Daylight had just begun to pierce the dome formed by the wind barrier when Coppelia and Columbina found themselves standing at the door of Kuris, the bard.
Kuris seemed not to have slept all night, his eyes sunken, yet his mood was one of unusual excitement.
Without much conversation, he led the two of them through the alleyways, heading toward the area between the inner and outer rings where the petition assembly was to be held.
The City of Mondstadt was shrouded in a strange silence today.
The mills and workshops that normally relied on the turning of windmills were all quiet now; even the most basic labor had ceased.
All productive activity in the entire city had temporarily come to a halt for the sake of this petition.
The closer they got to their destination, the denser the crowd became, yet there was no clamor. People streamed in from all directions, silently merging into the flow, all moving toward the same point.
The gathering was taking place on several enormous circular altars situated between the inner and outer rings.
These altars, built from heavy stone and covered in the marks of wind erosion, were where official ceremonies were usually held.
The ground around the altars was covered in a layer of fine, grayish-white sand. It was said to be the debris of rock, cut and ground down by the ceaseless gales, finally gathered here by tornados, rustling underfoot.
On the wide plaza of the altars, the crowd was gradually assembling. In the center of the plaza were long tables and chairs, where several priests in plain robes and solemn-faced bards were organizing the final signatures.
Those who had come to petition were mostly dressed in their finest clothes. Although these garments were still covered in patches and washed until they were faded, it was the greatest respect they could show.
A mother clutched her child's hand tightly, whispering instructions not to make noise; an old craftsman pulled a small, treasured piece of clean linen from his breast pocket and repeatedly wiped the dirt and grease from his face and hands, hoping to face their king with as 'dignified' an appearance as possible.
Kuris led Coppelia and Columbina through the crowd to the area in the center of the plaza where the bards were gathered.
"This is as far as I can take you," he said in a low voice. "I hope you can find that young man." With that, he joined the ranks of his companions.
Coppelia and Columbina immediately began scanning the crowd, searching for the young poet.
...
Around the altars, knights clad in iron armor were maintaining order.
Their main task, however, was to prevent any overly emotional commoners from getting too close to the noble manors and estates behind them.
Lumiel Ragnvindr was leading a small squad on patrol along the edge of the estate district.
His posture was erect, his red hair particularly conspicuous in the oppressive air.
During a lull in the patrol, the unabashed sounds of chatter and laughter drifted from within the estate walls.
"Those peasants, do they really think a few pieces of paper can change their fate!"
"I hear the petition demands we just give our money away? How utterly fanciful."
"No matter. Let them stir up trouble. The more chaos they cause, the more it highlights our loyalty."
A young voice piped up: "That petition must be filled with countless crooked ideas!"
An older voice immediately replied: "Don't worry, the King won't agree to it. His judgment has always been sharp. The petty tricks of this lot are useless; they can't overturn the heavens."
Lumiel's gaze shifted from the estate walls to the boundless sea of silent, hopeful people in the plaza.
He clenched his fists, thinking with excitement, "So many souls yearning for change. The King will surely not ignore them."
...
At the foot of the wide stone steps leading to the high tower, Amos stood quietly, observing the assembled populace.
Shortly, she, along with several other priests and attendants, would present the petition that carried the will of the people before the King.
She did not need to participate in such a ceremony, but perhaps this was an opportunity—an opportunity to make the King 'notice' her.
She had dressed meticulously today, her stunningly beautiful face deliberately maintaining a solemn expression.
The signing finally came to an end. The priests and bards brought out several exquisite containers and carefully packed the thick petition scrolls and the countless lists of signatures. These special containers were designed to prevent the documents from being blown away by the fierce gales on the way to the high tower.
They delivered the containers into the hands of Amos and the retinue of attendants behind her.
Amos took a deep breath, lifted one of the containers with both hands, turned, and led the procession up the long stone steps toward the high tower.
In the plaza, countless gazes filled with hope followed the backs of the departing group.
Only when the attendants' figures vanished behind the wind barrier did the people slowly retract their gazes.
The bards gathered spontaneously, and the populace crowded around them.
Coppelia's gaze swept over the group of bards. Soon, at the edge of the crowd, she spotted the young poet with short black hair and a green-gradient braided lock hanging from his temple. He was holding his lyre, his expression as solemn as the other poets'.
Then, the bards began to play.
The music was solemn with a touch of pathos. The people began to softly chant hymns along with the melody. The singing was faint at first, but it gradually converged, becoming orderly and grand.
They were prepared to keep singing until the high tower gave a response.
...
At the very top of the high tower, a fierce gale howled beside the throne.
Amos held the petition, her heart pounding.
She had stepped into this sacred space countless times, but not once had the King ever looked at her.
Today was a rare opportunity. She tried her best to maintain an elegant gait, her eyes fixed on the imposing figure standing with his back to her before a massive window.
Decarabian possessed an upright figure akin to a human's. The robes and crown on his body shimmered with a ceaseless flow of cyan and gold. His attire was not made of ordinary cloth but was the very substance of the gales that swirled around him. He was looking down through the wind barrier that encircled the tower, gazing upon the crowd gathered below.
"Are these odes presented by the people?" He did not turn around, his deep voice echoing through the space, carried by the wind.
Amos immediately bowed, her voice trembling slightly. "My King, this is a petition from the people. It records their hopes regarding public welfare. For the mutual benefit of you, the King, and Mondstadt, I implore you to accept it."
The wording of the petition had been revised repeatedly by the bards to remove all sharp language.
Decarabian still did not turn, replying flatly: "I already understand the wishes of my subjects. Andrius cannot break through. The people's happy lives will not be cut short. My winds will shelter them."
He had clearly misunderstood the reason for this large-scale petition, mistaking it for his subjects' fear of the King of the North Wind.
Amos dared not directly refute the King's assumption. She could only bow again, raising the container in her hands higher, her tone filled with intense pleading: "I strongly beseech you, Your Majesty, to look at these petitions."
Her eyes were fixed on the back formed of wind, her gaze seemingly screaming: "I beg you, turn around, look at me, look at me!"
Decarabian seemed to show a flicker of interest in the thickness of the petition and the number of signatures, but that was all.
He seemed to be muttering to himself, yet also lamenting to Amos and the others: "So many signatures... It was my negligence that allowed my subjects to feel so uneasy."
Immediately, he mobilized his divine power, using the gales to carry his voice, letting it spread across the skies of all of Mondstadt.
...
A divine wind blew out from the high tower, sweeping across the plaza.
The singing stopped abruptly. The bards ceased their playing. Everyone held their breath, gazing up at the high tower, awaiting the King's response.
Decarabian's voice was like thunder, yet it carried a sense of satisfaction completely misaligned with the pleas from below:
"My subjects! Fear not, worry not! The minions of Andrius can never breach my wind barrier! I will protect you as I always have, just as I have guarded this land for these past centuries! I have felt your adoring hearts!"
A suppressed uproar arose from the plaza.
Coppelia clearly heard a bard beside her whisper in confusion:
"Was... was Andrius even mentioned in the petition?"
___
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