Lucian Vale spent the night sprawled across one of Windrise’s enormous branches.
His posture possessed neither dignity nor logic.
He lay on his back, bent into a loose curve, with one arm hanging over the side and one leg hooked against the bark to keep himself from falling.
A short distance away, Barbara remained safely enclosed within the cocoon of newly grown branches he had created around her.
Dawn gradually painted the horizon gold.
Lucian’s eyes opened.
He sat up, stretched until his shoulders cracked, and released a deeply satisfied breath.
“Refreshing.”
That wine had been extraordinary.
After knocking Barbara unconscious the previous night, Lucian had finished excavating the ground beneath Windrise and recovered every jar Venti had buried there centuries earlier.
Once the last vessel was secured within the mirror world, curiosity defeated restraint.
He sampled a single mouthful.
The wine entered smoothly, carrying a faint sweetness reminiscent of wild fruit.
Beneath it lay the clean sharpness of mountain spring water, followed by the richness that only centuries of patient aging could produce.
Then came something harder to describe.
Freedom.
Not the shallow freedom of refusing responsibility, but the wild, unrestrained sensation of racing with the wind and knowing that no wall in the world could hold you.
The final note was almost alive—a bright passion that seemed to laugh as it vanished down his throat.
Lucian had tasted legendary vintages, royal cellars, forgotten spirits, and wines preserved by powers no ordinary brewer could reproduce.
None had matched this.
He could have neutralized the alcohol instantly.
As the Ultimate Life Form, controlling his metabolism was effortless.
Yet doing so would have been an insult to the drink.
He allowed the wine to affect him.
One sip was enough.
Lucian became drunk, climbed onto the oak, and fell asleep near Barbara without another thought.
An ordinary human who drank the same amount might have remained unconscious for ten days—or perhaps half a month.
The potency had been refined by centuries beneath the protection of Barbatos’s power.
“Excellent wine,” Lucian murmured.
Since it had been made and hidden by the Anemo Archon, he decided to call it Barbatos’s Dandelion Wine.
May the wind protect anyone reckless enough to drink it.
A troubling thought followed.
He had taken all eight jars without asking.
Technically, that counted as theft.
Lucian glanced toward the sleeping Barbara.
For one fleeting moment, conscience attempted to speak.
Then Lucian jumped down from the branch.
The conscience was ignored.
Earth Song appeared behind him and adopted Gold Experience’s power.
Life surged through the disturbed soil.
Torn roots rejoined.
Grass sprang back into place, fresh and green.
Within moments, every trace of the excavation vanished.
No hole.
No displaced earth.
No evidence.
Lucian dusted off his clothes and left Windrise in an excellent mood.
After returning to the City of Mondstadt, Lucian went directly to Angel’s Share.
Venti was still exactly where he had been left.
The bard lay collapsed over an upstairs table, one cheek pressed against the wood, with several empty glasses surrounding him like fallen soldiers.
His hat sat crookedly over one eye, and his breathing carried the peaceful rhythm of a god who had lost a drinking contest and felt no shame about it.
Lucian grabbed him by the back of his cloak and carried him outside.
He rented a room at a nearby inn, tossed Venti onto the bed, and left a note on the table.
Do not forget our agreement.
The Vision.
Five million Mora.
Lucian considered adding a reminder about the stolen wine, then wisely decided against documenting evidence of his own crime.
Once Venti was settled, Lucian headed toward the headquarters of the Knights of Favonius.
He still needed to deliver Nefer’s letter to Varka.
After that, he could address the misunderstanding from the previous afternoon.
And perhaps determine whether Barbara had been rescued from the tree yet.
Inside the Grand Master’s office, Jean paced from one side of the room to the other.
She had already questioned Rosaria.
Barbara had left the city the previous night and had not returned.
Fear tightened Jean’s chest.
Had Barbara encountered monsters?
Bandits?
Something worse?
The memory of their argument returned again and again.
Had Jean spoken too harshly?
She had only wanted to protect her sister.
Angel’s Share was crowded, unpredictable, and filled with people whose intentions could not be judged at a glance.
Everything Jean said had come from concern.
Yet that did not stop guilt from spreading through her.
Varka watched her pace and felt increasingly helpless.
The problem between the Gunnhildr sisters was obvious to nearly everyone except the two people involved.
Jean and Barbara cared deeply for each other, but every attempt to express that care somehow left both of them hurt.
Barbara had sent Varka a letter through Rosaria.
He had read her description of the disturbance near the fountain and her complaint about Charles’s refusal to cooperate.
As a deaconess of the Church of Favonius, Barbara had acted out of sincere devotion to Mondstadt’s faith.
As an older sister, Jean’s desire to keep her safe was equally understandable.
Neither was truly wrong.
Both were remarkably terrible at speaking to each other.
“Jean,” Varka said, “try to calm down.
Think carefully.
Where does Barbara usually go when she’s upset?”
Jean stopped.
She did not know.
Whenever the sisters argued, Jean’s duties prevented her from leaving the city to follow.
Barbara would disappear for a while, walk somewhere alone, and return after her emotions settled.
She rarely explained where she had gone.
Jean had always learned about it afterward, if she learned at all.
But Barbara had never remained outside for an entire night.
“I don’t know,” Jean admitted.
The answer came out small and defeated.
Varka fell silent.
Before dawn, Jean had gone to Angel’s Share.
She found only a catastrophically drunk Venti and a nervous Charles who seemed ready to confess to crimes no one had accused him of committing.
There had been no sign of Barbara.
Varka folded his arms.
“Kaeya has already taken a group of knights to search for her.
We should receive news soon.”
He tried to sound reassuring.
“Barbara has a Vision.
She can defend herself against ordinary threats.”
Jean nodded, though the words did little to ease her fear.
Varka understood more than he said.
He had visited Dawn Winery the previous afternoon after Diluc’s Vision, which had been stored with the Knights, suddenly reacted.
The change confirmed Diluc’s return.
Varka had personally delivered the Vision back to him and stayed long enough to hear the astonishing story of Lucian Vale’s rescue mission.
He had expected the following day to be quieter.
He had been wrong.
A knock sounded at the office door.
“Grand Master,” called a knight from outside.
“Someone is here to see you.”
“Who?”
“He says he has a letter for you.”
Varka exchanged a glance with Jean.
“Let him in.”
The door opened.
Lucian entered behind a member of the Knights, looking around with open curiosity.
The escort withdrew and closed the door.
Varka’s attention immediately settled on the cloak draped over Lucian’s shoulders.
It was unmistakably the formal garment of a Fatui Harbinger.
A cloak like that was not something one purchased from a market stall.
This had to be the Curatorium of Secrets agent Diluc described—the man who had entered Snezhnaya alone and forced the Harbingers to release him.
“My friend,” Varka said, “what should I call you?”
Jean’s posture sharpened.
A Fatui Harbinger?
Inside Mondstadt?
Why had she received no diplomatic notice?
Even the Fatui normally announced the arrival of a Harbinger before requesting an audience with the Knights of Favonius.
This stranger had simply knocked on the door and been escorted inside.
Had security truly allowed him through because he claimed to carry a letter?
Jean’s worries about Barbara were pushed aside by immediate professional alarm.
The Harbingers were among the most dangerous figures in Teyvat.
If this one had entered with hostile intent, the situation could become catastrophic before the city understood what was happening.
Then another instinct struck her.
For reasons she could not explain, Jean felt certain that Barbara’s disappearance was somehow connected to the man standing before her.
“My name is Lucian Vale,” he said.
“I’m from the Curatorium of Secrets.
I came to deliver a letter.”
He reached inside his clothing and produced a perfectly sealed envelope.
Varka’s face brightened.
“Lucian Vale?
I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
He rose, crossed the room, and offered his hand.
“Diluc spoke of you yesterday.”
Lucian shook it.
“You went to see him?”
“Yes.
The Vision he left with the Knights reacted when he returned to Mondstadt.
I took it back to Dawn Winery and returned it to him personally.”
That explained why Diluc’s separation from the Vision had caused no obvious harm.
It had remained safe, and its owner had never truly abandoned the ambition tied to it.
Lucian handed over the envelope.
“I see.
The delivery is complete, Grand Master.
You should read it.”
Nefer had told him that the reward connected to the letter would be released after Varka opened it.
Lucian was waiting for payment.
Varka took the envelope.
The moment his fingers touched the seal, recognition entered his eyes.
This letter came from the Hexenzirkel.
He did not yet know which witch had sent it or what the contents involved, but opening such correspondence in front of Jean and a near stranger would be inappropriate.
Varka placed it inside his coat.
“When the Curatorium of Secrets accepts a task, one can certainly rest easy.”
Lucian’s smile tightened.
That was a lovely compliment.
It was not Mora.
Cash on delivery apparently meant something different in Mondstadt.
Jean watched the exchange in confusion.
She had not known that Lucian rescued Diluc, and she knew nothing about the letter.
She did, however, recognize the Curatorium of Secrets.
Every major intelligence organization collected information about its foreign counterparts.
Behind the Curatorium stood the Northern Intelligence Network, whose influence extended across nearly every nation outside Liyue.
A Curatorium agent wearing a Harbinger’s cloak was far more complicated than either identity alone.
Lucian glanced between Jean and Varka.
“You both looked troubled when I entered.
Did something happen?”
His expression carried such natural curiosity that he appeared completely innocent.
Varka sighed.
“A young woman from the Church of Favonius has gone missing.”
“A young woman?” Lucian asked helpfully.
“What does she look like?
I may have seen her.”
Varka’s suspicion remained low.
Diluc had described Lucian as shameless but fundamentally decent.
More importantly, Barbara’s letter had never included the offender’s appearance.
Mondstadt received countless foreign visitors.
There was no reason to connect the two matters.
“Her name is Barbara,” Varka said.
“She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and usually wears the uniform of a deaconess—”
“Oh.”
Lucian’s tone changed so dramatically that both Jean and Varka stiffened.
He recovered at once.
“No.
Never seen her.”
The denial was spectacularly unconvincing.
Before either could question him, the office door slammed open.
Barbara rushed inside.
Her hair was disordered, and her chest rose and fell with hurried breaths.
She looked exhausted, angry, and entirely unharmed.
Jean’s fear vanished so quickly that her knees nearly weakened.
“Barbara!”
Barbara opened her mouth to answer.
Then she saw Lucian.
Their eyes met.
Recognition exploded across her face.
She thrust one finger toward him.
“You!”
Lucian considered running.
Barbara’s voice rose through the office.
“You villain!”
Wine,” which is also the established name of an ordinary commercial wine served at Angel’s Share.
It has been rendered as “Barbatos’s Dandelion Wine” to distinguish the divine vintage from the common product without changing the plot.
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