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When Diluc finally recovers from the injuries sustained from his fight with Harbringers, Marrian takes him to the nearest bar.
“This, my good boy, is where one of our bosses resides,” he says and smiles, “well, kind of. She just rents a room here sometimes.”
Diluc nods and tries not to wince at how his skin pulls painfully at his neck.
They walk inside. The room is almost unbearably hot compared to the freezing temperature of the outside. It stinks like sweat and spilled alcohol too, which makes Diluc think of home. It’s not a pleasant feeling, even if Diluc feels a fierce longing towards Mondstadt.
He grinds his teeth.
Ragnvindr has yet to learn how to keep his anger in check so as not to burn the city he loves down to ashes, and as such, he cannot come back just yet. But, maybe perhaps…
They walk upstairs and walk into a room as if it belongs to Marrian.
“Ah, so this is your secret project you didn’t want to tell me about.”
“Miss Valeria, may I introduce you to Diluc, I’ve found him in some trash in the middle of nowhere.”
Before Diluc can protest, Valeria throws an apple at Marrian.
“Stop teasing the poor man, I can see he’s not in the best shape myself,” she smiles, “it’s nice to meet you Diluc. I am Valeria, and I heard you may be interested in what we have to offer.”
~*~
A spy network. That’s what they are.
Well, they call it an intelligence network, but the sentiment is the same.
“We don’t do this for the money,” Valeria says, “and as such, our services can’t be bought. We do it, because we believe in protecting the people that are dear to us. The network is made from volunteers, and many of us either use fake names, or no names at all. Many even abandoned their status and wealth to dedicate themselves to the cause.”
Marrian swirls the wine in his glass, before taking a sip.
“And then, there are the… weird ones.”
Diluc doesn’t like the sound of that.
“Weird how?”
Marrian cackles.
“Oh, you’ll meet one of those soon enough. It’s almost time for him to get here.”
Valeria sighs.
“I don’t know why you like to sic him on the newbies, Marrian. You know Hermes is an… acquired taste.”
“Such disrespect!”
Diluc almost jumps out of his skin at hearing the delicate voice next to him, and reflexively grabs the knife from his belt, but the boy — no, a young man — passes him as if he was merely air and flops down on Valeria’s lap.
The man looks young, but is probably older than one would think, if he’s already working in the network. Twin braids frame his face, the ends looking as if dipped in teal paint. His eyes are vibrantly green, and under the light of a candle they look almost blue. The simple green coat he wears is fastened with a white brooch looking a little like a Cecilia, from under which Diluc can see a snow-white dress shirt and green pants. His vision — Anemo, Diluc notes — is fastened on his thigh.
“Why do you hurt me so, o’ my lady fair? Have I not sung enough praises in your name? Have I not brought enough information? Not enough apples? Oh, I know! It is because of the bottle of fire water that I spilled on that man! I know it is a terrible sin to waste good alcohol, but I couldn’t possibly have planned to trip and throw the bottle at him!”
There’s a story behind this, and Diluc has a feeling he very much doesn’t want to know.
Valeria smiles and pulls at his braid, and Marrian outright laughs.
“Besides, I told you to stop using my full name! It sounds so stiff, just call me Hermi already! Or Herm, if you absolutely must.”
Hermes reaches and steals the wine Marrian was drinking despite the protests of the man, and drowns it in one go.
“Well, that’s it, now you can be responsible for the new guy’s integration!”
“You say it as if it’s punishment!”
“It’s supposed to be, you little gremlin!”
Hermes merely laughs away, but finally turns towards Diluc and winks.
“It’s nice to meet you, Master Diluc! I’m Hermi.”
“How do you—right.” Marrian shakes his head. “You know everything.”
“Ah, so you do learn.”
“Hopefully you’ll be able to learn some of Herm’s tricks, not that anybody has had any luck in replicating them quite yet,” Marrian continues as if the young man has never spoken.
Diluc looks at the young man sprawled on Valeria’s lap, trying to get the last drops of wine from the glass, and resists the urge to scoff.
“My skills are hard won, and definitely not applicable to Master Diluc. He just won’t be able to pull off the innocent act! Though never fear, for I have more tricks up my sleeve which will definitely be useful to you. But first, we will need to establish you as an actual member of society and not the specter of death attacking the majesty of Tsaritsa through destroying her attack dogs—I mean, Fatui. After all, you can only gather so much information without talking with people.”
Hermes smiles, and Diluc wonders just what he has gotten himself into.
~*~
Throughout the next two weeks, Diluc shadows Hermi’s feather-like steps and he learns a couple of things about the young man.
First, he’s a bard. A damn good one, at that. He’s been playing every single day for a couple of hours, and Diluc is sure he has yet to repeat any song from his repertoire. It’s pretty amazing. His choice of instrument is violin, despite lyre being the more traditional instrument for his profession, however, as Hermi says, he chooses the right instrument for the right audience. Apparently, people of Snezhnaya prefer the high tones of a violin over the delicate sounds of a lyre.
Two, he can drink like nobody’s business. Hermi gets the bar patrons to pay for his shots of fire water and glasses of wine, and he needs at least two bottles to even feel the effects of the alcohol. It’s terrifying to witness.
Three, he doesn’t really get bothered by the freezing cold of Snezhnaya. It’s like he doesn’t even notice the biting cold of the winds and the unpleasant chillness of snow, while Diluc does his best not to use the Delusion to warm himself up and wears as many layers as he dares — he still needs to be able to fight after all, and too restricted movement can mean death.
Four, the way he swindlers, cheats, steals, lies and redirects people’s attention would put Kaeya’s skills to shame, who has been doing just that ever since he showed up at Dawn Winery, as far as Diluc’s concerned. And that says a lot about Hermi.
All of that really should’ve put Ragnvindr at edge. And he shouldn’t like him. Hermes is everything he hates in people, he’s a drunkard, a manipulator, a mischievous prankster. And yet.
And yet, Diluc is reluctantly charmed by that strange man. Whenever they’re not in the bar, they’re out in town’s square, where Hermi plays his songs for a feather (since freely growing fruit is not as easy to come by in Snezhnaya as it is in Mondstadt or Liyue, Hermi explains), or plays with kids in the snow while sneaking snacks into the pockets of their thick coats. Sometimes he even gives impromptu literature and poetry lessons for interested teens and adults. He even gets into disputes with elderly professor living down the street about philosophy so advanced that it makes Diluc’s head genuinely hurt after three hours of debate about the meaning of love and freedom in tandem with each other. He keeps challenging the old man as if it was competition, and the professor seems to have the time of his life debating with Hermi.
Diluc is charmed by the young man that seems to care so much about the people, despite not even being native to this country. Not that Hermi has seen fit to tell him where he is from.
They are currently at the town’s square again, Hermi playing his violin and singing some outrageous stories about the Archons. He seems especially fond of smearing the good name of Barbatos the most, and Morax’s name right after. He seems to have some amount of self-preservation though and leaves the unflattering songs about Tsaritsa out of his repertoire whenever he plays in more public spaces. But whenever they get into a bar, though, it’s as if all bets are off.
However, what Diluc notices, Hermi sings the Tsaritsa’s songs… differently. While for the rest of the gods he sings with wild, mischievous glee, whenever he sings about the Cryo Archon, he sounds almost disappointed.
Today seems to be Barbatos day, though, and his drunken shenanigans. And it says a lot about how often Hermi sings those outrageous stories when Diluc doesn’t even twitch, unlike when he heard the songs for the first time. When Hermi notices his expression, however, shocked and bordering on murder, he immediately tells Diluc that if Lord Barbatos doesn’t like his songs, then he may feel free to smite Hermi down right here, right there.
Nothing happened, of course, but Hermi seemed to think that this solves the issue, and tells Diluc to chill out. As if he’s not cold enough already in this forsaken by winds place.
The sounds of the violin are carried with the wind, and it feels so much like home that Diluc feels himself relax to the sounds of the instrument and Hermi’s delicate voice. Usually at this time, Ragnvindr would play a messenger boy between the network members that walk around the square, learning their faces and habits, while Hermi distracts people with his shows, but today seems to be a slow day.
“How come that the sound of your violin is always so clear?” Diluc asks before he could mull the question in his head.
Hermi stops playing for a bit and turns his head towards him, and smiles.
“Hm, maybe I’ll let you play first and we’ll see if you can figure it out.”
“I can’t play violin, Hermi.”
“It’s alright, I’ll show you how!”
He stands in front of Diluc now, and brings the violin back to his shoulder.
“It is important to have the right position for the violin, otherwise you will get sore from the violin digging in places it should not dig. Look.”
Hermi shows how the instrument rests on him both from front and on the side to give Diluc a better idea how it should look like.
“And now that it properly sits, you can put your chin on the chin rest, and that’s basically it. Don’t hold it too far to the side though, otherwise it’ll make it hard to play. Or at least harder. Also, don’t put your elbow too low, otherwise you won’t be able to move your hand freely. Now, try it yourself.”
Hermi hands Ragnvindr the violin and helps him to hold it properly.
“Don’t put the violin along your shoulder, it shouldn’t touch it.You should be able to move your arm freely without moving the violin along. Yes, good, that’s better.”
He grabs the bow and shows it off to Diluc.
“Now, let’s look at the bow itself. Do you see that little gap right here? This is where the tip of your thumb should go in,” Hermi shows it closely to Diluc. “And the rest of the fingers, they always go on the opposite side of the bow. Notice how my ring finger and middle finger are positioned in a way that would practically allow the thumb to go between them. They should go a little over the edge of the bow too, to make it easy to hold for an extended period. Now, we need to tilt the hand slightly towards the tip of the bow, and then the pointing finger should look kind of like a hook. See? And now the small finger works as the counterbalance for the bow.”
He hands the bow to Diluc, and he does his best to recreate the hold.
“Yes, good, good. Not bad for your first time, Master Diluc. There are many ways to hold a bow, but I prefer this one. Now, you can put the bow on the strings. Oh, you almost got it without me telling you anything! You need to adjust the angle a little, the bow should hit the strings at ninety degrees. Yes, good. You don’t need to press the bow to the strings, let the weight of the bow do the work for you. Now try to play it!”
A single note was able to escape from the strings before Diluc’s grip slips and the violin makes a screeching tone, but Diluc doesn’t even care when he feels this weird pull of energy traveling across the strings, through the bow, and down his fingertips. He frowns.
“Do you use your Vision to play it?”
“Haha, almost! You see, the strings I use are infused with the Anemo energy, the same with the hair of the bow. Both are made from special materials that make it possible to infuse them with energy and not rip them apart, and I make them myself. it takes a lot of time and energy though, so I try not to destroy the bow or the strings, and I always have spare ones if I do destroy them.”
That’s… pretty amazing, actually. Diluc is able to lace his Pyro energy through the metal of his claymore, but he doesn’t think he can make it stay within the metal itself, like what Hermes is apparently able to do with his strings.
Hermi seems to be full of surprises.
~*~
Apparently, after the message boy phase comes the phase of a petty thief.
Or maybe not so petty, since Hermi decided to throw Diluc into the deep water and decides they’ll infiltrate the nearest Fatui building with only hopes and dreams as their shield. And playing at the hairdresser, it seems.
“Sit down, big boy, I can’t do anything with your hair if you are standing up,” he says, and it’s weird to see usually freely hanging braids neatly braided into the black short hair, the teal color somehow missing now.
“What are you going to do with them?” Diluc asks with a frown and not at all hidden suspicion. Hermi is a mischievous prankster, after all, and while he might not do any permanent damage, it might still be a blow to Diluc’s pride.
Hermi takes out a black block of something.
“This is hair chalk. I am going to use it as a way to dye your hair, just temporarily, to black. It’s easy to wash it out with some water and soap.”
Diluc frowns, but sits down on the stool and lets his hair down. Frankly, if he covers his hair with this chalk, it would make it easier to sneak around, and if someone would see them in places they shouldn’t be, they would then report that the guy had black hair, and not as vividly red as Diluc’s, which would make it harder to prove that Ragnvindr was anywhere else than his usual haunting grounds.
And that’s probably why Hermi made sure they have routine around the town. If everybody knows someone, then everybody has seen them around, which would muddy the investigation into them, because human memory is not always the most reliable thing around.
Hermi puts a rag around his shoulder before gently brushing his hair, and Diluc cannot help but relax under those light hands and closes his eyes. It’s been a while since anybody tended to his hair like that, and he always was turning into a puddy whenever he let somebody else do his hair.
And then Hermi suddenly blasts his hair with the Anemo energy.
“What the fuck, Hermi!”
“Oh calm down, it just fastens the drying time. Now that’s all set, let me do the braid.”
“Huh?”
“Just trust me.”
The young man grabs a brush out of thin air, it seems, and lightly forces Diluc to lift his head up. He’s very gentle while brushing, so it came as a surprise when Hermi suddenly starts tugging his locks quite harshly.
“What’s your idea?!”
“Oh hush, it’s nothing you can’t take.”
By the time Hermi finishes his work and Diluc changes from his usual red coat to a black one, he looks nothing like himself.
It’s shocking how a simple hair change and different clothes can make a man look like a different person. It’s also weird not having his hair fall down on his forehead.
“With your wild hair, the braid won’t probably hold that well,” Hermi says with a slight grimace, “bet there will be a few of those already out by the time we get to the Fatui post.”
“Then why did you bother in the first place?”
“If I said that I just wanted to see your beautiful face clearly, would you believe me?”
Diluc looks at him with dead eyes.
“No? Well, worth a try. It makes it easier to distance you from, well, you. There has been a recent paper from Sumeru that says that in the dark, human eyes better see movement rather than shapes. The movement of a high ponytail that you wear is different from the movement of a low hanging braid.”
Hermi boops Diluc’s nose for some goddamn reason.
“And believe me, I will use all the advantages I can to make sure we won’t ever get caught while stealing some intel.”
~*~
They surely would’ve gotten caught by now if Hermi didn’t choose a day where the Fatui had a big party, which means most of the usual patrol is missing.
They still almost get caught twice, because Diluc is about as subtle as a pigeon in the town square.
“You’re not doing bad for your first time,” Hermi tries to comfort him, “actually, you seem to have good instincts when it comes to moving your body. A few more of these, and you’ll be a pro at sneaking around.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then stop doubting, and just take the compliment for what it is,” Hermes immediately shoots back while looking through some documents on the desk. “This is useless, this too… Ah, now we’re talking.”
He gives the papers to Diluc.
“These are the orders for provisions to be delivered to certain parts of the country. Materials, food, alcohol, the like. Logistic stuff.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to take something more important?”
“And make Fatui realize someone broke into their stronghold? I think not. Since these orders come by weekly, it can be easy to lose one of them in the general chaos of the paperwork, and also it gives us necessary information if we just decide to actually use our heads. Where there’s a bigger movement, the orders will be larger, if the order has specific things mentioned, that also tells us quite a lot.”
Hermi neatly folds the document and hides it into the pocket.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t get the more important information, though, you just need to remember it. You probably already noticed, but we use a quite simple system of codes and directions. This part of the network uses the windrose system, which means we use the directions to describe the danger, for example, or importance of the message.”
Diluc nods. Valeria has already grilled him about the codes and how to use them, so he doesn’t need any further explanation.
“So, instead of putting down the information on paper that we later send, which could be intercepted and we would all be in big trouble, we instead put down the location where to meet and the direction to indicate how important the message is. Then we transfer the information in person. Easy peasy. But, sometimes you might be afraid to forget or to accidentally twist the information, then what? I, personally, write down the bullet points in what amounts to a code. I can help you develop your own later on.”
Honestly, it’s sometimes awe-inspiring just how much thought Hermi put into doing the good job. His own code? Dressing up? Building up a persona to use for everyday life?
Holy shit.
No wonder Marrian likes to throw new guys at Hermi. The young man, despite the way he behaves, has high standards, the standards he can then condense and teach to the new recruits in a way that makes sense.
~*~
“Did you know that the only reason you’re not dead is because you’re an allogene?” Hermi asks while he looks at the wine in his glass.
“What?”
“The only reason you’re not dead—”
“I heard you the first time. What I meant is for you to elaborate.”
“Well, that silly little toy that Tsaritsa has made, the Delusion. You have it, right?”
Diluc stops himself from pulling at his glove self-consciously, but nothing ever escapes the sharp eyes of the bard.
“Only allogenes are able to use them semi-safely without dying from them. Well, without dying immediately that is. Normal people? They either perish on the spot, or their aging accelerates, but the finale is always the same.”
Hermi sips a bit of wine, and tilts his head.
“Vision holders are pretty unique individuals. Their desires, ideals, convictions, determination, feelings are strong enough to become a secondary power source for them, which in turn may earn them the vision. Thanks to that secondary power source, they’re able to use Delusions semi-safely, like I said. Normal people don’t have that power source that the Vision, or Delusion, can pull the additional energy necessary to operate them from. With Visions, the matter is easy — they just won’t work for non-allogenes, which is why nobody even tries to steal them and sell them later on the black market — it’s a useless endeavor. Delusions, however…”
He takes another sip of beverage and sighs.
“Delusions are quite an achievement, if you want to look at it that way, in that they allow for non-allogenes to use them, however, the price they demand is high. If they cannot pull from the energy of desires and emotions, they pull from the very life-force of the non-allogene. What an awful instrument. A weapon, if you will. Though, one could say that Visions are not that much better.”
Hermi puts down the empty glass on the table and looks at Diluc with solemn eyes.
“What emotion you feel the strongest determines what type of vision you get. Passion, love, thirst for freedom, sense of justice, reliability, hunger for knowledge, a longing to make a moment last forever. The way to feel all those things is different for everyone, just like the way you wield your Vision will be different from the person next to you. Different shapes of the same thing…”
He stops, before shaking his head, as if in resignation.
“I won’t tell you what to do, it’s not my place. Do with that information what you will.”
~*~
How did Hermi know Diluc has a Vision? It’s not like he used the Delusion at all ever since he started following the young man around, and the Vision stayed back at the DDawn Winery.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” says Valeria, waving away his question, “Hermes just knows everything, and I have long ceased asking him pointless questions.”
“Does he not answer?”
“Oh no, he answers each and every time, but there’s only so much you can hear about how he came to the conclusions he did based on what he observes. And let me tell you, Hermes is very good at the guessing game.” Valeria sighs, “it’s just that his way of thinking is sometimes so convoluted that it’s hard to follow his explanation, so I just started taking his word at face value. He has to be wrong yet.”
She smiles at him.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Hermes is a good person, he won’t use his knowledge against you with malicious intent.”
And that, it seems, is the end of it.
~*~
“Hmpf, what’s with today’s young people, playing only those silly little songs on the streets. They don’t know what real music is.”
An old man commented once, when Hermi was performing, like usual, on the town’s square. And Hermi was not amused.
“And what do you think the real music is? Hah, don’t even bother answering. You think the real music is what the Red Priest from Fontaine was composing, don’t you?”
The old man’s eyebrows shot up.
“What—”
“So I was right. Well then, where were you when he was dying of starvation, in poverty on the streets? Ah, right — you were one of those ‘young people’ that decided his music is long past its time, which left him with no money to live, and then rediscovered his compositions later in life, when he was already long gone.”
Those are surprisingly cutting words from Hermi. Even when dealing with Fatui the young man has more patience than when dealing with this old man.
Diluc sees him readying his violin anyway.
“You don’t deserve to hear his compositions. However, I will still play something for you. Something modern, written by a young man not that long ago.”
He inhales, readies the bow, exhales, and suddenly, his fingers are practically flying across the strings, the sounds light as if they weigh nothing, and Hermi has a big smile on his face while he plays the most complicated melody Diluc has ever heard him playing on the streets. In some parts, it sounds as if many small bells suddenly started playing.
It’s beautiful.
The crowd has exploded into applause, as if they’re in one of Fontaine’s theaters instead of the middle of a street.
“Thank you. And do support simple musicians of your era, they all work hard for their skills, no matter how ‘simple’ the melody is, or how ‘new age’ it may sound. They are all passionate about music, even if you may not understand the shape of their feelings.”
Hermi turns to leave and motions Diluc to follow.
“Wait!”
He turns around to see the old man looking with wonder and a slight desperation.
“Who’s piece is this?”
Hermi smiles.
“Why don’t you find him yourself? That man lives in the town neighboring this one, after all. His name is Niccolo.”
He turns on his heel again, and walks away.
“You did it on purpose.” Diluc says, when they’re a few minutes away from the town’s square.
“Hm? Ah yes, of course. The lesson would hardly stick if I exchanged one dead man for another, right? Besides, we musicians should stick together.”
“Does that Niccolo even know you?”
“Haha, you learn fast!”
“So he doesn’t. Go figure.”
Diluc might be rolling his eyes, but even that cannot hide the fond feelings he feels blooming in his chest when looking at Hermi skipping every second step after the managed mischief. Sometimes those little quirks remind him of Kaeya so much it feels like being stabbed straight to the heart.
He sighs, shakes his head, and goes to follow Hermi.
Thinking about home can come later. Right now, he has the colleague to catch up to, who somehow was able to put a considerable distance between them, what the fuck—
~*~
Diluc has been working with Hermi for a couple of months now, when the young man suddenly says he’s leaving Snezhnaya.
“I can hardly be a traveling bard if I stay in one place all the time, can’t I?” Hermi shrugs off Marrian’s question. “Snezhnaya stopped inspiring me as an artist, and after that came boredom. I need a change of scenery. Maybe more greenery.”
Later, when Diluc looks at Hermes throwing a small bag over his shoulder, he feels a slight melancholy. It’s weird — he has been attached to few people in his life, and it’s honestly surprising just how strongly Ragnvindr doesn’t want Hermi to leave him. The young man has become a good friend in this strange land.
Hermes turns to Diluc, and smiles enigmatically.
“Hey, this isn’t goodbye. I’m sure I’ll meet you sooner rather than later.”
He extends his hand. Diluc grabs it and shakes once, before pulling Hermi into a bear embrace.
“Haha! Who would’ve thought you are an affectionate man!” Hermi laughs, but reciprocates the hug. “Hey, listen to me.”
“When have I ever done something different?”
“Oho, now you’re even joking! But I’m serious now. When you leave this place, and go your way once more, then don’t be shy to try to find me. Though I’ll be working under a different name.”
Diluc frees Hermi from his arms and looks at him with barely concealed interest.
Hermi smiles and says:
“From now on, call me Venti.”
~*~
Diluc probably shouldn’t be surprised that when Stormterror has attacked Mondstadt, Venti has gotten himself involved. And of course he decided to steal the Holy Lyre from the Church. Of course he somehow knows the sounds of the lyre will be able to summon the Stormterror, and of course he knows that the true name of the dragon is Dvalin, the King of Skies, one of the Four Winds.
When they finally get on top of the Starsnatch Cliff, and Venti plays the lyre, the dragon actually comes. Diluc wasn’t actually all that confident that it would work.
“You have come…” the deep voice of Dvalin makes Diluc’s bones rattle, “what has been done cannot be undone.”
“If so, then why do I see sadness in your eyes? Sadness that speaks for your yearning for this song.” Venti says fearlessly, and Diluc cannot help but feel that his sinking realization he was getting ever since he showed up with the Traveler in his tavern blooming and bearing fruit.
After all, Venti wasn’t very subtle.
From behind Dvalin, a fucking Abyss Mage attacks the Archon of the very land Diluc has sworn to protect until his dying breath.
“Barbatos!”
And from then on, Diluc’s day went from bad to worse.
~*~
When he finally lays down in his bed at Dawn Winery after everything is said and done, Diluc sighs.
They were able to save Dvalin without having to resort to drastic measures, thankfully. Diluc would hate it if their ragtag team’s legacy was killing one of Barbatos’ Four Winds.
Barbatos who is Venti.
Barbatos, who is Venti, who is Hermes, who taught Diluc how to pickpocket, break into places one shouldn’t be in, who can outdrink old drunks, and who seems to be allergic to owning more than a couple hundred Mora at a time.
The same Hermes who is revered by the Church and people of Mondstadt as their patron deity.
Needless to say, Diluc didn't get a good night’s sleep that night.
And it’s all Venti’s fault.