In the afternoon, Jean left Good Hunter.
On the walk back to the Knights of Favonius headquarters, her thoughts wandered.
If it's possible… once the Stormterror situation finally settles down, it wouldn't be so bad to go to Cape Oath at dawn… right?
If I invite Kaito, will he refuse?
If only I actually had time…
…
Mondstadt's upper terrace.
Above it lay the Statue Plaza, below it the fountain square of the commercial district.
Goth Grand Hotel—reserved by the Fatui—sat squarely in this area.
Lumine and Paimon didn't go to the library.
Because halfway there, they ran into someone… unexpected.
Or rather…
A thief?
"Does the Anemo trail end here?" Lumine stopped in front of a wall hung with banners and looked up.
Above was the Statue Plaza.
"That green guy climbed up from here?" Paimon urged. "Lumine, hurry—let's catch up! Don't let him get away! He might have clues about Stormterror!"
"Alright."
Lumine glanced around.
There were a lot of people.
And climbing a wall in a skirt—even with shorts underneath—wasn't exactly ideal.
So they took the stairs to the side instead.
"Why would he run into a crowded place?" Paimon muttered, puzzled.
Lumine thought for a moment. "To blend in. The more people, the less noticeable."
"Oh!"
Paimon looked at her with pure admiration—so cultured!
They circled the plaza once.
Couples flirting, kids flying kites, people lounging in the sun.
Only in the shadow directly beneath the statue—
A dense crowd had gathered.
"Let's check over there," Paimon said.
Lumine nodded and walked toward it.
A breeze drifted in from the direction of Cider Lake, carrying the soft sound of a lyre.
Paimon's face relaxed in enjoyment.
She was just about to compliment it—
When she realized everyone was quiet, listening.
Lumine and Paimon slipped through the crowd.
And there he was.
The green-clad, white-stockinged guy they'd been chasing.
On the surface, he looked like…
A bard.
He plucked the strings once.
A gentle harmony flowed into the melody.
"The story I tell begins in ancient times," the bard said softly, voice threaded through the music, "when gods still walked upon the earth."
"A dragon of the sky descended from the heavens, curious about all things in the world."
"The dragon searched for answers… yet could not understand the chaos of mortal life."
His light voice and the song's sweetness painted a distant age in the minds of the listeners.
A singer of the wind, strumming a lyre—using the Holy Lyre to answer a pure dragon's questions, one by one.
"The dragon was only a curious child," he continued, "who forgot his worries and simply flew… until this very day."
"It listened to poems, wishing to learn to sing—so that all things might understand its heart."
"Singer and dragon became legend…"
The rhythm shifted.
The warm, spring-breeze melody tightened, hurried.
Rain seemed to mingle in the notes.
The bard paused, then resumed—his voice turning solemn, like the opening lines of an epic.
"Then… the age of darkness arrived."
"At that time, the lion's fangs decayed, the eagle banner would not rise—another evil dragon drew near Mondstadt."
"Suffering became the shadow over the Cathedral."
"Sighs were gathered again into verse."
The lyre surged higher, the cadence of his chanting rising and falling with force—
And the listeners felt their hearts jolt, as if heavy clouds had been swept away by a single hand.
"The dragon of the sky answered the call."
"In the storm, it fought the evil dragon to the death—clashing, tearing."
"The dragon of the sky swallowed the evil dragon's poisoned blood… and fell into slumber."
The epic reached a pause.
No one spoke.
No one left.
Because the lyre had not truly ended.
The mournful notes pulled tight at the chest.
"Years later… none recognized it when it woke again."
The bard's voice softened, as if he were speaking from inside the dragon's grief.
"Why do the people of today… cast me aside?"
"The Holy Lyre did not answer."
"Anger and sorrow—life and poisoned blood—became tears, falling from the dragon's eye."
"Poems fell silent. Corruption took hold with ease."
"The Holy Lyre… could no longer speak."
The lyre stopped.
The chanting stopped.
The crowd went still for a breath, slowly savoring the lingering ache—
And then—
"Venti! What happens next?" someone called out.
"Next?"
The bard—Venti—went, "Ehe!" and scratched the back of his head.
"I don't know!"
Instant uproar.
"Tch—don't perform stuff with no ending!"
"Three-time 'Mondstadt's Favorite Bard'? Not anymore!"
"Ugh! My mood just got going!"
Grumbling, the crowd quickly dispersed.
But Lumine stayed rooted, eyes narrowed in thought.
"Tears… poisoned blood…"
"Isn't that exactly what Kaito said?"
She remembered the purified tear crystal.
If that's true… then the poem he just performed was real.
And if it was real—
Then the guy in front of her was anything but simple.
Venti finally seemed to notice the two of them still standing there.
They looked familiar.
He frowned slightly, thinking—then his eyes lit as he remembered.
"You two are…"
"The ones who scared Dvalin away that day, right?"
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