The rain in Orario began to subside, leaving behind murky puddles that reflected the gloomy glow of magical streetlamps. The city wasn't asleep, yet it wasn't truly awake either; it was like a giant holding its breath in fear.
Venti sat cross-legged atop the roof of an old warehouse, high enough to offer a view. From here, he could see the Tower of Babel piercing the night sky. His green cape was soaked, but he didn't care. To him, the cold was merely a physical sensation to be ignored.
"Alright then," he murmured, his fingers plucking a lyre string without making a sound. "Let's get acquainted with the new neighbors."
In Teyvat, the wind served as his eyes and ears. It carried stories, secrets, and the scent of apples from a neighbor's orchard. Here? He didn't know yet. However, as the Anemo Archon—albeit a retired one—his nature remained unchanged.
Venti closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, he released more than just air. He released his Authority.
"The Thousand Winds."
Not in the form of a destructive storm, but as a fine, invisible neural network. Thousands of microscopic threads of wind shot out from his small frame, spreading in all directions. They danced through dark alleyways, slipped into the cracks of inn windows, spiraled around the massive tower, and rose to pierce the clouds.
This world... was heavy.
That was Venti's first impression. If Teyvat's atmosphere felt fluid and flowing, Orario's felt dense, filled with wild and somewhat chaotic Mana.
Yet, slowly but surely, the winds of this world began to respond to his call. They recognized their king, even if that king hailed from another dimension.
Information began to flood his mind. Not in words, but in concepts and instant understanding.
Gods. Falna. Familia.
"Oh? Interesting," Venti's eyebrow twitched.
He saw the structure of this world's reality. Here, gods descended from the heavens (Tenkai), sealed their divine powers (Arcanum), and lived as mortals to seek entertainment. They bestowed blessings called Falna upon humans—their children—to fight monsters.
This system was similar to the RPGs he had played in his past life on Earth. Levels, stats, skills, magic. Very systematic. Very rigid.
"So, to live a decent life here, one must belong to a Familia," Venti analyzed, letting his consciousness drift further. "And gods are forbidden from using their full power in the lower world, or they'll be sent back to heaven."
A wry smile carved itself onto his face.
His body felt strange. As the winds of this world began to accept him, Venti felt the natural laws adjusting. The world was "reading" his existence.
Venti was not human. He was an elemental wind spirit who had taken the form of a departed friend. However, in the eyes of DanMachi's worldly laws, a high-level spiritual existence with power equivalent to a natural disaster could only be categorized as one thing: a Deity.
The blood inside his mimic body seemed to vibrate, responding to the concept of Ichor—divine blood—that existed in this world.
"Ehe, looks like I got express citizenship," he chuckled softly. "This world thinks I'm a Wind God who just descended. How practical."
However, the laughter didn't last long. The logical side of his reincarnated brain began to work.
This was the Dark Age.
The wind told him of the tension in the streets. Of a malevolent faction called Evilus moving in the shadows. Of the power vacuum left after the fall of the Zeus and Hera Familias.
If he walked alone as a god without followers, he was an easy target. He could use his Archon powers to blast anyone who bothered him, but that would violate the world's prime directive: Gods must not use their powers. If he broke it, he might be expelled by the Dungeon itself or attract the attention of even more terrifying entities.
And Venti, lazy by nature, absolutely detested unnecessary trouble.
"Sigh... what a drag," Venti leaned back, gazing at the grey sky. "I just want to drink wine and sleep. Why do I have to go through the trouble of building an organization? Managing subordinates, figuring out payroll, paying taxes..."
He shuddered in horror. Bureaucracy was the natural enemy of freedom.
"But..."
He recalled the weary face of the old man he met in the alley earlier. He recalled the fear thickening the city air.
Mondstadt was safe because he had worked hard (behind the scenes). Orario was dying because its heroes were dead. If he wanted a comfortable place to sleep and drink, he had to ensure the place wouldn't be destroyed by tomorrow morning.
"Fine, fine. I'll play by the rules," he decided reluctantly. "I'll make a Familia. But I'll look for independent members, ones who don't need to be spoon-fed constantly. Yes, that's the plan."
Venti closed his eyes again, intending to retract his scattered consciousness. However, just before he severed the connection of the Thousand Winds, something caught his attention.
It didn't come from the city. It came from afar. Very far.
To the north. In a valley shrouded in eternal darkness.
There was an anomaly in the wind flow there.
As a being of pure wind, Venti was highly sensitive to anything related to his element. And there, in the distance, he felt something familiar. Not familiar because he knew it, but familiar in its essence.
It was wind.
But a wind that was crying.
Curious, Venti focused his Authority. He pushed his consciousness past the mountains, through the storms, toward that dark point.
And there, he found it.
A majestic presence, yet shackled. A massive wind spirit—a Great Spirit—trapped within a cage of flesh and darkness.
"...Help..."
The voice was faint, barely audible amidst the heavy breathing of the giant monster guarding it.
"Anyone... it's cold..."
Venti's heart felt like it stopped for a beat.
That was Aria.
Memories from his past life on Earth supplied the name. Aria, the Great Spirit of Wind. Ais Wallenstein's mother. The woman swallowed by the One-Eyed Black Dragon.
Venti felt a piercing pain in his chest. Not physical pain, but emotional resonance. For Venti, the personification of freedom, feeling another wind entity—a sibling in the element—being chained, stripped of her freedom, and used as a living battery for a monster, was the ultimate insult.
The wind around Venti on the roof suddenly turned turbulent. Roof tiles rattled. The air became sharp as knives. Venti's usually playful teal eyes now shone with a blinding Anemo light, cold and filled with fury.
He could feel Aria's suffering. He could feel the spirit's despair that had lasted for years.
"You..."
Venti hissed, his voice turning into a hoarse echo carrying the power of a thousand storms.
The Black Dragon in the distance seemed to sense the alien touch. A low roar echoed from afar, and the connection was forcibly severed by a wall of dense dark energy.
Venti was slammed back into his physical body.
"Hah... hah..."
He gasped for air, cold sweat drenching his temples. His hand gripped his lyre so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
The rage still burned in his gut, hot and demanding release.
In Teyvat, he had freed Dvalin from poison. He had freed Mondstadt from the tyranny of Decarabian and the Lawrence clan. Freedom was his absolute principle.
And now, in this world, the symbol of wind itself was being enslaved.
Slowly, Venti's breathing steadied. The light in his eyes dimmed back to normal, but his gaze was now far sharper, devoid of the playfulness he usually displayed.
He stood up, patting down his wet cape. He gazed toward the north, where the monster nested, then shifted his eyes to the Tower of Babel in the center of Orario.
His retirement plan was totally cancelled.
"I originally just wanted to make a small Familia for the sake of formality," he muttered, his voice low and serious.
He adjusted his green beret, tilting it slightly to shadow his glinting eyes.
"But it seems I have a stronger reason now."
Saving Aria wasn't just a heroic deed. For Venti, it was an elemental duty. The wind must not be caged. The wind must not be chained.
"Wait for me, Sister," he whispered to the night wind. "I will make sure you are free again."
Venti stepped to the edge of the roof. Below, the gloomy Orario awaited him. He had no money (Valis), no home, and no followers. He was just a poor bard in a cruel city.
But he was Barbatos. And he had just found his new stage.
"Step one," Venti snapped his fingers, creating a small current of wind that circled his body, drying his clothes in an instant. "Find the Guild to register. And step two... find breakfast. I'm starving."
With a light leap that defied gravity, Venti dove into the darkness of Orario's alleys, ready to begin his own legend.