"You're far weaker than you were a thousand years ago, Warlord."
The clash just now made one thing clear to Dvalin:
He still couldn't defeat Farmas—
But he also wouldn't fall as easily as he had a millennium ago.
"Munata already has a new king.
Your divine power… must be coming from elsewhere, yes?"
On Dvalin's back sat a battered Abyss Mage.
During the battle, the Cryo Mage had been caught in the crossfire—
Most of its fur was burned off, and it muttered endlessly:
"The thousand-year demon god has returned from the outer dark…
The passage… it's been reopened…"
"Dvalin, I command you—kill this Archon!"
The Abyss Mage arrogantly waved its staff, poking the back of Dvalin's head.
"ROOOAR!"
Enraged, Dvalin snapped his head back and opened his huge jaws, biting toward the noisy pest atop him.
The protective shield shattered instantly.
After shaking the Mage around in his mouth for a bit, Dvalin spat it out—
Hurling it straight at the group on Starsnatch Cliff.
"Ow…"
Covered in dirt and ash, the Abyss Mage staggered to its feet—only to see Jean and Diluc closing in, step by step.
It gulped nervously, backing away on instinct.
"Judgment… is upon you!"
—Diluc's flaming phoenix.
"Ride the wind!"
—Lumine's Anemo vortex.
"Let the wind lead!"
A massive field of Anemo surged up from beneath Jean's feet.
The three attacks converged—
Without its shield, the Abyss Mage wasn't even as sturdy as a hilichurl.
It was shredded instantly, bursting into scattered starlight.
"Nice!!"
Venti cheered from the side.
If his injured hand weren't still bleeding, he'd have fired an arrow into the Mage himself.
"Farmas… you don't know what has happened in the past thousand years…"
Just as the two faced off, Dvalin suddenly beat his wings hard, kicking up a chaotic sand-filled gale.
Farmas knew what that meant.
Dvalin was retreating—done with this fight.
"Running already?"
Even as he felt his strength draining away, Farmas still found the breath to taunt him.
"Spare me, Farmas.
You and I were both betrayed.
I thought… you'd understand how I feel."
Dvalin looked at him with a complicated gaze.
Then the wind roared, and his massive form faded into the distance.
"I was never betrayed, Dvalin."
Farmas lowered his eyes to the firestorm swirling beneath his feet.
In his battle against Morax, the generals who helped him forge Munata…
Not one of them ever betrayed him.
Even after his defeat, those who believed in him never abandoned their faith.
Even in death, their souls fused into the ley lines—
waiting for their Warlord's call.
The firestorm shrank, gently carrying Farmas back toward the cliff.
"Are you all right, Farmas?!"
Seeing the flame vortex dissipate, Venti rushed forward, arms outstretched to catch him.
"Barbato—
…Venti, please take care of yourself."
Farmas collapsed straight into Venti's arms—
bursting open the bard's half-healed wound again.
Jean hurried over in concern.
"Winds of freedom, grant your healing to this pain."
A warm Anemo glow radiated from her Vision, slowly knitting Venti's injury.
"Farmas… you really are a god from long, long ago?"
Paimon blurted out from Lumine's shoulder.
"Mm."
Farmas leaned weakly against Venti, barely able to speak.
"Paimon, Farmas just fought Dvalin…"
Lumine gently stopped her from asking more.
She had already recovered from the shock of his identity—
now she simply looked at him with worry for a friend.
Diluc crossed his right arm over his chest, saluting Farmas.
After confirming Farmas was merely exhausted, Venti set him down gently.
"You've worked hard."
Venti hesitated, then lifted a hand to touch the metal of Farmas's faceplate.
"…Shall we go back?"
Mustering a bit of cheer, he glanced at Diluc and the others.
"What about the Holy Lyre? Can it still be played?"
Diluc asked, staring at the nearly shattered instrument.
"In this condition… it might not be possible anymore."
Venti didn't look at Farmas.
He couldn't bring himself to ask whether the Lyre could be repaired again.
Not right now.
Jean carefully gathered the broken Lyre and stepped back from the cliff edge.
"…The wind is picking up."
Venti whispered.
The breeze swirled around them—lifting everyone effortlessly into the sky.
Even without Wind Gliders, they floated steadily.
Even the usually composed Diluc looked shocked.
Jean too.
Venti carried Farmas.
Paimon clung tightly to Lumine, absolutely terrified of falling.
Even though she could fly… apparently she still had a fear of heights?
"We should speed up."
Venti chuckled, guiding the winds to flow faster.
They soon descended by Mondstadt's moat.
Drawing from the ley lines, Farmas had regained more than half his strength.
Under the gazes of the onlookers, Venti and Farmas both sighed.
"As you've seen—
I am Barbatos.
One of the Seven, the great Anemo Archon of Mondstadt,
and the finest bard in all the land."
"And this guy is Munata's former Flame Archon—Farmas."
Venti used flowery praise to describe himself, and a single blunt line to describe Farmas.
"Your Excellency the Anemo Archon…
Why hide your identity?"
Jean asked, violet-gray eyes earnest.
"Ehe… well…"
Venti's green eyes spun around—clearly searching for an excuse.
"Obviously so I can slack off openly."
Farmas plopped down on the bridge, armor gone and replaced with his usual attire—
a red-and-gold coat, a leather swallowtail mantle reaching his calves,
boots marked with flame totems,
and deep crimson eyes gleaming.
"Ahem—
something like that," Venti admitted sheepishly.
"Mondstadt is the City of Freedom. It doesn't need much governing."
As Venti talked, Farmas's gaze drifted toward the bridge.
A young boy stood there—scattering food to a flock of fat, unsuspecting pigeons.
"I have a bold—
and extremely mature idea."
Farmas narrowed his eyes.
~---------------------------
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