You have to come!"
"I will," he said. The bats and bargains on his mind could wait until morning.
The city, for the first time all day, exhaled.
Next: Three tears, three trials—Temple of the Thousand Winds, Forest Ruins, Dadaupa Gorge. But who else is racing for them?
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