The Pantheon, the Guild's massive headquarters, stood firmly in the center of Orario's western district. The white marble structure was supposed to radiate an aura of order and authority. However, to Venti, who had just stepped inside, the place felt more like a makeshift field hospital in the middle of a war zone.
The air inside the great hall was stifling, heavy with the scent of sweat, old paper, and thick anxiety. Adventurers bustled about with grim faces. Some supported wounded comrades, while others shouted at the counters, demanding payment for delayed quests.
"Sigh... the atmosphere really isn't tourist-friendly," Venti murmured softly, clutching his wooden lyre to his chest.
He stepped forward, his small frame slipping between hulking adventurers and fierce-looking beastmen. With his signature green bard's cape and a face far too pretty for a boy, Venti looked entirely out of place here. He was like a dandelion blooming amidst a heap of scrap metal.
He approached a counter that had just opened up. There was no sweet Eina Tulle here, no cool yet caring Rose Fannett, nor the cheerful Misha Flott. The familiar faces from the "canon" future were not yet present.
Sitting behind the reception desk was a middle-aged woman with dull brown hair tied in a tight bun. Thick glasses perched on her sharp nose, and the furrows on her forehead suggested she was already exhausted from dealing with adventurers' nonsense all day. Her nameplate read: Hilda.
"Good day! Lovely lady," Venti greeted cheerfully, resting his elbows on the counter. " The wind brought me here for a small matter."
Hilda looked up slowly. Her gaze was flat, entirely unaffected by Venti's smile—a smile that could usually melt the hearts of even the nuns at the Favonius Cathedral.
"New adventurer registration is at the counter on the right. Quest reward claims on the left. If you want to file a complaint about item drop disputes, take a number," Hilda recited quickly, her voice monotone as a machine.
"Ah, no, no," Venti waved his hand dismissively. He straightened his posture, then cleared his throat with a touch of drama. "I'm not here to become an adventurer. I want to register a Familia."
Silence fell for a moment. Hilda lowered her glasses slightly, looking Venti up and down from the tip of his green beret to the toes of his boots. Her gaze was filled with doubt.
"You?" Hilda asked skeptically. "You want to register a Familia? You look like a traveling bard who can't even afford a glass of ale."
"Ehe! Appearances can be deceiving, can't they?" Venti winked. "My name is Venti. And yes, technically speaking, I am a God."
Hilda let out a long sigh, as if she had just heard the worst joke of the year. Without a word, she pulled a clear crystal ball from a drawer and set it on the desk with a loud thud.
"Place your hand here. If you're lying, security will throw you out."
Venti complied. He placed his smooth palm on the crystal's surface. for a moment, nothing happened. But a split second later, the crystal ball glowed with a pure white light—the undeniable sign of Arcanum, the essence of divinity. The light was soft, yet it carried a pressure that made Hilda hold her breath.
It was absolute proof. The young man before her, no matter how ridiculous he looked, was a divine entity.
Hilda immediately straightened her back, her dismissive attitude vanishing, replaced by stiff professionalism.
"Apologies for my rudeness, Venti-sama," she said, reaching for a parchment form. "Standard procedure. Please fill in your Familia's data."
Venti took the quill she offered. He began filling in the columns with elegant, flowing handwriting.
God's Name: Venti (Barbatos) Familia Name: Barbatos Familia Emblem: Wind / Lyre Familia Type: Exploration (Planned)
Hilda read the form while tapping her finger. "Current members?"
"Zero," Venti answered lightly.
Hilda stopped tapping. "Headquarters or Familia home location?"
"None yet. The sky is my roof for now," Venti smiled proudly, as if being homeless was an artistic achievement.
"Assets or initial capital?"
"Hmm..." Venti dug into his pocket, then pulled out a red apple that was half-eaten and a single dented copper coin he had found on the street earlier. "Does this count?"
Hilda's face twitched. She stared at Venti with a look that was hard to decipher—a mix of pity, confusion, and amazement. In Orario, Gods usually descended with some wealth or at least the charisma to attract instant followers. But this God... he was truly a 'God of Poverty' in the literal sense.
"Venti-sama," Hilda said quietly as she stamped the form with the Guild seal. "I suggest you find shelter immediately. The nights in Orario lately... are not friendly. Especially for a lone God without followers."
She handed him the Familia license certificate, the ink still wet.
"Thanks for the advice, Hilda!" Venti took the paper, folded it haphazardly, and stuffed it into his pocket. "Don't worry, the wind always knows where to blow."
With a wave of his hand, Venti turned and walked out of the Guild building, leaving Hilda massaging her throbbing temples.
Stepping out of the Guild, the reality of an empty stomach hit Venti hard. Being a physical incarnation meant he had human biological needs, and right now, his stomach was demanding tribute.
The sun was climbing high, but its light was blocked by layers of grey clouds that seemed reluctant to leave the skies of Orario. Venti walked down a run-down shopping district. There was no scent of sweet bread or roasting meat here—only the smell of dust, waste, and faint despair.
He stopped in front of a roadside stall roofed with torn tarp. An old man was stirring a large pot of watery wheat soup and a few skewers of meat from some indistinguishable animal.
"One bowl, Uncle. And maybe a glass of water?" Venti requested, sitting on a rickety long wooden bench.
"Thirty Valis," the vendor answered without turning around.
Venti fell silent. The dented copper coin in his pocket wasn't even worth ten Valis.
"Ah, well..." Venti thought fast. He pulled out Der Frühling. "How about I pay with a song? A ballad from a faraway land to soothe a weary heart?"
The vendor turned, about to chase the busker away, but stopped when he saw Venti's smile. There was something in the boy's teal eyes—a strange, infectious calmness.
"Make it quick. If your song is trash, you're washing dishes," the old man grumbled, though his hands were already pouring a bowl of warm soup.
Venti began to pluck the lyre strings. The notes that emerged weren't a loud, heroic anthem, but a soft melody that flowed like a spring breeze. The song slipped through the cracks of the market's noise, making passersby pause for a moment. For a few seconds, their tense faces relaxed. The song reminded them of a time before the darkness fell—a time when hope still felt real.
As Venti ended his song with a gentle strum, the soup seller placed the bowl and two skewers of meat in front of him.
"Eat," he said gruffly, hiding eyes that were slightly glassy. "That was... a good song."
"Thank you for your generosity!" Venti wasted no time. He ate the soup ravenously. It tasted bland, but to a hungry stomach, it was ambrosia.
As he ate, Venti's sharp ears—ears accustomed to hearing the whispers of the wind—began filtering the conversations around him. The stall was starting to fill up with lower-class adventurers looking for a cheap breakfast.
"Just as I thought, the era of Zeus and Hera is truly over," whispered a cat-faced man at the next table. "I saw the remnants of their members leaving the city this morning. Truly pathetic."
"Don't say their names too loud," his companion, a dwarf, hissed. "It's the era of Loki and Freya now. Did you hear the Guild's latest announcement?"
Venti slowed his chewing, letting his spoon hang in the air.
"About Ottar?" the cat-man asked.
"Yeah. That monster... he officially hit Level 6. Level 6, imagine that! He's the only one in Orario right now. The Freya Familia named him Vice Captain, but we all know he's the king. They say he slaughtered the floor boss on the 37th floor all by himself to level up."
Venti recalled the name. Ottar. The Warlord. In the original story, Ottar was the thick wall standing in Bell Cranel's way. But in this time, he had just reached his peak. A Level 6 in this world was equivalent to a walking natural disaster.
"Not just Freya," another adventurer chipped in. "The Loki Familia is terrifying too. Their trio of leaders—the Prum Finn, the Dwarf Gareth, and the Elf Riveria—they were all just confirmed to have leveled up to 5. Their combat power has skyrocketed like crazy."
Level 5. Venti noted in his mind. Finn Deimne, Gareth Landrock, Riveria Ljos Alf. Those future legends were currently in their ascent to the summit.
"But, there's weird news too," the dwarf added, lowering his voice as if discussing state secrets. "You know Mia Grand? The former Captain of the Freya Familia?"
"Demi Ymir? Of course. What about her?"
"She's semi-retired. Rumor has it she had a huge fight with Goddess Freya, then decided to leave the front lines. She bought an old building on West Main Street. Says she wants to open a pub. The name is... 'Hostess of Fertility' if I'm not mistaken."
Venti's eyes lit up at that. Mia Grand. Hostess of Fertility. The place where Ryuu Lion would work in the future. The place where many fates would intersect.
"So, that legendary place is just about to be established..." Venti thought, a thin smile forming on his lips.
These scraps of information gave Venti a clear map of the power dynamics. Orario was undergoing a tectonic shift in power. Zeus and Hera, the old pillars, had collapsed. Freya and Loki were scrambling for the empty throne. Meanwhile, other powerful figures were starting to find their own paths.
Chaos. Uncertainty.
It was fertile ground for opportunity. But also a minefield for a newcomer like him.
Venti finished the last drop of his soup, then set the wooden spoon down with a quiet clink. He felt a little more alive now.
"Full?" asked the vendor.
"Very. Your cooking has the taste of warm honesty, Uncle," Venti praised sincerely.
He hopped off the bench.
He stood by the roadside, looking up at the towering Babel. The wind blew gently, carrying street dust against his face.
He was a God without followers, without money, and without a home. On paper, he was the most pathetic entity in this city. But the information he had just acquired made him feel rich. He knew who the key players were. He knew which way the wind was blowing.
"Ottar at Level 6... Finn and Riveria at Level 5... and Mia opening her pub," Venti muttered, his fingers playing with the tip of his braided hair, which glowed faintly. "The stage is set, the main actors have taken their positions."
But Venti knew, a great performance didn't just need strong main actors. It needed an element of surprise. It needed an unpredictable variable.
And that was his role.
"Next step," Venti gazed toward the ruins of an old church on the outskirts of the city that he had glimpsed when entering Orario—the place that would become Hestia's home in the future. "Find a free roof to sleep under. Let's just hope there aren't any ghosts there."
With light steps that seemed to dance, Venti walked away from the bustling market, heading into the shadows of the abandoned district, accompanied by a melody of freedom that only the Anemo Archon himself could hear.
And maybe, just maybe, it was time for the wind of Mondstadt to brew a little storm in this labyrinth city.