The road into Mondstadt widened into cobblestone paths lined with wildflowers, their petals catching the morning light like tiny shards of scattered dawn. Furina kept close beside me, though she tried very hard not to look like she was keeping close. Her fingers brushed mine every few steps—sometimes deliberately, sometimes not.
She would yank her hand away each time, cheeks pink, then slowly, slowly let her hand drift back toward mine as if hoping I wouldn't notice.
I noticed.
We crested a small hill, and Mondstadt's city walls finally came into view. Furina froze, staring at the windmills spinning lazily, the banners fluttering, the birds swooping over the towers.
"This is—"
"Different?"
"Open," she breathed. "It feels… alive."
She took several steps forward, the cloak I'd given her swaying behind her like a tiny cape.
"And loud," she added as a distant shout echoed from the city. "And chaotic. And—oh Archons—there are people everywhere."
"It's a city."
"It's a swarm," she corrected.
But she kept walking.
The closer we got, the more Furina's posture shifted from stiff apprehension to something like excitement. Every butterfly, flower, and passing bird drew her attention. The wind tugged at her hair again; this time she didn't complain.
I noticed that too.
At the wooden bridge leading into the city, a pair of Knights of Favonius stood guard. They watched us approach, offering friendly nods.
"Welcome to Mondstadt," one said.
Furina straightened, raised her chin, then whispered to me through clenched teeth:
"Do I introduce myself? Am I supposed to bow? Should I pretend I'm normal?"
"Just say hello."
"That's asking too much."
The knight smiled warmly. "First time visiting? You'll love it here."
Furina blinked. "Y-yes. Thank you."
Her voice cracked on the last syllable.
She marched past them immediately afterward, mortified.
"I did that wrong," she muttered. "I sounded like a startled bird."
"You did fine."
"No, I absolutely did not."
"Yes, you did."
"Stop being kind to me. I can't handle it."
"You're doing great."
She made a strangled noise.
Inside the city, the atmosphere hit her all at once—music drifting from the plaza, merchants shouting their prices, children running between stalls, cats lounging on rooftops.
Furina's head whipped back and forth like she was trying to absorb everything simultaneously.
"This is too much," she murmured. "And also… not enough?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means my brain is overwhelmed but also curious. An unpleasant mixture."
She drifted toward a bakery stall where fresh loaves were cooling on wooden racks. The warm, sweet smell wrapped around us.
The baker waved. "Care for some dandelion bread?"
Furina froze. "Bread made of… wind flowers?"
"Dandelions," I corrected.
"They taste… windy?"
"Just buy one."
She looked both offended and intrigued.
The baker handed her a warm roll. Furina sniffed it like she expected it to explode. Then, slowly, she took a bite.
Her expression melted.
"Oh."
"Good?"
"It tastes like sunshine," she whispered. She took another bite, eyes widening further. "And childhood. And weekends. And something I've never experienced before."
She devoured it in under thirty seconds.
The baker watched, impressed. "Would you like another, miss?"
"Yes," she answered instantly.
Her second roll vanished just as quickly.
"You're going to choke," I warned.
"I am in a state of pastry-induced bliss," she announced. "If I perish now, bury me in dandelion dough."
We wandered further into the city. Kids splashed in the fountain, couples sat sharing drinks at café tables, and a bard strummed a tune near the large tree in the plaza. Furina watched him for a long time.
"Another bard," she whispered. "Do they multiply here?"
"They're common."
"They're everywhere."
"Welcome to Mondstadt."
She spun slowly, taking it all in—the laughter, the wind, the music, the freedom.
And then her gaze caught something across the plaza: a small crowd gathered near Angel's Share tavern, surrounding a poster board. People were laughing, pointing.
Furina's curiosity lit instantly.
"What's happening over there?"
"Probably an event or a game."
"A game?" Her eyes sparkled. "I excel at games."
"We'll see."
We approached the crowd. A large parchment was pinned to the board titled "Guess the Traveler's Name!"
Below it, crude sketches of the Traveler—some accurate, some hilariously not.
People were writing down guesses and posting them in a little box.
Furina examined the sketches, puzzled.
"They've made a guessing contest about a person's name?"
"It happens."
"Is this common?"
"In Mondstadt? For fun? Yes."
Furina stared intensely at the drawings, then at the description. She crossed her arms.
"I know the Traveler," she declared. "I shall win this."
"It's not a real prize."
"There is always a prize," she whispered ominously.
She took a quill and wrote something on a slip of paper with dramatic flair.
"What did you put?" I asked.
She smirked. "An answer superior to all others."
She slipped the paper into the box.
A moment later, a Knight supervising the game opened the box to check progress.
He pulled out a few slips:
"'Sunshine-hair sword boy.'"Furina snorted. "Amateurs."
Another slip: "'Golden Nomad.'""That one is worse."
Then he pulled Furina's slip.
He read: "'The Traveler's name is clearly — The Main Character.'"
The crowd burst out laughing.
Furina froze.
"What?" she asked, affronted. "That was a perfectly logical deduction!"
"It's not their real name," I said.
"It should be."
Someone in the crowd gave her a thumbs-up. "10 out of 10 creativity!"
Furina puffed up proudly, then leaned closer to whisper:
"I still think I should have won."
After escaping her moment of public overconfidence, we headed toward Windrise—the massive oak tree visible from nearly everywhere in Mondstadt.
As we left the city walls, the noise faded and the landscape opened once more into sunlit plains. Furina walked ahead, arms outstretched slightly, letting the breeze push against her palms.
"I think I'm beginning to understand the wind," she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"It's nosy," she said.
I laughed. "That's one way to see it."
"It keeps touching me. Pushing me." She looked up. "As though nudging me forward."
"And is that bad?"
"No." Her voice softened. "It's… reassuring."
We approached the giant oak. Its branches spread wide like open arms, leaves shimmering in the breeze. The ground beneath it glowed faintly with traces of Anemo energy.
Furina stopped beneath it and stared upward, awestruck.
"It feels ancient," she whispered. "Older than me. Older than everything."
Wind drifted through the branches, making a low, melodic hum—like a heartbeat buried in the wood.
Furina pressed her palm against the trunk.
"I can feel it," she murmured. "It's breathing."
Her eyes softened, her shoulders relaxing.
After a moment, she turned to me.
"Does Mondstadt make everyone feel like this?"
"Like what?"
"…Like they're safe?"
I took a breath, stepping beside her.
"Yeah," I said. "It does."
She looked down at her hand on the tree, then back at me.
"I've never felt safe without walls," she whispered. "Without water. Without a role."
"Do you feel safe now?"
Her eyes met mine.
"Yes," she said softly. "With you."
The wind blew stronger then, swirling around us like it was trying to lift those words into the sky.
Furina took a step closer.
Then another.
Her hand reached toward mine again—different this time. Purposeful. Willing.
Just as our fingers were about to touch—
A loud rustling erupted behind us.
We spun around.
A Hilichurl stumbled out of the bushes, confused, carrying a stick twice its size.
Furina shrieked and ducked behind me.
"What is THAT?!?!"
"A Hilichurl."
"It's hideous!"
"It's harmless unless provoked."
"It is provoking me by existing!"
The Hilichurl blinked at us.
Furina screamed again.
I sighed.
"Stay here."
"No! Don't leave me with the creature!"
In a quick motion, I stepped forward, grabbed the oversized stick, tossed it aside, and shooed the Hilichurl away. It ran off, more startled by Furina's vocals than anything else.
Furina peeked out from behind me.
"…Is it dead?"
"No."
"Can we make sure?"
"Furina—"
"It frightened me!"
"It was frightened of you."
"Good. It should be."
She crossed her arms, still trembling slightly.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I was not scared," she lied instantly. "I was simply… startled."
"You screamed."
"It was a dignified scream."
"It echoed."
She turned bright red.
"Silence."
But then she took my hand.
Not shyly.Not hesitantly.But deliberately.
Her fingers squeezed mine—tight.
"Let's go," she said quietly. "I don't want to let go."
And so we walked forward again, hand in hand, beneath the branches of Windrise, the leaves whispering above us like the start of a promise.