Chapter Text
When the bard opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. Laid on the soft grass, he listened for a moment to the gentle breeze and the birds’ songs.
Gone were the howls of a raging storm, and the war cries of revolution. He remembered now- Decarabian had fallen. Sitting up, he looked around him. The landscape was lush and green, and echoes of ballads whispered softly in the wind. Behind him, there was a statue, and a huge tree.
He stood up, gingerly, and made his way over to the statue. Craning his head to look up at the statue, he realised the figure stood upon the statue looked eerily like him, right down to the twin braids.
The bard reached out to touch the statue before drawing back upon a realisation ; his hand was almost transparent. A rush of memories hit him, and he staggered backwards. Oh- Decarabian hadn’t been the only one who’d fallen when the city of storms fell. He’d died that day, struck by arrows from Decarabian’s Storm Knights- guards of his tower. He’d died in the arms of his red headed friend, while the wind spirit Barbatos watched on- and Amos and all the others fought on to eliminate the last of the god of storms’ guard.
Then how was he here? This was not the Mondstadt he remembered- this was a freer land than the nation he remembered had ever been. Gone was the everwinter, and the domes of swirling storms. And who was this statue? Surely not himself, as pure anemo energy, the likes of which he’d only ever felt as Decarabian fell, emanated from the statue.
So he was… a ghost? A spirit, or something similar? Looking up at the statue, shadowed by the dappled shivelight of the huge tree, he wondered how many years had passed since the revolution.
He had known these lands a little then, but time had passed and paths changed. In order to find out how much time had passed, the best thing to do would be to find people. There was indeed a path leading away from the statue, which he had woken up near.
He turned to look away from the statue and saw in the distance a grand walled citadel, rising from an island in the middle of a lake. He’s not sure if that lake had been there in the time he remembered- his life had been mostly spent within the dome of storm that had surrounded the capital city.
Since the city had been destroyed in the revolution that toppled the throne of the God of Storms, the bard expected that this was Mondstadt’s capital. He wondered what had become of where he had lived.
Setting out from the statue, he followed the path toward the city, its windmills and towers rising in the distance.
Once he reaches the city, he marvels at the beauty of its streets, and the way music is always in the air. This truly is the freedom that he’d fought and died for. It seems like so much time has passed since then.
As he passed shops, heading toward the town square, he observed their names were written in a tongue just a touch different from what he remembered.
The idea occurred to the bard as he passed With Wind Comes Glory, that if he followed someone around he could see what life was like for the people of Mondstadt in the present. Looking around, he spotted a man with red hair tied back, and black and white clothes. Sure, he’d follow this fellow. He looked very familiar too.