Night pulled its velvet over the road, and the little fire they'd made hissed as Lumine fed it another armful of sticks. Orange light climbed her cheekbones; the air smelled of smoke and crushed grass.
Paimon hugged herself and eyed the Everwinter Shadewalker looming at the edge of the camp like a frostbound sentinel. "Sooo… if Big Chilly is on watch, why don't we push through a bit? We could walk at night and nap at dawn. With this guy around, who's gonna ambush us?"
Lumine considered it. Normally, night travel was an invitation to trouble—more monsters, worse footing, fewer places to hide. You looked for a cave at dusk, not a fight. But with the Shadewalker clearing the path and Kairo's speed buff quietly humming in their limbs…
She glanced at Kairo. "If we go, we go now."
"Fine by me," Kairo said. "I want to get to Liyue sooner anyway. And I still haven't found a good place to set an anchor."
"Anchor?" Paimon tilted her head.
"A point I can tie into the ley," Kairo said. "If I don't plant it, I can slip back to Mondstadt but not return to you cleanly. Yesterday, the places I could jump were all high-energy—like the valley with the Cryo Regisvine. I need a site with a strong ley pulse."
They stamped out the fire and set off. The Shadewalker's presence rolled ahead as an invisible keep out sign; anything with survival instincts retreated into the brush. The road unwound beneath a thumbnail moon.
"Map would be nice," Paimon grumbled.
Lumine, deadpan, slid a folded sheet from her pouch. "Barbara gave Kairo one. We've been following it since afternoon."
"Oh. Right. Hehe." Paimon scratched her cheek. "Then we should've camped at Springvale. Beds, roofs, boar sausage…"
"Sun was still up," Paimon added defensively. "We were feeling brave."
They walked until the night turned thin and cold. When even Paimon's yawns started to squeak, the trio crested a low rise—and there it was: a stone figure with arms spread to welcome the wind, older and rougher than the plaza statue, but unmistakable.
"The Statue of The Seven," Paimon breathed. "The, uh… singing god statue. The one who busks."
"Barbatos," Lumine teased. "Show some respect."
Kairo smiled. "Perfect."
The air here thrummed. Wolvendom lay not far off; the ley flowed like a river beneath the grass. Of course the Archon's statue would stand on a wellspring.
"Give me a second," Kairo said.
He closed his eyes and reached. Trailblaze power stirred—quiet light gathering at his soles, rising in a thin, clean column. The glow spun itself into a sigil: abstract, geometric, a blue-white ring rippling like a pebble dropped into time. A single bright point formed at its heart. Only Kairo actually saw it; to Lumine and Paimon there was just a low, expectant hum, like strings drawn tight before the first note.
The anchor didn't belong to stone or air, not really. It belonged to him—and wherever there were veins of earth-memory thick enough to answer.
Lumine stepped up beside him, frowning. She felt the pulse but could see nothing. Another secret in the young man's pockets. "What did you do?"
"Done," Kairo said lightly, tapping her shoulder. "We can go."
"Go where—" Paimon began.
The world flexed.
Air thinned, colors slid; the smell of pine became soap and wood polish. A blink later they were standing on a familiar street—windmill shadows stretched on cobbles, Mondstadt's stars hanging like grapes in a cold blue bowl. Kairo's front door was twenty paces away.
Paimon's jaw dropped. "Wha— whaaat? We were just in the wild—how are we… This is Mondstadt! This is literally your alley!"
Lumine turned a full circle to make sure it wasn't an illusion. The city felt real down to the draft around her calves and the murmur of someone snoring two houses over. She faced Kairo. "How?"
"Think of it as riding the ley," Kairo said. "Where it's strong, I can open a route—and step to another strong point nearby. Anchor there and back again."
Paimon squinted. "Then when we did that Whispering Woods material run, why didn't we just teleport instead of hauling sacks like sadsacks?"
"Because the ley wasn't thick enough," Lumine answered for him, dry as toast.
Paimon's "oh" was very small. "Still feels like cheating. I like it."
"Cheating is just efficiency with good PR," Kairo said. "Now—inn or my place? It's late. Mondstadt isn't exactly Liyue Harbor when it comes to nightlife."
"Innkeepers are asleep," Paimon decided. "Also I've never been inside your house. Is it big? Is there cake?"
"It's… not big," Kairo admitted. "And there's only one bed."
"Better than the dirt," Lumine said at once. Then, realizing she might've sounded too eager, added evenly, "We'll just take turns. Or we won't. Whatever."
They went in. Kairo flicked a lamp; the little room was tidy, almost suspiciously so—like someone had recently dusted, aired the curtains, maybe hummed while they worked.
Paimon sniffed. "Huh. Smells familiar." A faint, clean perfume hung in the air. She couldn't place it, but if it had a color it would've been violet.
"I call the couch!" she sang, already drifting toward it.
Lumine clocked the bed, tried very hard not to clock Kairo, and slid under the blanket like a cat pretending it had always lived there. She rolled away, face warm. "This is… acceptable."
Kairo tugged a spare quilt from the cabinet and laid it on the floor with the air of a man who'd trained with worse. The day's walking hadn't tired him much, but weaving the Trailblaze anchor had eaten a bite of both mind and muscle. He exhaled and let the ceiling fade.
Outside, a breeze teased the windchimes; three heartbeats later, everyone's breathing evened out—Paimon sprawled face-down on the couch, Lumine cocooned, Kairo already elsewhere in dream.
—
Far beyond the lamplight, the Statue of The Seven watched its quiet clearing. A peculiar wind circled it once, twice—lilting, playful, faintly sweet, like dandelion wine.
The wind gathered, the wind tilted its head, and the wind became a boy with a lyre.
Venti rested a palm at the statue's base, cocking a smile. "Huh. There's something here I can't see."
He crouched, tracing nothing with long fingers, eyes dancing. The air answered him—edging, curious, as though the breeze itself wanted to peer between the lines.
"What a strange current," he murmured. "Not leyline, not elemental—yet wound into both. A knot in the wind that isn't wind at all."
He shut his eyes and listened harder.
There it was again: a delicate ring of pressure, a bright pinpoint that tugged at elsewhere, braided into the earth without damaging it. A traveler's knot, he decided. A songline with a single note waiting to be plucked.
Venti laughed under his breath. "Now that's interesting. Did someone borrow the sky to write a shortcut? Tsk, tsk. You'll make the Abyss jealous."
He tapped the statue's toe and stood, cloak fluttering. "All right, little secret. I'll pretend I didn't notice."
The bard paused, tilted his head to the wind—as if it had just whispered a counterpoint he liked—and smiled wider.
"Or maybe," he said, grinning up at the stars, "I'll write you into a song first."
And somewhere between Mondstadt and Wolvendom, Kairo's anchor gave the smallest answering hum… as if the path itself had heard the invitation.
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