After soothing Anastasia, Morgan finally arrived for his appointment with Barbatos.
Starsnatch Cliff was similar to what Morgan remembered and had seen in the game—lush green grass, blooming with white Cecilias.
The sea breeze blew up from below the cliff, carrying a faint saltiness that was masked by the scent of flowers.
Barbatos had been waiting at the edge of the cliff for quite some time.
A dragon lay sprawled beside him.
Dvalin, the Dragon of the East Wind.
Perhaps bored from waiting, Barbatos was practicing a piece to be performed at the banquet of The Seven.
It was the finale, to be performed by two Archons after the symphony played by the faeries; it was over twenty minutes long and incorporated musical styles from various nations.
Half of the score was provided by Morgan, while Barbatos had optimized and adapted the transitions, filling in the subsequent parts—a collaborative creation between the two.
The more he played, the more ingenious Barbatos found it to be.
The music seemed to contain a magical power, allowing the listeners to feel the emotions of the composers.
He had also heard that the White Tsar’s Winter Pact Army had been inspired by this music many times, becoming brave and skilled in battle.
He was truly worthy of the title of the Archon of Music.
He just wondered if the [Tuning] of Remuria originated from this Lord of the Faeries.
Barbatos had also heard of Fontaine, that nation destroyed by the Divine Nail; the wind’s news was always so sensitive.
Dvalin lay curled up beside Barbatos.
Although he usually complained about Barbatos’s lack of proper work, he had to admit that when this guy recited poetry or sang, it really did sound good.
Mondstadt was the City of Wind and Pastorals, having produced many excellent bards, and the Anemo Archon himself was particularly skilled at poetry.
Suddenly, another sound of a stringed instrument joined the ensemble.
Dvalin lifted his head.
He saw a Frost Sprite playing a violin, stepping forward across the lush green grass.
That person had white hair, the long ears of a faerie, and a faint smile in his icy blue eyes.
His pace was composed, his music fluid, naturally blending into Barbatos’s melody.
After finishing this segment of the ensemble, the two lowered their instruments simultaneously and smiled at each other.
“Oh my, you’ve finally arrived?” Barbatos put away his lyre and winked at Morgan.
He reached his hand toward the dragon beside him.
“Let me introduce you; this is Dvalin, the Dragon of the East Wind, my friend and one of the reliable partners who helped me overthrow the Archon of Storms.”
He looked at Morgan again.
“And this is a new friend I’ve just met, the White Tsar of the Court of the Pale Star, the one among The Seven who holds dominion over the element of ice.”
He examined the dragon before him; its form was slender, its indigo body shimmering with a faint light in the sunlight, and three pairs of magnificent blue feathery wings extended from its back, like flowing clouds or coral in the deep sea.
Those eyes were clear and bright, staring right at him.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, beautiful dragon.”
Morgan reached out his hand.
The element of ice condensed in his palm, and within a few breaths, a small, exquisite ice sculpture took shape.
It was a miniature version of Dvalin, with every feathery wing clearly visible, its posture elegant.
He handed the ice sculpture to Dvalin.
Dvalin lowered his head and touched it gently with the tip of his nose.
The color of the ice was quite unique—a mix of pink and blue, like the sky at dawn, or like some rare gemstones.
It was completely different from the transparent crystals formed by traditional ice elements.
“To be brought to meet me by Barbatos,” Dvalin said, his voice deep and resonant, “you must be a friend worth making.”
He looked up at the faerie before him; this person was a bit strange.
He was called a faerie, but there was an elusive quality about him, even more ethereal than Barbatos.
Although he was standing right there, it felt as if he could disappear into the horizon at any moment.
“Everyone in the world thinks I am mighty and powerful,” Dvalin said, “but you are the first to say I am beautiful.”
“Hmm?” Morgan blinked.
“But I think you are indeed beautiful.
Whether by human or faerie aesthetics.” He said it quite sincerely.
Not to mention that everything MiHoYo made was beautiful and well-researched—Dvalin’s design was completely different from those grey-black, fire-breathing dragons in traditional Western fantasy.
His form was slender and elegant, his colors magnificent; it was said that his design prototype was based on a certain beautiful sea slug.
He was indeed beautiful.
Dvalin stared at him for a moment.
Then, a small gust of wind drifted out from beside him, gently swirling around, and took the ice sculpture from Morgan’s hand.
“Oh my,” Barbatos made an exaggerated sound from the side, “my colleague here has eyes that are good at discovering beauty; he is truly worthy of being the Archon of Art.
Even I want to collect that ice sculpture now.”
He watched longingly at the spot where Dvalin had put away the ice sculpture.
Morgan glanced at him.
“If you like it, I’ll give you one too.”
He reached out his hand again.
This time, he molded Barbatos.
A miniature version with wings on his back, holding a lyre, looking carefree.
Barbatos took it, overjoyed.
“It’s truly lifelike!” He looked at it over and over, “But this ice is quite unique.”
The ice was indeed extraordinary.
The mixed pink and blue hue, with a crystal-like transparency, made this small statuette look like a gorgeous work of art.
Even more peculiar was that when holding it, there was no sensation of low temperature.
“This is Six-Phase Ice,” Morgan said, “a crystal capable of freezing life, not derived from the power of the Authority of Ice.”
“You can store energy within it; it counts as a small Catalyst.”
“Wow, my friend.” Barbatos looked up at him, his emerald eyes sparkling, “You are always more mysterious and generous than I imagined.”
He touched the ice sculpture in his hand.
He was truly worthy of being a Descender who had established good relations with all three Shadow Archons.
Istaroth had even specifically reminded him that one could never go wrong by befriending Morgan.
Dvalin watched the two of them from the side.
One was the Anemo Archon he had known for a long time—unreliable but dependable.
The other was the newly met White Tsar—elegant and composed, capable of giving away such gifts so casually.
He looked at the small ice sculpture he had already put away; this new friend was indeed quite good.
“Right,” Barbatos suddenly remembered something, “Morgan, which part was that melody you just played?”
“The beginning of the third movement.” Morgan said, “Didn’t you say the transitions needed optimization?
I tried this version.”
Barbatos blinked.
“I didn’t say I had optimized the transitions just now.”
“Isn’t that already what you did in your music?”
“Fine, I’ve met someone who knows their stuff.” He picked up his lyre again.
“Come, come, let’s try it again—Dvalin, help us listen and see which part sounds better.”
Dvalin rolled his eyes.
It was rare for Barbatos to encounter someone who could rival him in music, which had sparked some competitive spirit.
But he still obediently lay down and rested his head on his front paws.
The sound of the instruments rang out once more.
The violin and lyre intertwined, one crisp and cold like snow, the other light as the wind.
The melody flowed over Starsnatch Cliff, drifting toward the distant sea.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”