From the snowy peaks of Dragonspine, old adages would describe the distant northern view of Mondstadt's skyline as a city alight.
The warm orange lanterns and torches emanating from within, especially in the dark hours of night, illuminated the borders with a hearty, welcoming glow. If needed, it was a trusted sight for weary travelers in need of direction. A hub of commerce, a destination on many a bucket list.
Mond had stood tall, proud; a physical symbol for the ingrained values of free will and choice. With the generous care of Barbatos, the people within the walls of Mond lived however prosperously they so desired, and hard work was often accompanied by even harder celebration. Fine Dandelion Wine was the binding blood of the windy city.
At least, that was the Mond that had been known.
Now only a fool would go wandering in its direction without a death wish.
The infamous glow turned to furls of flames licking the sky. Lofty breezes became ravaged gales that tore the petals from the Whindwheel Asters. This Mond was indecipherable from its even further distant past.
The wine spilled in the stone streets was indistinguishable from the bloodshed of its people.
"This One trusts you've made a decision by now, Morax."
Liyue's long-serving fleet of Adepti and the former Geo Archon himself stood circled atop Mount Hulao. A heavy tension was weighing on each of them. Cloud Retainer stood motionless and poised, awaiting the final answer.
The silence stretched a moment longer than expected.
"He will be dealt with."
Zhongli had never planned to return to any formal status of power. Not intentionally, at least.
But a rogue Archon of such a close neighboring nation was a threat that he could not simply leave to the Qixing and Adepti alone. Liyue could not stand to fall victim to any of Mond's misfortune, nor could he stand much longer to hear the horrors from afar. Of all the eons for his heart to be so easily swayed for the sake of mortals, this one was most inopportune.
His resolution was clear. One more wash of red would hardly be a spec on his reputation.
The grip that Xiao had on his spear was white-knuckled. It had been a long time since Zhongli had seen an expression so utterly torn on the remaining yaksha's face.
"Let me go with-"
"No." Zhongli's cut-off was firm. Decisive. Empathetic.
Xiao's argument caught in his throat. Even now, after so long, the yaksha found it near impossible to argue with the man he'd served so loyally for so long. Yet it did not stop him this time.
"It isn't-"
"Xiao. Enough."
"That isn't him."
Zhongli's jaw tightened marginally. "I believe you're right."
A melody floated through the air.
Each string of the lyre was played as delicately as the one before it. The ballad would have been a beautiful complement to any choir.
But no voices accompanied this tune. No audience would even be able to hear a note of it if they tried, from the staggering heights of the cathedral's bell tower.
Below, Mond was desolate. Those crafty enough to survive were smarter than to show themselves anywhere near the cathedral and statue. Cracks converged on the once pristine stone figure, spanning from the heart's center and fragmenting it grotesquely.
Lithe fingers paused on the instrument at the sense of a newcomer, bringing a halt to the drawn-out song. The musician did not bother to look over his shoulder.
"Welcome, old friend."
Morax stood, unmoving. The wind up here was not the gentle caress it once was, but harsh and cold against his skin.
"I wouldn't take this visit so lightly as times past."
"Strictly business, then. Heh. Predictable."
This old banter was unbefitting of the moment. This was no longer the jovial bard with whom he once swapped stories and laughter and wine. A pest, sometimes, but an ally he'd cherished. A connection that had spanned centuries.
"Tyranny does not suit you."
The smile on Barbato's lips was wry. An uncanny glow of carmine marred eyes that once held a gradient of open skies in them.
There was hardly a city left to oversee. While the church remained relatively untouched, the surrounding area lay in shambles. Renowned destinations, like Angel's Share, was no more than a crumbled pit of stone. The fountains ran dry. The discarded weapons of the Favonius Knights scattered the city like grave markers. This was no longer Teyvat's beacon of Freedom.
It was unfair, really. Given the circumstance, any Archon should have received a similar fate for past misdoings, Morax thought. Himself included. But exceptions could no longer be sustained in an ever-evolving world. There was no room left for senseless violence on innocent lives.
"You may hand it to me, or I will take it by force."
Despite this threat, Barbatos did not look afraid. The choice to ignore the easier outcome was deliberate, Morax could tell, and not rooted in malice. "Here I thought you were sick of handling Gnoses. Yours seems to have found its way home."
Ethereal pearl wings rustled in the wind, a couple of loose feathers tugging free and dancing up into the surrounding stormy skies. Robes of white were drenched in the stains of corruption. Beside him, powerless visions of all kinds lay dormant on the ledge.
"Temporarily," Morax conceded. "It pains me to do this, Venti."
Barbatos did not falter for the name he had somehow lost along the way. It had never truly been his to keep, anyway. He finally turned to face him from where he perched. "Liyue faces no threat. That is not an outcome I beget."
The calm of the Anemo Archon's voice was only betrayed by the shine of regretful wetness in his eyes. The aura of bone-deep exhaustion.
Morax believed him. "Then it only pains me more to do this in a moment of clarity."
Barbatos gave a soft exhale. "I actually prefer it to the alternative."
The worn lyre was set aside, and he cast his gaze out towards Brightcrown Canyon, towards the far reaches of Stormterror's land.
"Sit. I only wish I had a glass to hand you this time."
Morax obliged.
Hours had slipped into the morning light. Dust settled.
Few were left to hear a bone-chilling cry of Rex Lapis as day broke. Some outside the borders would claim they saw the golden visage dart into the sky, too fast to decipher.
The Favonius Cathedral stood no longer. Celestial energy and concentrated combination of Anemo and Geo laid bare to the structure. Yet, there was no other clear sign of struggle. At ground zero, a shattered Gnosis, once fueled with Anemo, laid broken and twisted with traces of deliberate sabotage from the Abyss.
This relic would go unnoticed for years to come in slow efforts to restore what was left of the city. It would eventually end up tucked away in the hands of a worn blond hero, to be kept safe as a remnant of those lost.
If someone wanted to know what had truly happened that day, whispers would lead them to Liyue and the consultant of the Wangshang Funeral Parlor. His retelling, a story that merely became another addition to his repertoire, was not a story of a vengeful god who slaughtered his people. It was harrowing, but of the deception of a kind soul, a lover of the arts who one day trusted too easily. A tragedy that swept clean both its origin and catalyst. If this story was told, it was usually followed by the man retiring early for the night.
Mortals often wondered if an Archon retained a soul. It would remain that way, for no one could witness the plane of existence in which two long-lost friends had reunited in an embrace that brought calm breezes and pleasant weather back to Mondstadt below. One would sob for forgiveness. The other would offer solace.
A new Anemo Archon would rise. Time did not stop for the sake of the dead.
Life went on.
People mended. Cecilias regrew.
This time, they would not stain red.