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The form I take is in your name. Every time I look into the looking-glass, I see your image.
So Morax, won’t you be my looking-glass even for a little while?
A playful breeze parted through a certain young girl’s hair, tied up in two buns. Her amber eyes softened and flickered towards the direction of the wind.
Contrary to the small frame of the girl, her eyes seemed to be far more knowing.
And it would seem she was familiar with this particular breeze.
From the air before her there materialized a young boy with a cloak, floating. He took hold of her hands, as though excited to see an old friend. The glowing tips of his braided locks matched the colour of the blue sky.
The girl looked at him, silent.
“What do you want, Barbatos?” she asked calmly.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you so small!” True, she had taken many forms in the past eons.
But this one was so small, as small as... his form.
“Don’t get too used to it.”
“It’s really making me wonder… What can’t you turn into?”
From the air, Barbatos loosely hung onto the girl’s thin arm, an innocent smile on his face.
“Trees? Dogs? My Ragnvindr Knight?”
It was just a faint desire, a sliver of hope that maybe, maybe , he could meet that friend once more.
Morax exercised his small wrist as Barbatos let go of him. Golden crystal-shaped particles appeared as the flowing white sleeves of a robe materialized, draping over his arms gently.
“Hey, you could probably even turn into an actual rock, right? Right? Right??”
Barbatos flew behind Morax, playfully holding onto his shoulders. The gesture was perhaps a guise behind which hid the desire of, he would admit, not wanting to let go of that shoulder he once floated near.
If Morax could turn into a rock, then surely a human boy who so yearned for that sky would be no problem too…?
Morax ran a hand through his hair, which flowed out into long, silky locks with golden tips. More floating Geo crystals materialized around his body as his arms glowed the same colour. What was once a young girl’s form gradually transformed into the image of a young man.
Ah, his dear, dear friend, Morax… Surely he’d understand this yearning of a familiar face?
To turn into an actual rock? Morax looked at Barbatos in silence. Surely this was just the God of Wind messing with him, mischievous as usual?
No, wait, he wanted Morax to construct his appearance based on the Barbatos’ own image, right? His old friend was always one who enjoyed these tricks, after all.
“You want me to turn into you, is that it?”
Surely Morax would understand his desire to see the face that would forever be reflected by Barbatos’ form? A face that he so yearned to see again with his own, sky-coloured eyes?
He looked at Barbatos, who in turn looked at the ground meekly. A breeze blew through the Archons’ hair, carrying the silence between them into the sky.
He knew it was selfish of him to ask such a thing. Morax was his friend, but not him . He was gone.
“It’s no problem.”
What? Ah, but it was just to play along with Barbatos’ jokes, right?
Well, a chance was a chance, and he wouldn’t let it slip past. That feather was never delivered to his friend. This… was the closest thing to a reunion.
Barbatos grinned at his old friend as Morax’s form shrank from his usual tall stature down to the young, small body more similar to Barbatos’ own. He brushed his long, golden locks to one side, trying to get used to this small body.
“Morax, why didn’t you have your statues made with this shape?” Barbatos asked, bubbly.
“Stop talking before I change my mind.”
His dark hair shrank to a messy short haircut. Trying to replicate the features of Venti’s form with his calm amber eyes, he ran his side bangs between his delicate fingers, his Midas touch repainting the now-longer strand of hair.
That memory Venti thought would only be preserved in ballads from his tongue and melodies of the whispering winds finally appeared before his own eyes. With his hat in his hands, Venti watched like a puppy seeing his owner return home from afar.
Before him was the exact image of that young bard, smiling and doing his braided bangs.
The young boy smoothed out his long side bangs with his right hand—that hand which the wind spirit Venti had so longed to hold in his small, wisp-like form. The golden tips matched his eyes.
Ah, how difficult it was for the little wisp of wind to braid the young bard’s dark, beautiful locks! He had no hands! Yet despite his clumsy attempts to help, the bard had always smiled in happiness in the wisp’s presence.
How difficult, and yet Venti had always held onto the sweetness of such simple times. The young bard’s hand was warm as the sun, and his laugh, clear as the jingle of a windchime beneath the green shade of the large oak tree in Windrise. The gentle breeze that was his image seeped through the old but never abandoned temple that was Venti’s mind.
And such a temple crumbled as the breeze blew through the age-worn cracks. Rain fell from the blues above. Venti felt a discomfort in his throat as raindrops flowed down from his sky-coloured eyes. The breeze caressed his hat, his cloak, his hair—everything—as the thousand winds blew through the temple, still.
Previously, Venti could only feel the bard’s resolution from within the wind and his victory from the laughter of Mondstadt’s children. All this, but never his face again. The song of freedom had to be sung alone and without—
“Barbatos…” the young bard asked, having finished braiding his gold-tipped hair. “Are you… alright?”
Venti looked at his friend, teary.
Oh, dear blue skies...
Finally, we’ve reunited after millennia of separation, my friend!!
A sudden weight made itself present in the body of the young boy with golden eyes as Venti leaped into his arms and hugged him tightly.
My friend, the most undying spirit of determination, the poet whose soul cut through the storm and shaped the future of Mondstadt. My friend… My dearest love…
The young bard stumbled backwards and the two fell to the ground with a thump. Venti’s green hat fell off somewhere but he couldn’t care less.
Oh, at long last… I can finally embrace you with my own arms and feel your warmth on my body, my dearest friend… How I so yearned to touch you all those eons ago, but couldn’t because of my form…
The wind blows through the City of Freedom. Yet even though this breath flows through the land so easily, how many arrows did it cost?
On your behalf, in your image, I’ve decided to travel through this land. It’s all for you.
Along with the bard’s shoulder, Venti’s blue eyes were stained with tears.
Please… Let the wind blow through both our hair at the same time…
Morax held the back of Barbatos’ head in his hand, and his amber eyes softened at the direction of the wind.
The form I take is in your name. Every time I look into the looking-glass, I see your image.
So Morax, thank you for being my looking-glass even for a little while.