The moment the carriage door opened, Moh saw the Archon who commanded the wind among the Seven.
Barbatos.
Unlike the bard dressed in green who would later spend his days cradling a lyre and freeloading drinks in taverns, at this moment, he was a god in every sense of the word.
Broad white wings unfurled from his back, and a faint teal shimmer ebbed and flowed around his body.
His white divine garb accentuated his slender form, the hem of his robe and the tips of his hair fluttering gently.
The lyre cradled in his arms was clearly extraordinary, its exquisite body radiating iridescent light.
Barbatos hovered just outside the door in a casual posture, yet endowed with the peculiar weightlessness of Anemo elemental lifeforms—even floatier than Moh’s own wind fey.
“Oh my…”
Barbatos tilted his head, his emerald eyes sizing Moh up with a smile lingering on his lips.
Monomakh was the second Archon he had ever met.
The first was Rex Lapis, the oldest and most steadfast of the Seven—and the very first Archon Barbatos met after becoming the Anemo God.
The reason Morax came to mind was because Moh had previously asked Venti about him, wishing to make the acquaintance of Liyue’s ruler.
That had been back after the aristocracy of old Mondstadt was overthrown.
Barbatos had led his people under the mantle of the Anemo Archon to bring down the rule of the King of High Towers.
At the time, he was a weak deity with little prestige and an unstable foundation.
To rally the populace, he had done something rather unsavory: forging a fake contract from Rex Lapis, claiming that the high-tower nobles planned to sell Mondstadt’s people as slaves to Liyue for profit.
Rex Lapis valued contracts, and naturally, he cared about his reputation.
Afterward, Barbatos revealed the truth to the people of the new Mondstadt, but he still owed Morax an explanation.
And so, he flew to Liyue.
At the summit of Jueyun Karst, he found the Sovereign of Geo.
Plucking his lyre, he sang a poem of apology.
Morax stood at the mountain peak and listened to the poem to the end.
Then, he summoned a stone table and two stools at Jueyun Karst.
“According to Liyue custom,” Rex Lapis said, “a sincere apology requires three penalty drinks.”
Barbatos had thought he misheard.
Three cups?
That was it?
Then Morax added, “Wine is shared with true friends, and poetry sung to those who understand.”
He poured Barbatos another cup.
The punishment played right into the drunkard’s hands—three cups turned into three more.
From then on, Barbatos would frequently fly over to Liyue to beg for wine.
Whenever Morax saw him coming, he would say to his Adepti, “That drunkard bard is here again.”
His tone carried helplessness, but never annoyance.
And whenever Barbatos spoke of the Geo God to Vennessa, he would call him “that stubborn old man.”
In short, after going through various events, the Anemo and Geo Archons became the first among the Seven to grow close.
To Barbatos, Morax was a respectable friend—though currently in a friendly frenzy of mutual banter.
As for the person in front of him now…
He was just as rumors described: elegant and majestic.
He possessed the handsome features mortals envisioned when imagining fey beings, tall in stature, wearing a crown of frozen thorns.
Like the old man, this ruler was a powerhouse who had fought his way out from among countless gods.
Yet on the surface, he lacked the razor-sharp edge of stone that the old man possessed.
Instead, he resembled a beautifully structured snowflake that invited quiet admiration.
Gods always bore some unique aura, and the Tsar of White Sands was no exception.
When met by his azure eyes, one’s mind easily sank into them, much like a sailor drawn into the ocean by a siren’s song.
Barbatos subconsciously plucked the lyre in his arms, the crisp notes pulling him back from that trance.
“Seeing you once truly is better than hearing of you a hundred times.”
His gaze settled on Moh’s eyes.
“You really are a peculiar Archon—to actually catch the heart and mind of a strand of wind.”
Moh understood what he meant.
The Anemo God’s true form was merely a single strand among the Thousand Winds.
Yet in that brief moment just now, when Barbatos looked into his eyes, that strand of wind had momentarily come to a complete standstill.
“I suppose you could call it my trait,” Moh said, blinking with a calm tone.
“Even I can’t turn it off.”
He was telling the truth.
The years spent traveling through the sea of stars, the time immersed in various Paths, the days and nights spent journeying with companions—those experiences had left indelible marks upon him.
The bounds of Remembrance, the harmony of Harmony, the freedom of Trailblaze.
The power of the Paths deeply influenced his very existence.
In particular, the romantic, carefree nature of the Nameless who blazed trails across the cosmos, steering the Astral Express through the starry sea—was that not the ultimate form of freedom?
Having once been a Memookeeper, Moh naturally had a bit of a collector’s instinct.
How many stories had this gentle breeze before him heard and seen?
He truly wished to collect his memories; plucking a thread of memory from a breeze in Teyvat would be a treasure worth holding.
However, he was no ill-mannered former colleague among the Memookeepers who would sneak into someone’s mind and steal memories without the owner’s permission.
And to creatures living under the fake sky, these eyes of his—eyes that had gazed upon the true starry sky—exerted a natural, irresistible attraction, especially to pure elemental lifeforms.
Barbatos rested his chin on his hand, looking him up and down.
His gaze was full of curiosity, yet lacked any trace of hostility or interrogation.
“It’s my first time meeting a Descender, too,” the Anemo God said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather.
“You really are different from Teyvat’s lifeforms—feels like you’re even more like an unbound breeze than I am.”
Moh narrowed his eyes.
*Why did this guy just blurt out my biggest secret right off the bat?*
He had hidden his status as a Descender meticulously.
The corners of his lips curved up slightly.
*So, we’re exposing secrets now?*
“As one of Istaroth’s countless offshoots,” Moh spoke unhurriedly, “the wind certainly is well-informed.”
Barbatos’s smile froze on his face.
“Hey, hey, hey—!” His wings fluttered, and he subconsciously leaned forward, almost reaching out to cover Moh’s mouth.
“You can’t just say that out loud!”
Moh looked back at him with cool composure.
Barbatos pulled his hand back and muttered, “How do you seem to know even more than I do…”
His emerald eyes darted back and forth, seemingly re-evaluating the colleague sitting before him.
Moh didn’t pursue the topic further.
His peripheral vision swept outside the carriage.
The fey guards were completely stunned, watching their sovereign converse with the God of Anemo.
A few of the younger fey had their mouths agape in wide “O” shapes.
Moh coughed softly.
“Didn’t you want to taste what I brought?” He shifted to the side, revealing the interior of the carriage.
“Come inside and talk.”
Barbatos’s eyes instantly lit up.
Folding his wings, he gracefully dropped into the carriage.
This was Anastasia’s carriage.
The interior was luxuriously appointed, reflecting the Grand Duchess’s tastes.
The cushions were covered in the fur of snowfield sumpter beasts, soft and warm to the touch.
The wall lamps were carved from ice crystals, their wicks burning with faint elemental flames.
On the small table by the window sat a book that Anastasia had flipped through numerous times.
Barbatos plopped down onto the cushion.
He didn’t pry into the carriage’s decor, nor was he curious about Anastasia’s personal belongings.
Instead, he stared straight at Moh’s hands.
Moh unhurriedly retrieved an ice-crystal bottle from a nearby chest.
The bottle was translucent, showing an amber liquid shimmering under the light within.
Barbatos’s eyes grew even brighter.
Moh didn’t rush to open it.
He raised his eyes to look at the Anemo God opposite him.
“Do you have any Mondstadt fruit wine?”
“I’ll mix a special drink for you.”
Barbatos blinked.
The next second, he reached out into thin air.
A small sphere of wind materialized out of nowhere, and he pulled a wineskin out from within it.
“I do, I do!”
His tone was joyful, just like a child asked if he had brought toys along.
“I carry some with me whenever I go out!”
Moh fell silent for a moment.
“…You really do carry it everywhere.”
He had only asked casually, originally intending to make do with his own store of drinks.
Barbatos had already cheerfully twisted open the plug of the wineskin and handed it over.
“This one’s made from Sunsettias. Will it work?”
“It will.” Moh took the wineskin.
“Fruit wine adds nice flavor.”
He fetched two crystal glasses, then condensed two spheres of Cryo energy, shaping them between his palms.
Two rounded, adorable bear ice sculptures dropped into each glass.
Moh effortlessly formed a cocktail shaker out of ice crystal.
He popped the stopper off the SoulGlad bottle and poured the amber liquid into the shaker.
He added a splash of mint water.
Finally, he filled it up with the Sunsettia fruit wine.
The lid of the shaker was sealed.
And then—
Barbatos blinked.
He saw Moh pull out a violin from out of nowhere.
The body of the instrument glinted with a warm, glossy wooden sheen, and the bow was long and elegant.
Moh rested it against his shoulder and neck.
Barbatos: “…”
Moh began to play.
A melodious tune flowed through the carriage.
The melody was brisk, possessing an indescribable rhythmic feel, like an improvisation performed in a tavern.
It sounded wonderful.
Yet Barbatos’s expression gradually turned to confusion.
He looked at Moh’s profile, immersed in his playing, and then looked at the shaker sitting completely undisturbed on the table.
*…Did he forget something?*
His gaze shifted back and forth between Moh and the cocktail shaker.
*Shouldn’t you shake it?*
*A shaker is supposed to be shaken, right?*
*Even if you don’t shake it, at least pour the drink?* This story is hosted at g.com.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
But Moh’s violin music was too fluid, so seamless that he felt embarrassed to interrupt.
And so, the Lord Anemo God could only sit dutifully on the cushion.
Chin resting in hand, he watched eagerly.
*Let’s just wait…
Maybe this is a fey tradition before mixing a drink?* he thought.
*Maybe the better the performance, the tastier the drink?*
He was a patient drinker; he could afford to wait.
Moh was indeed “mixing a drink,” except he wasn’t mixing liquid—he was tuning “concepts.”
“Tuning.”
Talk all you want about using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, but one simply had to show off a bit in front of future friends and colleagues.
Moh was playing a drink-mixing melody from the Dreamjolt Hostelry—a tune he had learned back when Stelle and Caelus were working part-time in Penacony.
That pair of raccoon siblings had worked as bartenders at the Dreamjolt Hostelry and insisted on dragging him over to sample their craft.
Moh didn’t know how to mix drinks, but he certainly knew how to perform Tuning.
Reduce the sweetness of SoulGlad, elevate the mouthfeel of the carbonated bubbles, intensify the flavor of the Sunsettia.
Adjust the alcohol content—considering it was for Barbatos, he could bump it up just a little.
Add the feeling of “wind”—light, flowing, and free.
Enhance the cool sensation of mint, giving the finish a lingering sweet aftertaste—
Done.
As the violin music drew to a close, he lowered the bow just as a bartender would put down a stir stick.
Moh snapped his fingers, and the lid of the cocktail shaker popped open automatically.
Amber liquid flowed forth, pouring into the two glasses.
The instant the liquid reached the level of the ice bears’ necks, the stream stopped cleanly.
Barbatos’s expression shifted from “waiting” to “Woah.”
Moh raised a hand, condensing two decorative ice snowflakes that embedded themselves into the left rim of each glass.
Then, he condensed a fine layer of frost to cover the surface of the drink, like a miniature snowfall.
“Sweet Ice Field.”
He slid one of the glasses toward Barbatos.
“Enjoy.”
Barbatos lowered his head and looked at the drink before him.
The bear ice sculpture was submerged in the amber liquid, its rounded body glowing subtly.
The surface of the liquid was topped with a thin snow-cap, fine frost slowly giving off a faint chill mist in the ambient room temperature.
The two snowflake decorations on the glass rim refracted tiny sparkles of light.
The entire glass was practically glowing with bling-bling special effects.
“Woah~ (๑´0`๑)”
Truly worthy of a creation from the God of Literature and Art—even a single drink possessed an artistic, adorable quality.
Barbatos picked up the glass and brought it close to smell first.
The sweet aroma of Sunsettia mixed with a distinct citrus tang, accompanied by the crisp coolness of mint—along with an indescribable lightness, as if standing right in the middle of a gentle breeze.
He took a small sip.
The top note was the familiar taste of Sunsettia, but the texture was that of a sparkling beverage; the fine, lively bubbles popped gently on the tip of his tongue, delivering a delightful tingle.
The middle note brought up the sweetness with a citrus fragrance—warm, full-bodied, yet never cloying.
The finish was the crisp chill of mint, a cool sensation spreading down his throat into his chest, then fanning out to his extremities.
It was like a refreshing breeze blowing over plains, over hills, through the heart.
Barbatos didn’t say a word; he just started chugging it down—*gug-gug-gug*.
He drained the glass in one go.
Setting the glass down, he gave Moh a big thumbs-up.
As the Anemo God, he had naturally tasted many fine wines—sacramental wine from the Church, vintage wines hoarded by the old nobility, and even the wine cellars left behind by the King of High Towers.
While sipping his own drink, Moh condensed a Light Cone with his mind.
Urged by his intent, imagery surfaced on the face of the Light Cone—
4-Star Light Cone: “Sweet Ice Field”
[A sparkling drink crafted through extraordinary means, possessing a cute appearance and rich flavors. Even Barbatos couldn’t stop praising it!]
He slid the Light Cone over to Barbatos.
“If you ever want to relive the taste of this drink, just hold the Light Cone and recall this memory.”
Barbatos took the Light Cone, turning it over and over in his hands with the pure delight of a child who had just received a shiny new toy.
“Whoa—” He raised his head, his emerald eyes sparkling bright.
“Thank you!”
While the two gods chatted warmly inside the carriage, the fey guards outside traded bewildered glances.
They couldn’t hear the conversation inside, but they could see the intricately carved door remained tightly closed.
Their Sovereign and that winged god had been alone together inside for quite some time now.
A younger fey guard leaned in close to an older one, lowering his voice.
“That… is Lord Anemo God of Mondstadt, right?”
The older one glanced at him, saying nothing.
“Are His Majesty and the Anemo God discussing some momentous affair?”
The older one remained silent.
“Should we set up a perimeter?”
The older guard finally spoke up.
“Perimeter for what?”
The young one opened his mouth.
“…I don’t know.”
The older guard looked away.
“Then stop worrying over nothing.”