Windrise was a place of immense natural beauty, a place of life, of growth, of renewal, found at the very heart of Mondstadt.
The great oak tree at its center, The Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero, was a symbol of Mondstadt's resilience, its indomitable spirit, and its unyielding commitment to freedom.
Its branches reached for the sky, its leaves whispered secrets on the wind, its roots ran deep, anchoring the land, connecting it to its ancient past.
Artoria, after an hour of gliding effortlessly throughout the countryside of Mondstadt, finally approached the great tree, her heart pounding with a strange, nervous anticipation.
This was it. The final destination.
The place where she would hopefully find the slumbering god of her people. She had Dvalin, now in his mini form, tucked safely in her pack, his small, adorable head poking out, his cerulean eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
She reached the base of the great oak tree, its massive trunk a testament to its ancient age. She placed her hand on its rough, bark-covered surface, her divine aura reaching out, probing, searching for slumbering consciousness of divinity. Yet, after minutes of searching, Artoria came out empty handed.
'Did Dvalin give me the wrong location? Or is Barbatos so adept in hiding himself that even my divine senses could not find him?' Artoria contemplated.
She then closed her eyes, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, of strategies, of plans.
She had to find him. She had to awaken him. The future of Mondstadt depended on it.
She then remembered the words of Father Theron. "The winds know. Barbatos is the Anemo Archon. His essence is intertwined with the very air we breathe. He is not gone, merely... scattered. Asleep."
She then decided to try a different approach. She then closed her eyes, her mind a blank slate, her senses open, receptive. She focused on the gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves of the great oak tree. She listened to its song, its whisper, its story.
She then felt a strange, subtle shift in the air, a faint, almost imperceptible change in the wind's rhythm. It was a subtle, almost undetectable nuance, a slight, almost unnoticeable variation in the wind's melody.
But to her, to her divine senses, it was as clear as a shout in a silent room.
Then she felt it. She noticed a sudden gush of wind coming from what looks like a falcon's wings gently circling the Great Tree. Its form mystical yet slowly takes a solid shape as it descends.
A falcon, yes. But this was no ordinary bird. Its feathers were a shimmering, ethereal brown and white, its eyes a piercing, intelligent gold. It moved with a grace and a purpose that was utterly captivating, a living embodiment of the wind's freedom.
This was Vennessa. The first Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. The woman who had defied a tyrant, freed her people, and later ascended into a form just below godhood, becoming a falcon that watches over the sky of Mondstadt.
This was the third of the Four Winds. TheFalcon of the West.
The falcon circled the great oak tree once, its piercing gaze locked on Artoria. Then, with a soft, graceful dive, it landed on a branch just above her head, its talons gripping the bark, its head cocked to one side, its intelligent eyes filled with a curious, knowing light.
"Light from a Distant World," the falcon's voice was a soft, melodic whisper, a sound that seemed to be carried on the wind itself.
"I have been waiting for you, Artoria Pendragon." The Falcon, much to Artoria's surprise, suddenly bowed its head in a form of reverence.
Artoria's heart almost leaped into her throat. She had not expected this. She had not expected to be greeted by name, by a spirit who had long since transcended the mortal realm.
"You know me?" Artoria said, her voice a low, steady whisper.
"In a way, yes I know of you," the falcon corrected, its voice a soft, melodic whisper.
"I have felt your presence in this land years ago, a light that shines brighter than the dawn, a power that is both ancient and new. I have watched you, from the highest heavens, as you have guided this city, this nation, with a wisdom and a strength that would have made my old friend, Barbatos, proud." The falcon then paused, its gaze intense.
"And I know why you are here. You seek the slumbering god. You seek the Anemo Archon himself."
"I do," Artoria confirmed, her voice firm, her resolve unwavering. "The people of Mondstadt needed him. They need their god."
"Need him? Or do they need a god?" Vennessa countered, her voice a soft, melodic whisper. "They are a flock without a shepherd, and they see in you a shepherd's crook."
"Because I have been the only one to guide them, but that guidance is only temporary. This is his nation. His people." Artoria's conviction was solid as a rock. She wanted to find this god, not just for the people, but to give this nation its soul back. "The people need their god, their Archon."
"A noble sentiment," Vennessa conceded, her voice a soft, melodic whisper.
"But Barbatos is not like the other Archons. He is not a king, nor conqueror. He is a poet, a musician, a dreamer. He is a free spirit, and his freedom is his most prized possession. To awaken him, to call him back to the duty he has long since shirked, is to... cage him once more."
"I understand the risk," Artoria said, her voice firm, her resolve unwavering. "But I also understand the risk of inaction. A nation built on a foundation of misconception is a nation built on sand. It will crumble. I will not let that happen."
Vennessa was silent for a long moment, her spiritual eyes studying the strange, beautiful being who had appeared in her city, a foreign goddess from a forgotten myth.
She saw the power in her, the authority, the unwavering determination. But she also saw something else. A deep, abiding love for this land, for its people, a love that was so pure, so selfless, that it easily surpassed those of the other divines.
Vennessa then gave a sweet chuckle at the goddess before her who unexpectedly became her successor.
"Yes, the people of Mondstadt indeed needed their....god (goddess)" Vennessa spoke the last word with reverence while looking towards Artoria.
And without warning she flew to the skies once more leaving a stunned Artoria and a somewhat confused Dvalin who's peeking from the comfort of Artoria's traveling pack.
Vennessa, in her glorious falcon form, circled the great oak tree one last time, her white feathers shimmering in the moonlight. She then let out a piercing, triumphant cry, a sound that echoed through the night, a declaration, a blessing.
And then, she did something unexpected. She dived down, not towards Artoria, but towards the great oak tree itself. She flew straight through the trunk, as if it were made of mist, a ghost, a memory, a spirit returning to its source.
...
Artoria watched, her mind blanked for a few seconds, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and confusion. She had expected an answer, a clue, a sign. But what she got was a BIG NOTHING?!
Not even Vennessa gave a sort of direct answer, only cryptic phrases that she wouldn'teven dare try to entertain. Instead, she flew into the great oak tree and...vanished. JUST FREAKING VANISHED?!
Artoria began massaging the sides of her head in preparation for the massive headache that will inevitably come.
She went on this journey to seek the whispers of a slumbering god. The said whispers lead her to seek the Four Winds of this nation, yet at the end, it didn't reveal the whereabouts of that drunk bard!
The Anemo Archon indeed doesn't want to be disturbed from his slumber. His loyal friends made sure of it!
She came here with a purpose, but now she is left empty handed. The only thing she got was a small cute and cuddly living dragon, whose head is currently peaking at her back pack, looking at her with concern from his adorable blue eyes!
Dvalin, sensing the sheer disappointment radiating from his new mistress let out a soft, squeaky whimper.
"I... I am sorry, my lady. I thought... I thought I was helping."
Artoria turned, her expression softening as she looked at the small, plushie-like dragon. She reached into her pack and gently stroked his soft, furry head.
"You did help, Dvalin. You are not the one at fault." Her voice was warm, comforting, a stark contrast to the divine authority she had displayed earlier. "Do not worry. I will figure something out."
She then looked up at the great oak tree, her eyes narrowed. She is a queen, a goddess, a strategist. She was not one to give up, not when the future of an entire nation was at stake!
But as she stood there, a sense of frustration, of helplessness, began to creep into her heart. She had faced down gods, monsters, and armies. She had commanded the forces of Camelot, wielded the power of the Spear of the End, a weapon that could pierce the very fabric of reality. But this... this was a different kind of challenge. It was a puzzle, a mystery, a riddle wrapped in an enigma. And she did not have the answer.
She let out a long, weary sigh, her shoulders slumping, a rare moment of vulnerability, of weakness, that she only ever showed in the presence of her children.
"What am I going to do?" she whispered to the wind, to the trees, to the stars. "What am I going to do?"
The wind seemed to whisper back, a soft, gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves of the great oak tree. It was a comforting sound, a soothing melody, a reminder of the freedom that this land, this nation, held so dear. The rays of dawn already breaching the eastern skies, begin to paint away the night sky.
Maybe she'll just go home for the time being. Take a sort of retreat, a break from all of this and plan out the next move in her operation to find the lost god of Mondstadt.
Gods know how much she needed a break from all the things she had just witnessed in her short journey. A break that should involve being able to smoother and cuddle her three children!
She misses them so much, even just after being away for more than a day.
As she began to set out on her journey home, Artoria noticed a strange formation of dense clouds from the distance, hovering just above the City of Mondstadt.
A storm? Well that's peculiar. The country had rarely experienced any storm clouds for these past three years, and yet she's now seeing one forming in the distance.
Her eyes narrowed, as she sensed something off about the storm.
There were no apparent traces of elemental energy swirling within it which is normal, but something tells her that this ain't no ordinary storm, after all, Mondstadt which had been experiencing a fine weather pattern since she arrived suddenly experienced a freak storm that just appeared out of nowhere. The timing doesn't just make any sense.
Something's up and she was sure of it. This was no natural atmospheric phenomenon.
She looked at the great oak tree, her eyes filled with a new, determined light. She then looked at the distant sky, at the dark, storm clouds that were gathering on the horizon.
Barbatos can wait, she has a City to protect.
With speed and grace that defy the laws of nature, Artoria began sprinting towards Mondstadt.
.....
Little did Artoria know, she had already done enough to convince her people that their god haven't left them. Her song from last night had already made a profound impact on Mondstadt, and even in places near its borders!
The mystical hymn that was heard by millions across the nation last night, now considered an unprecedented miracle, had already assured the people that Barbatos was alive and present!
Yet what Artoria was about to do next will not only further solidify the image of the absentee Archon of Mondstadt being present in his nation, but would also make her a target of worship in the eyes of a selected group of people!
____________________
The wind that swept through Mondstadt that morning was not the gentle, playful breeze the city was accustomed to. It was a wild, furious thing, a howling gale that tore through the streets, rattling window shutters and tearing at the banners of the Knights of Favonius headquarters.
Dark, storm-laden clouds churned in the sky, blotting out the sun and the blue sky, casting the city in an eerie, shadowy gloom.
In the war room of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, a tense, anxious silence had fallen. Sir Hemlock paced the length of the room, his gauntleted hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask of grim concern. Captain Yuan stood by the window, his sharp eyes scanning the raging storm, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Captain Muscovado sat at the table, his inquisitive mind already trying to piece together the puzzle that's been bothering their city, to find a logical explanation for the sudden, unnatural tempest.
"This is... unnatural," Captain Muscovado finally said, his voice a dry, raspy whisper.
"The barometric pressure has dropped at an alarming rate. The wind patterns are... chaotic. They defy all known meteorological models for the past few years."
"It's a storm," Sir Hemlock growled, his voice a low, frustrated rumble. "A bad one. The worst we've had in years. The patrols have been recalled. The city gates are barred. We've done all we can."
"It's more than a storm, Captain," Yuan said, his voice quiet, his gaze still fixed on the raging tempest outside. "This feels... wrong. It feels... intentional."
Their discussion was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. They turned to see Melisa Minci, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, standing in the doorway.
"Sir Hemlock," she said, her voice a trembling whisper. "It's... it's the Grandmaster."
Hemlock's heart leaped into his throat. "What about her? Is she safe? Is she back?"
"I saw her or rather, probably someone that looks like her just a few moments ago while I was making my way towards the headquarters."
"It was hard to tell with all the wind and rain blowing out there but…but I did noticed a figure similar to her making her way past the headquarters. Her presence was carefully concealed. I…I believe that….she's on her way to the cathedral," Melisa stammered.
"The Cathedral?!" Hemlock roared, his voice echoing in the tense room. "In the middle of this raging storm? Is she insane? We have to stop her!"
He was already moving, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his mind racing, his protective instincts overriding his sense of duty. He would not let his Grandmaster, his hero, the Lioness of Mondstadt, risk her life in this storm.
But Yuan was faster. He moved with a quiet, fluid grace, blocking the door, his hand held up in a gesture of peace.
"No, Captain," he said, his voice firm, his gaze unwavering. "We will not stop her."
"Get out of my way, Yuan!" Hemlock snarled, his anger rising. "This is an order!"
"And I am countermanding it," Yuan replied, his voice calm, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Ever since she stepped foot in this city, we've known that the Grandmaster had always been special. Her actions were always in the best interest of Mondstadt, and if it's true that she's making her way towards the church, then there must be a good reason behind it." Captain Yuan held his ground.
"We are not her jailers, Captain. We are her knights. And our duty is not to question her, but to trust her. She is the Grandmaster. She knows what she is doing."
Muscovado, his plump body seeming to straighten with a sudden, profound realization, added his voice to the conversation. "Yuan is right, Hemlock. This is not an ordinary storm, all scientific and logical explanations don't quite explain its sudden appearance. This weather phenomenon might put the entire city in danger. The Grandmaster might know something about this and is probably making her move to potentially stop this from becoming a disaster."
Hemlock stopped, his anger giving way to a dawning, terrifying understanding. He looked at Yuan, at Muscovado, at the unwavering conviction in their eyes. They were not just knights, loyal to their leader. They were believers, faithful to a cause, to a woman they saw as more than just a leader.
"Then... what do we do?" he asked, his voice a low, defeated whisper.
"We watch," Yuan said, his voice a soft, determined whisper. "And we wait."
And so they went, the three of them with Melisa Minci in tow began making their way into the Cathedral in the midst of the raging storm. Their forms were covered in water proof coats as they brave their way against the howling winds and rain.
Their hearts pound with a mixture of fear, anticipation, and a strange, unwavering faith.
They moved through the storm-rattled streets of the city, their cloaks whipped by the furious wind, their eyes fixed on the towering spire of the Cathedral, a dark, imposing silhouette against the churning, stormy sky.
They found a sheltered spot in the small plaza in front of the Cathedral, a place that offered a clear, unobstructed view of the roof. They huddled together, their bodies braced against the gale, their eyes fixed on the highest point of the city, their hearts in their throats.
"We must get closer" Hemlock said as they brave the buffeting storm.
"Look over there, it's Father Theron!" Melisa pointed to the elderly priest who is seen opening the Cathedral doors for them. "He's expecting us!"
They hurried inside the dry yet solemn interior of the massive church. There, Father Theron immediately looked at them with a serious expression painting his elderly face.
"You came for her too? The Grandmaster?" Theron asked which the four replied with a nod.
"I was praying in the side chapel minutes ago, contemplating and asking for Lord Barbatos' guidance with regards to the storm outside." Theron's face became grim at the mention of the sudden natural phenomenon.
"That storm…feels unnatural. Something's off about its sudden appearance and nature, an opposite to the miracle that we've all witnessed last night."
The Miracle or as the people now call it The Song of the Wind, the ethereal song that was heard by everyone across all of Mondstadt last night. A song so foreign yet so divine that it cleansed and calmed the hearts of everyone in the country. A miracle that they believe was a sign that came from their Archon, Barbatos.
"As I was about to finish the last verse of my Lauds (morning prayer), I sensed her presence entering the church." Theron looked at them, his eyes once dimmed by the nature of the storm outside, now slowly shined with deep reverence and devotion that surprised the four members of the Knights.
"I…I was frozen in place, same as what had happened to me days ago after I last met her." Theron stammered.
"Her presence was the same….yet more immaculate, purer, divine even. I… I couldn't explain it but what shocked me the most was when I sensed the very essence of that song that lulled all of Mondstadt to a peaceful rest last night around her as she strode deeper inside the cathedral, climbing the steps towards the rooftops!"
Yuan quickly came to catch the old priest as he almost fell to his knees from the profound confession. Tears not of fear but of utmost devotion fell from his eyes.
"We…we must go. We must go to her. I believe that something utterly miraculous is about to happen!" cried the old priest.
They then immediately went to a small, hidden staircase that was meant for maintenance and used by the bell ringers.
The stairs were narrow, winding, and dusty, a forgotten pathway that led to the very top of the spire, to the heart of the storm.
Captain Yuan volunteered to carry Father Theron on his back for the journey ahead.
As they climbed, the wind grew louder, a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Cathedral. The air grew colder, thinner, charged with a strange, electric energy. The smell of rain and ozone was thick in their nostrils, a raw, primal scent that spoke of a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
They finally reached the top, emerging onto a small, open balcony that encircled the base of the spire. The wind was a physical force here, a howling gale that threatened to tear them from their feet and send them hurtling into the churning, stormy abyss below.
And then they saw her.
She was standing on the very highest point of the Cathedral, on the narrow, stone ledge that encircled the base of the spire's cross.
The wind whipped her golden hair around her, a chaotic, beautiful halo that seemed to defy the storm's fury. She wore her simple, white tunic and trousers, her blue hoodie nowhere to be seen. Her small traveling pack lay discarded at her feet. She looked like a statue of a forgotten goddess, a figure of immense power and ancient majesty, standing against the raging tempest, a solitary beacon of defiance in a world of chaos.
Then, they witnessed it.
She had her arms raised, her hands outstretched, her palms facing the storm. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of intense concentration, her body a conduit for a power that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
She then closed her eyes, her arms open and stretched outwards, her posture calm, non-threatening, a woman communing with nature, a priestess performing a sacred ritual.
And finally, a bright golden light began to glow upon her very being. A light so pure, so divine that the five people who witnessed it fell to their knees. The storm that rages over them was forgotten as each one of them looked towards what possibly be the holiest sight they had ever witnessed in their lives.
The air around Artoria began to shimmer, with a soft, golden light emanating from her body. The wind began to pick up, not a violent, destructive gust, but a gentle, steady breeze, a soft, melodic whisper that carried her voice, her presence, her essence to the four corners of the land.
She then began to sing.
It was not a song in the common tongue, it was the very same song they and all of Mondstadt heard last night. It was a song that was older, more primal, a language that the wind itself understood, a language of power and creation, a language that the gods themselves had spoken in the dawn of time.
The song was a prayer, a plea, a command. It was a song of peace, of tranquility, of renewal. It was a song that held the power to calm the storm, to soothe the raging tempest, to bring light to the darkest of places.
The storm, a wild, furious thing, seemed to hesitate, to falter, as if it were listening to her song, as if it were a disobedient child being soothed by a loving, maternal voice. The wind began to die down, the rain beginning to lighten, the dark, storm-laden clouds beginning to part.
And then, the most incredible part happened. A soft, golden ball of light began to emanate around the arms of Artoria, a small, contained sun that threatened to push back the shadows, a beacon of hope in a world of chaos.
The light grew brighter, more intense, then shot up towards the sky and unto the center of the storm where it exploded in a brilliant spectacle that dissipated all the surrounding clouds nearby. The wind died down to a gentle, playful breeze, the rain stopped, the dark, storm-laden clouds gone, revealing the sun and the beautiful early morning sky.
The storm was over. The city was saved. And on the highest point of the Cathedral, a goddess stood, her arms outstretched, her face a mask of serene, divine beauty, a living, breathing testament to the power of hope, of love, of faith.
***
The five figures on the balcony could only stare, their minds reeling, their hearts filled with a profound, overwhelming awe.
Sir Hemlock, the grizzled veteran of a hundred battles, a man who had seen the worst of humanity, a man who had faced down monsters and armies, felt a tear trace a path down his weathered cheek. He had always known she was special, a woman of immense power and unwavering determination.
But this... this was something else entirely. This was not the power of a mortal. This was the power of a god…of a goddess.
Captain Yuan, the pragmatic, outspoken former mercenary, a man who for decades trusted his eyes and his sword above all else, felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation in his chest. It was a feeling of…reverence. A feeling of... faith. He had always respected her, admired her above all other people he had met. But now... after seeing the revelation, the miracle that unfolded in front of his eyes, he began to worship her.
He saw in her not just a leader, not just a master, but a living, breathing embodiment of the very ideals he had fought for, bled for, a symbol of a better world, a world he now knew was possible, all thanks to her.
Captain Muscovado, the rotund, inquisitive alchemist, a man of science and logic, a man who sought to understand the world through observation and experimentation, felt his entire worldview crumble, to be replaced by a new, more profound understanding.
He saw in her a power that defied explanation, a force that transcended the laws of nature, a presence that was both beautiful and terrifying, a reminder that there were still mysteries in this world, wonders beyond his comprehension, and he was humbled, awestruck, and utterly, completely captivated.
Melisa Minci, the shy, quiet librarian, a woman who had found her voice, her purpose, in the service of the person she admired and looked up to. She saw in her not just a Grandmaster, not just a hero, but a mother, a protector, a guardian, a woman who would stop at nothing to protect her children, her city, her people.
But now in her eyes she saw not a woman but a goddess whose love was so pure, so selfless, that it could calm the very storms of heaven.
And Father Theron, the old, wise priest, a man who had dedicated his life to the service of a god he had never seen, a god he had only ever known through stories, through prayers, through faith, felt a strange, almost giddy sense of vindication.
He had always known, deep in his heart, that there was something special about her, a divine spark, a sacred presence. But he had never imagined... he had never dared to hope... that he would be a witness to such a miracle.
He saw in her the answer to his prayers, the fulfillment of his faith, the living, breathing proof that their god, their Archon, was real, that their god didn't slumber but rather she walked among them, that she cared for them.
They watched as she slowly lowered her arms, her body still bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. She then turned, her emerald eyes scanning the city, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face. She had done it.
She had saved her city from an unnatural storm through a spectacle that will be remembered, and by doing so…she had given them hope, a sign.
She had given the people a sign. A reassurance that their god had not abandoned them. She hoped that her act would be seen by all the people of Mondstadt as an act of their god, an act that proves that Barbatos still is among them…and hopefully, would blot out the rumors of her being the Archon!
However, Fate had other plans for her.
As she was to turn back she spotted them hiding in the corner of one of the bell towers.
Her jovial demeanor began to slowly crumble at the revelation that she was spotted.
The triumphant, goddess-like aura around her faltered, replaced by the sudden, stark awkwardness of a mother caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her celestial glow, which had moments ago been a beacon of hope to a storm-wracked city, now flickered and died like a snuffed candle, leaving her illuminated by the very sunny sky she had just ushered minutes ago.
She stood there, on the precarious pinnacle of the cathedral, frozen. The majestic tableau of a divine being commanding the elements had been shattered, replaced by the far more relatable image of a very powerful, very flustered woman who was about to have some very awkward explaining to do!
'FUCK!' Artoria screamed crudely in her mind! How can she be so CARELESS to have allowed witnesses! And not just any witnesses but people who already knew her for a long while, her inner circle of all people!
She can see the burgeoning faith and devotion in their eyes! Oh no, this is what she had been avoiding all this time! She didn't want to be a source of worship, thus she set out on her quest in the first place!
Damage control must be done! She could not allow this to spread amongst the populace, think of the massive headache that comes along with it! She needed to bullshit her way out of this!
A sigh, heavy enough to stir the now-gentle breeze, escaped her lips. She pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture so profoundly human, so mundane, that it was almost comical given the circumstances.
"Of course," she muttered to the wind, her voice barely carrying to her secret audience. "It had to be them."
With a grace that defied both her apparent unease and the sheer drop below her, Artoria descended from the spire. She didn't fly or float; she simply... moved. Each step was a controlled, deliberate motion, her feet finding purchase on the slick stone as if it were solid ground. She leaped from the pinnacle, not with the force of a goddess, but with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned knight, landing softly in the small balcony where they were hiding.
Her sudden arrival was jarring. One moment she was a distant, divine figure; the next, she was among them, her proximity overwhelming, the residual heat of her power still clinging to her like a summer's day.
Her golden hair, now free of the wind's wild dance, framed a face that held the weary resignation of a mother whose children had just discovered her secret stash of dandelion wine.
She opened her mouth to speak, to offer some plausible, utterly unconvincing excuse. But before she could even form a word, Sir Hemlock dropped to one knee. His armored gauntlet struck the stone with a definitive *clank*, the sound echoing in the sudden stillness. He did not bow his head in deference; he kept his eyes fixed on her, his weathered face a mask of unshakeable conviction.
"LadyBarbatos," he rumbled, his voice thick with an emotion that was part reverence, part relief, and absolute certainty.
"We have witnessed your divine power. We have heard your heavenly song. Through your miracles, both today and last night, we now know why you chose to walk among us in this form."
The others followed suit in a heartbeat.
Captain Yuan, ever the pragmatist, sank to his knees with a smooth, practiced motion, his sharp gaze unwavering.
Captain Muscovado, his inquisitive mind forgotten, knelt with a pious, breathless awe.
Even Melisa Minci, who had seen the woman in her most maternal, vulnerable state, knelt, her hands clasped as if in prayer.
Only Father Theron remained standing, though he leaned heavily on Yuan for support, his old eyes shining with a fierce, triumphant light. He had known. He had suspected. And now, he had proof. He had found his god!
Artoria stared at them, a tableau of kneeling knights and one beaming priest, and felt a migraine of truly divine proportions begin to form behind her eyes. This was worse than she had imagined. Infinitely worse.
"No," she said, her voice flat, holding a note of desperate finality. "You're mistaken."
"The storm," Hemlock insisted, his voice rising with passionate faith. "It was a trial. A test of the city's spirit. And you answered, not with force, but with grace. With a song of freedom that calmed the heavens! Only you, Lady Barbatos could do such a thing!"
"It was... a particularly potent Anemo spell," Artoria tried, grasping at straws. "One I learned from an ancient text."
Muscovado, the alchemist, shook his head, a small, knowing smile on his lips. "MyDivineArchon, with all due respect, I have dedicated my life to the study of elemental energy. What you wielded was not merely Anemo. It was... something more. A primordial force, a sacred light woven into the very fabric of the wind. It was an act of creation, not manipulation."
This was getting out of hand! They weren't just seeing a god; they were building an entire theology around her, complete with scripture and hymns, all in the span of five minutes!
"Father Theron," Artoria said, turning to the one man she thought might be a voice of reason. "Surely you, as a servant of the Archon, know this is impossible right? He is a male god. A free-spirited bard. I am..."
She gestured to herself, at undeniable evidence of her feminine form.
Father Theron chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that was filled with warmth. "My Archon, do you presume that we mere mortals know the limits of a god's power? Did not Barbatos himself take the form of a nameless bard to walk among his people? Is it so great a leap to believe he could shed that guise for another? To appear as a mother, a protector, a Grandmaster, when his city needed such a figure the most?" He gestured to her.
"You bear the spirit of freedom, the power of the wind, and a love for Mondstadt that is as boundless as the sky. There is no denying it my Archon, to us who just witnessed this miracle YOU ARE BARBATOS, just as you are Artoria Pendragon Gunnhildr. The two are not mutually exclusive; they are one and the same."
The old priest's logic was so seamless, so perfectly tailored to their desire to believe, that it was irrefutable.
They had taken her actions, her very nature, and woven them into a perfect, unassailable doctrine!
Then the most unsuspecting thing happened. Sensing his new mistress distress, Mini Dvalin popped out of Artoria's traveling pack and began to fly in front of the five witnesses. His body, though adorable, is radiating an aura worthy of being called the Dragon of the East.
"Leave my Mistress alone!" Dvalin shouted, more like squeaking in front of the now stunned group.
The sight of a living, breathing, miniature dragon speaking with the voice of an ancient, loyal guardian was the final, irrefutable nail in the coffin of her denial.
Hemlock's eyes widened, his jaw slack. "The... the Dragon of the East Wind... Dvalin! Why is he so small? But more than that…He serves you! He serves no one other than Barbatos! It is a sign! An irrefutable proof!"
Artoria closed her eyes. She took a long, slow breath, feeling the weight of her own power, the unwavering faith of her most trusted subordinates, and the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the situation!
It was time for a different strategy. Denial was a dead end. She would have to manage this.
She scooped up the squeaking, indignant Dvalin, gently stroking his head to calm him. "Peace, my little friend," she murmured, her voice low. "They are... loyal."
She then turned her full, emerald gaze back to the kneeling figures. The divine aura was gone, replaced by an aura of command so absolute, so profound, that it was more intimidating than any display of power.
"Rise," she commanded. Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the night air with the sharpness of a blade's edge.
They rose, their movements clumsy, awkward, their faces still alight with the light of revelation.
"Listen to me, and listen well," she said, her voice a low, intense whisper that held the weight of a sovereign's decree. "What you have seen here today will not leave this place. It will not be spoken of, not to your fellow knights, not to your families, not to the whispers in the taverns. It will be a secret, held between us. A sacred pact."
She let her gaze linger on each of them, her eyes boring into their souls.
"This is not a suggestion. It is an order. And it is a warning. The power you witnessed... it is not a toy. It is not a spectacle. It is a burden. A responsibility that I carry for the sake of this nation. To expose it to the world would invite danger on a scale you cannot imagine. It would turn Mondstadt into a target for powers far beyond your comprehension. It would bring the wrath of the divine, the curiosity of the Abyss, the greed of other nations. Is that what you want for our home?"
Her words were a splash of cold, sobering reality, extinguishing the fires of their newfound faith with the harsh truth of geopolitical consequence.
"No, my Archon," Hemlock said, his voice a low, respectful rumble. "We... we understand."
"Good," Artoria said, her tone softening slightly. "Later, when the people start questioning you about what just happened here, you will tell them that it was the will of Barbatos."
"And if they question my whereabouts or even try to probe about my nature, I expect all of you to tell them that I am Artoria Pendragon Gunnhildr. Your Grandmaster. The mother to my children. The protector of this city. That is all you need to know. And that is all you will tell anyone."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "But," she added, a sigh in her voice.
"I understand... what you think of the event that you all have just witnessed. I know I cannot easily convince you all to go back on how you once treated me, so I will make a bargain with you."
A flicker of curiosity sparked in their eyes.
"You will keep my secret. You will continue to serve me as you have, with loyalty and honor. In return, I will not deny all of you of your faith. If it gives you strength, if it helps you to better serve this city, then you may continue to believe... what you will believe. But you will do so in silence. You will not speak of it. You will not act upon it. And you will ABSOLUTELY, under no circumstances, build any NEW SHRINES. Am I clear?"
The last part was said with such firm, maternal finality that it was almost comical.
A slow, wide grin spread across Father Theron's face. It was the look of a master strategist who had just checkmated his opponent while convincing him it was his own idea. He had his god, his goddess, his Archon. A living, breathing, and most importantly, ever present deity.
A goddess who commanded armies, reformed a nation, and can purged dragons. A goddess who was also a loving mother. It was more than he could have ever hoped for. The secrecy was a small price to pay.
"Perfectly clear, my Archon," Father Theron said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "We are your flock. And we will guard your secret with our lives."
The others nodded, their expressions a mixture of relief, awe, and a renewed, more private devotion.
Artoria let out another long, weary sigh, rubbing her temples.
"Good. Now, if you all excuse me, I think I've been away from my children long enough. Captains, see to it that you all manage the Order for the next 5 days, I'll be taking a short break after returning from my journey. If anything significant pops up, just contact me, I'll be at my house." Artoria then turned her back from the five 'newly minted' devotees.
"Come on Dvalin, let's go home."
And with that she disappeared from the roof of the Cathedral leaving only a swirl of dust and leaves in her wake.
***
The small group stood in silence for a long moment, the reality of what they had just witnessed slowly sinking in.
"So," Yuan finally said, his voice a low, thoughtful whisper. "That just happened."
"I...I never expected to see the day....that ..that I'll get to personally see the Anemo Archon, let alone find out that she was our own Grandmaster all along!" Melisa breathed, her hands still clasped, her face flushed with a feverish devotion.
"And a mother too," Muscovado added, his mind already reeling with the theological implications. "A goddess....who would have thought that 'Barbatos' was actually a woman. Our depictions of our Archon throughout history had been wrong! The implications for the Church's doctrines are... staggering."
"The Doctrine can wait, Muscovado," Hemlock said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He looked at his fellow knights, at the priest, a fierce, protective fire in his eyes.
"What matters now is the sacredpact. We keep her secret. We protect her, and her children, the heirs to her legacy. Not just as our Grandmaster, but as our Archon, the Ruler of all Mondstadt."
He gestured vaguely towards the spot where she had stood, a place that would now be sacred ground in their minds.
"Lord...I mean Lady Barbatos is also known to greatly value her seclusion throughout our history, thus I believe our Lady at least wanted to remain anonymous to the rest of her flock. Her 'return' three years ago to cleanse our beloved nation was proof enough that she loved each and everyone of us," Father Theron said, his voice filled with a profound, solemn devotion.
"She trusted us with the greatest secret in the history of Teyvat. We will not fail her." He looked at each of them, his old eyes gleaming with a fierce, unwavering conviction.
"We are her quiet guardians. Her unseen hand. We are the... first of her new flock. And we will be worthy of her trust."
The others nodded, their expressions a mixture of awe, determination, and a profound, unshakeable loyalty. They had come seeking answers, and they had found something far greater. They had found their Archon, their goddess. And they had found a purpose.
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The journey back to the Gunnhildr estate was a blur of motion.
Artoria didn't run, but she moved with a speed that made the forest and fields a smear of green and gold. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground, a testament to her divine power and her desperate need to be home.
The emotional whiplash of the past few days, the quest, the revelation, the storm, the sheer, unmitigated awkwardness of being deified by her inner circle had left her feeling drained in a way no battle ever had.
She needed her children. She needed the simple, grounding reality of their love.
Mini Dvalin, still tucked in her pack, had fallen into a contented, squeaky slumber, his tiny adorable form radiating a gentle warmth. The little dragon, for all his ancient power, had the comforting presence of a well-loved teddy bear, and his simple, unwavering affection was a balm to her frayed nerves.
She reached the estate at around half past 8 in the morning, the sprawling mansion, a warm, welcoming island of light. She bypassed the main entrance, the knights from the Tenth Company saluting as she entered through the gates. Her movements were graceful as she approached the main door of her home.
Elspeth, her loyal stewardess, was the first to see her. She knelt before her in worship, something that Artoria got used to since the day she revitalized her orchards.
"My Archon…you've returned. My heart is filled with joy with your arrival." Elspeth whispered in a reverent tone.
Artoria could only smile, yet deep inside she's already sighing for possibly the 100th time this day! Elspeth was the first to have worshiped her years ago followed by the staffs of her estate. She made them promise to keep her secret and was hoping that it would end there. Now, her very inner circle is also doing the same thing!
With a tired smile, she gave her stewardess a nod, and ordered her to prepare a meal (feast) later for her and her children later past noon. She told her that she'll take a quick rest for the next three to four hours.
She then proceeded to go upstairs to the rooms of her beloved children.
She walked through the halls of her mansion, the scent of homemade lavender polish, old books, and the lingering sweet smell of her children enveloping her like a comforting blanket.
The first thing she saw, curled up on a plush chaise lounge near the unlit fireplace, was Jean. Her oldest daughter, now nine, was growing into a serious, responsible young lady, a mirror of the woman Artoria hoped she would become.
A thick book on the history of the Knights of Favonius lay open on her chest, rising and falling with her steady breathing. She had clearly waited up for her and had succumbed to sleep.
A soft, maternal smile touched Artoria's lips. She gently closed the book and placed it on a nearby table, then lifted Jean into her arms. The girl was getting heavy, a lanky colt of a child, but to Artoria, she was as light as a feather. She carried her to the large, canopied bed in the adjoining room, tucking her in with a tenderness that belied the divine power she had unleashed upon the storm.
In the next room over, she found her youngest daughter Barbara, a tiny angel with hair like spun gold, was fast asleep in her bed, clutching a stuffed doll Elspeth had made for her. And in the bed beside hers, sprawled on his stomach with his little bottom in the air, was Bennett. He had kicked off his blankets, his mouth open in a soft, snoring snuffle.
Artoria stood there for a long moment, just watching them sleep. The weight of the world, the burden of a nation, the absurdity of being worshipped as a goddess, it all melted away in the face of this simple, perfect domestic scene.
This was her kingdom. This was her purpose. Not thrones, not divine command, but the steady, rhythmic breathing of her three children.
She gently covered Bennett with his blanket, smoothing his unruly white hair. As she did, his eyes fluttered open. They were a bright, clear green, just like hers. He blinked sleepily, a gummy, adoring smile spreading across his face.
"Mama?" he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. "You're home."
"I'm home, my little Benny," she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Did you and your sisters have fun yesterday?"
"Uh-huh," he said, his eyes already closing again, still wanting to sleep even when it's already morning. "We explored the orchard. I found a frog. Barbara screamed. It was funny."
Artoria chuckled softly. "I'm sure it was. Now go back to sleep my little one. We'll have a big feast later this lunch ok."
"'Kay, Mama," he mumbled, burrowing into his pillow, his tiny hand reaching out to clutch her finger for a moment before he drifted off again.
She waited until his breathing was deep and even, then carefully extricated her finger. With one last, lingering look at her sleeping children, she retreated to her own chambers.
Inside she shed her travel-worn clothes and pulled on a simple silk nightgown, the cool fabric a welcome relief.
Mini Dvalin got out of Artoria's pack and doved straight into a pile of Velvet pillows in Artoria's bed creating a sort of adorable nest for himself.
As she sat at her vanity, brushing out her long, golden hair, the events of the past few days came rushing back. Boreas' wary respect, Dvalin's tearful gratitude, Vennessa's cryptic reverence, and finally, the horrified awe on the faces of Hemlock, Yuan, and the others.
A headache began to bloom behind her eyes. It was one thing to be a powerful leader; it was another thing entirely to be mistaken for the local deity. The irony was so thick she could have sliced it with Excalibur.
The problem was not their faith. She could, perhaps, tolerate their private worship. The problem was the secret. Five more people knowing her secret was five too many.
Secrets, like the stones Melisa had spoken of, created ripples. And in her experience, ripples had a nasty habit of turning into tidal waves.
She finished brushing her hair and stood, walking over to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room. She looked at her reflection, at the woman with the face of a goddess and the weary eyes of a mother.
They called her Barbatos, the Anemo Archon.
They saw how she repelled the storm as a divine act.
But what she had done wasn't an act of a god. It was an act of a mother. A mother whose children were anxious, whose people, her very flock were restless, and who had the power to do something about it. She had simply cleared a storm. A god would have understood the long-term implications. A queen would have formulated a political strategy. A mother had just wanted the scary thunder to go away so her babies could sleep peacefully.
Yet, as she laid in her bed trying to get at least three hours of sleep with Dvalin peacefully curled up at her side, one thing, one question kept popping in her mind.
'What caused that storm?'
She'll probably just find the answer some other time, but for now dream land awaits for her. Time to sleep.
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(Around the same time, somewhere in Mondstadt)
Somewhere within the tall cliffs of Drunkard Gorge, near the vicinity of Wolvendom and Dawn Winery, three small figures are seen whispering conspiringly amongst themselves.
They were no humans, but rather creatures that can command the elements themselves, molding them into weapons and shields
Abyss Mages
The three were currently discussing among themselves when a tear of reality appeared before them.
From the dark rift, came a humanoid figure with a shadowy, ethereal appearance, often wearing a purple mask and robe. Its very presence caused the three Abyss mages to fall in their knees.
An Abyss Lector had arrived.
"I've received word that the plan to seduce the dragon Stormterror to our side has failed, not only that but the back up plan to conjure a storm around Mondstadt has also failed. MIND TELLING ME WHAT WENT WRONG?" The Lector's otherworldly voice is so cold that the three mages shivered and almost pissed themselves in fear!
The three then told the Lector that everything was going according to plan, when someone or something intervened.
They don't know who that person was, they couldn't find a plausible trace of him or her. But what caught the Lector's attention was the otherworldly song that they heard last night and the golden glow that tore through the storm earlier today.
The mages told the Lector how the mysterious song rattled their bodies in immense pain, as if it was tearing their very being from the inside. Thankfully they were able to briefly conceal themselves inside an underground hole until the song ended.
The golden light from earlier that day that rendered the storm asunder, a storm they've been conjuring up for almost two days, came from the very heart of the City of Mondstadt!
The Lector paused, his clawed hand stroking his chin as he contemplated on the origin of the significant events that had just occured in Mondstadt in a span of one day.
'Was Barbatos behind them? Had he finally risen from his long years of slumber?' the possibility was doable nonetheless since they knew no other being in this backwatered nation who can display such vast amount of power.
The possibility of the Anemo Archon roaming his lands once again can jeopardize the plans of the Order. This obstacle must be taken into consideration if the Order is to prevail with its goals.
"His Highness, The Prince, must be informed of this grave news."
(End of Chapter)
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The Four Winds
- The Four Winds are four entities that the Anemo Archon, Barbatos, entrusted the safety and protection of Mondstadt to before he disappeared a thousand years ago.
- They consist of the Wolf of the North, the Lion of the South, the Dragon of the East, and the Falcon of the West.
- The Dragon of the East: Dvalin, the Dragon of the East, is one of Barbatos' oldest allies and has been worshipped the longest out of the Four Winds. His current occupation is being Artoria's own personal teddy bear.
- The Wolf of the North: Originally referring to Boreas or Andrius, the title Wolf of the North can also be designated to a knight in the Knights of Favonius who was bestowed the title of Knight of Boreas. Currently, as of the moment, no Knight bears this title yet.
- The Falcon of the West: Vennessa, the founder of the Knights of Favonius and its first Grandmaster who lead a rebellion against the nobility a thousand years ago. She later ascended in Celestia becoming a Falcon spirit that watches over Mondstadt.
- The Lion of the South: The Lion of the South is a unique position among the Four Winds, in that it is passed along down between the Grandmasters (and Acting Grand Masters) of the Knights of Favonius through the title of "Dandelion Knight" or "Lionfang Knight. The current holder is Artoria herself, and is acknowledged by the other three winds as their leader.
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The Seven Archons
- The Seven Archons (otherwise known as the Seven) are the seven gods who preside over the seven nations of Teyvat, established after they or their predecessors emerged as the victors of the Archon War 2,000 years ago.
- Each Archon possesses a magic focus called a Gnosis, which allows them to resonate directly with Celestia and is bound to a Divine Throne, which is composed of the elemental Authority of one of the Seven Sovereigns, and which grants them authority over the corresponding element.
- Each Archon is associated with an element and an ideal, by which they formed their territories' environment and determined their method of governance over their regions.
- Anemo Archon: Barbatos/Artoria(?) - rules over Mondstadt
- Geo Archon: Morax/Rex Lapis - rules over Liyue
- Electro Archon: Beelzebul/Raiden Shogun - rules over Inazuma
- Dendro Archon: Buer/Lesser Lord Kusanali - currently imprisoned, authority usurped by the Sages of the Sumeru Akademiya
- Hydro Archon: Focalor/Regina of all Waters - currently inside the Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, she is represented to the nation of Fontaine by her other half, Furina who rules over it alongside Fontaine's Chief Justice, Neuvillette
- Pyro Archon: Haborym/Kiongozi - mortal who presides over all Natlan
- Cryo Archon: Tsaritsa - rules over all of Snezhnaya and presumably Nod-Krai as well
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