"Me?"
Lumine shook her head.
"I don't have any skill repairing instruments."
"Relax, I'm not asking you to fix this precious lyre.
The problem is that the Anemo energy attached to the strings is still far too thin.
You've kept Dvalin—no, Dvalin's teardrop crystal safe, right?"
"This one?"
Lumine pulled out the crimson crystal she had collected in Whispering Woods.
The moment she touched it, the muddy red instantly turned clear blue, then floated into Venti's hand.
"You really can purify tears."
Venti let the purified drop fall onto the Holy Lyre, and a gentle cyan glow rippled across its wooden frame.
"The lyre… feels younger somehow?"
Jean frowned at the instrument—unaware that the entire tavern was now filled with a strong smell of coffee.
"The Acting Grand Master is complimenting herself,"
Paimon teased, landing on Jean's shoulder.
"…I meant the lyre."
Jean put down her coffee and patted Paimon's little head.
"Thanks to the Traveler's purification, the Anemo within the lyre hasn't completely dried up.
But it's still far from restored.
If we could retrieve just a bit more of Dvalin's tears…"
As Venti spoke, he snuck a glance at Farmas—
who was very obviously not paying attention, staring instead at the endless walls of wine behind the counter.
"How do we collect more teardrop crystals?"
Lumine asked softly.
"Even now, Dvalin is crying… enduring pain in a place few dare to tread."
Venti's expression dimmed.
"Dvalin…"
Jean murmured in sorrow.
"This is not just your responsibility.
The entire Knights of Favonius will mobilize immediately.
Once we collect the crystals, I'll rely on you to purify them."
Jean rose, finished another cup of coffee, and nodded to Lumine.
"Leave it to me."
Lumine answered firmly.
"Mmm… how wonderful.
Heroes entrusting each other, setting off hand in hand…
Let me play a song for your departure—"
Just as Venti prepared to start a performance, Farmas—silent until now—finally spoke.
And what he said stunned the room.
"If Master Diluc lends me his Vision, I can repair the Holy Lyre."
"…Huh?"
Venti rushed over, lyre in hand, whispering urgently beside Farmas.
"Munata's forging arts aren't like Mondstadt's—don't force yourself!"
"The Pyro Archon understands forging better than anyone.
Without flames bright enough and hot enough… how else do you smelt a blade worth wielding?"
Farmas whispered back, then looked at Diluc—
whose eyes widened in sudden realization.
"No wonder you kept staring at my Vision.
You planned this with the bard, didn't you?"
Diluc glared at Venti.
"I heard Amber's Vision was stolen—the suspect a green-clad figure."
"Ehe? Is that so?"
Venti smiled stiffly.
But a dangerous aura rose behind him—
Jean's gaze.
"W–wait, I can explain!"
Diluc advanced. Jean circled from the other side.
Venti turned desperately toward Lumine, Paimon, and finally Farmas.
"Farmas… did you really have to bring this up now?"
"Is it really necessary?"
A breeze rose.
Jean—ever sensitive to wind currents thanks to her Vision—immediately sensed Venti's intention to flee.
With a deft twist, she caught his wrist from the wind—
—and punched.
"Not the face!!"
Venti shrank his head like a turtle.
"So that's what happened."
With a bruised eye, Venti pitifully explained everything to Jean and Diluc.
"Bennett's missing, Klee's too young, and I can't beat Master Diluc.
So the only option was to… borrow Amber's Vision…"
Jean stared at Farmas.
"So Visions… can restore your strength?"
Farmas nodded.
Even as Venti clutched his swollen cheek, the bruise faded in seconds—
Jean, fortunately, had held back.
"Regardless, this was too much.
Amber cried all day after losing the Vision her grandfather left her."
Jean massaged her temples.
"Do you two understand how much pressure this put on the Knights when we're already short-handed?
I had to grant Amber a three-day leave…"
While Jean worried about staffing, Diluc fixed his gaze on Farmas and asked slowly:
"Do you know Crepus Ragnvindr?
Head of the Ragnvindr family, once Mondstadt's largest winery owner—my father."
Diluc's red eyes reflected flecks of gold.
His gloved hands trembled slightly beneath the bar counter.
"No."
Farmas shook his head.
By the time Diluc's father died, Farmas had been sealed deep underground.
"…The atmosphere feels weird."
Venti slid back in, grinning as if nothing had happened.
"So, with a Vision… you can really repair the Holy Lyre?"
Jean snatched Amber's Vision back from Venti, already worrying how to explain its return to Amber.
Farmas nodded.
"I'm curious—Farmas, what were you?"
Jean asked softly.
"A talking monster has never appeared in Mondstadt's history."
"This guy's older than all of Mondstadt's history put together,"
Venti muttered inwardly, reaching for a small bottle of apple cider beneath the counter.
"But this must be Farmas's secret.
Everyone has their secrets.
Since we trust you, I won't pry."
Jean's overly understanding tone made Lumine and Paimon sweat.
"Is it really okay for the Acting Grand Master to make decisions this casually…?"
Lumine thought, glancing at Farmas and then at the tense Diluc.
Noticing the look, both Jean and Venti turned toward the red-haired nobleman behind the bar.
"Master Diluc… will you allow it?"
Farmas hopped in front of him, speaking with dramatic sincerity.
"Don't use that weird tone!"
Diluc sighed, staring at the little red slime.
It was difficult—almost absurd—to connect this creature with the Pyro Archon who once blessed the Ragnvindrs with a century of prosperity.
Yet that strange sense of familiarity refused to leave his chest.
"…Take it."
Diluc slowly unfastened the Vision at his waist
and placed it into Farmas's tiny, stubby hands.