Night.
Stormterror's Lair.
Rowan lit a campfire.
Gazing up at the star-strewn sky—false firmament though it was—he couldn't help murmuring, "Beautiful."
"Really? I think it's just… ordinary."
"I've seen it millions of times. I'm bored of it."
Istaroth sat beside him, smiling as she spoke.
As one of the Four Shades, she had been born shortly after Phanes entered Teyvat. Not long after, the other three arose as well—fashioned by Phanes in imitation of Nibelung's three moon goddesses, to replace the order Nibelung had set. She'd been weary of this false sky for a very long time.
Rowan turned to look at her, saying nothing—just looking.
At first, Istaroth stared back calmly, puzzled.
But as the moments stretched, that unblinking gaze made her heart flutter with a nervous heat.
Color crept up her cheeks; she ducked her head, suddenly too shy to meet Rowan's eyes.
Only then did Rowan smile and explain:
"To you, a sight this lovely has dulled after centuries upon centuries."
"But to me? Back home, I'll never see this again."
A century ago, you might still glimpse the Milky Way in a city's night.
In 2025—not just in cities, even in many rural towns—you have to go far from any lights, out where it's truly remote, to see stars like these. In more developed places, the stars are already gone.
That's the price of progress.
Istaroth kept her head lowered, still afraid he might stare at her in silence again.
"Is that so?"
"More importantly, a view is beautiful because of who you share it with."
"Isn't that right, Istaroth?"
Her heart skipped. The blush deepened. Having never once tasted love, she mistook the feeling for some kind of malaise and leapt to her feet.
"Er—I have things to handle. I'll take my leave."
She dissolved into a breeze and vanished.
Rowan wasn't surprised.
The Four Shades, in the end, were simply four girls who'd never learned the ways of love.
Naberis might understand a little—but not much.
As for Rhinedottir, the continent's greatest alchemist—do you think someone who reached such heights had time for romance? At most, she'd poured familial affection into Albedo. Love? Unlikely.
She was a witch of the Hexenzirkel and friendly with Alice, yes—
but that didn't mean she understood love.
If you've never lived it, your fine words are just theory on paper.
"So why are we camping out here for the night?"
"Wouldn't Mondstadt be nicer?"
As Rowan's thoughts wandered, Venti—who'd been quietly strumming beside them—finally blurted out his complaint.
They could have ridden Dvalin back to Mondstadt before dusk.
Why did Rowan insist on stopping in the wilds—and then proceed to flirt with his… well, Venti's "mom"?
If Istaroth hadn't seemed to enjoy herself, Venti would've sliced Rowan with a wind blade already. Now that she was gone, he had no reason to hold back the grumbling.
"What, you—who always sleeps outdoors—are scared of one more night out here?"
"Even Dvalin isn't complaining. What are you bellyaching about?"
The dragon lay docile and silent; and this wind sprite just kept yapping.
So he wouldn't drink for one night—was that worth sulking over?
"Don't think I don't know why you're so eager to get back—you just want to soak in Angel's Share and drink."
"You've been drinking for days. Still going?"
"Do you even have mora left in your pockets?"
That hit home. Venti patted his coin pouch.
Uh-oh. Only a few dozen mora left.
Enough for two mugs of apple cider—sure. For real alcohol? Not happening.
Everyone knew apple cider was for kids—no alcohol.
The Traveler's first visit to Angel's Share? Diluc treated them to apple cider.
Looks like tomorrow he'd be busking at the Anemo Archon Plaza.
Otherwise he couldn't even afford a drink.
"Dvalin, why don't you come work with me instead?"
"I'll name you Mondstadt's Guardian Beast. Food and drink, all catered to you—how about it?"
"Follow this layabout Barbatos and you'll have no future. Think it over?"
Dvalin cracked his huge eyes and glanced at Venti, then shook his head, helpless.
His master was truly unreliable—he'd always known that. Now it was worse than ever: the city left in an outsider's hands. Thankfully, Rowan was a decent man—he'd put Mondstadt in order and even saved Dvalin's life.
Counting on Venti to save him? Who knew what year of what monkey that would take.
Venti, hearing Rowan's pitch, immediately understood why they weren't going back.
It wasn't to watch the stars romantically with Istaroth—it was to pry Dvalin away and bring him under Rowan's banner.
Just as Venti drew breath to argue, Dvalin—after a moment's thought—refused:
"I… had better not."
"As I am now, I'm not fit to face the people of Mondstadt."
"I'll remain here at Stormterror's Lair."
Rowan chuckled and approached the dragon.
"If you're still anguished over the harm you did to Mondstadt, don't be."
"What you've done for Mondstadt far outweighs the damage from that attack. That was Mondstadt's problem to solve."
"It wasn't on you. If you don't wish to go to the city, I won't force it."
"But when the East Wind Dragon Legion is stationed here in the future, I hope you'll look after them."
Mondstadt was recruiting on a grand scale. Rowan had already divided the forces into four theaters:
In the east, the East Wind Dragon Legion;
in the west, the West Wind Eagle Legion;
in the south, the South Wind Lion Legion;
in the north, the North Wind Wolf Legion.
Each legion bore the totem of its guardian—together, the Four Winds Guardian Legions.
Naturally, the East Wind Dragon Legion would be garrisoned at Stormterror's Lair.
One reason: this was Mondstadt's richest mining zone; stationing troops was common sense.
Another: Dvalin could temper them.
Two birds with one stone.
"..."
(End of Chapter)
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