Venti sits at the edge of the fountain, fingers ghosting absently over the strings of his lyre. He isn't really paying attention to what he plays. The sun is warm and the air is sweet and he's more than content to let his mind wander. The plaza is alive with laughter and conversation, and Venti is lost in his own world, eyes half-closed as he plays. He hopes for some Mora, maybe a free drink if he's lucky. But if not, he's happy enough just to be here.
Happy to have a life that allows him moments like this.
And then he feels it.
An uncomfortable shift in the air, a prickle at the nape of his neck. Pressure building, a storm brewing. His fingers falter on the strings. His eyes open, puzzled and troubled as he scans the small crowd of meandering Mondstadters. His eyes are drawn towards the alchemy bench, and the figure who's just arrived there.
A young man with pale hair and a distant, contemplative expression.
Venti feels as if he's been struck by a surge of Electro, unable to look away from the alchemist. There's something about him—something that feels much larger, much more powerful than the serene facade suggests.
Venti's breath catches in his throat. He feels danger. Intensity.
He feels as though he's staring at a force of nature, something that could reshape the very fabric of Mondstadt itself. More importantly, it feels familiar , resonating with Venti in a way that makes his hands tremble.
His fingers grip the lyre tightly, the strings biting into his skin.
Albedo turns, meeting Venti's gaze. For a moment, the world around them seems to freeze. Venti can't move, can't breathe. The alchemist's expression isn't threatening, but rather confused. His brows furrow slightly, and Venti feels pinned like a butterfly caught on a collector's board.
He can't tear his eyes away from Albedo's. The alchemist tilts his head, his expression shifting from confusion to curiosity, as if Venti is an interesting puzzle to be solved.
It's as if the alchemist is dissecting him with his eyes, peeling back layers to see the core beneath. Venti feels exposed, vulnerable in a way he hasn't in centuries. He doesn't know what the alchemist sees when he looks at him.
Venti's eyes are wide and startled and he can't force himself to blink, to look away, to do anything to play it off.
Then, Albedo looks away. The spell breaks. Venti gasps, the air rushing back into his lungs. His hands tremble, too shaken to resume playing. He glances around, but no one else seems to have noticed the exchange. It's as if it was a moment frozen in time, existing only between the two of them.
He gathers his scant belongings with shaky hands, vanishing his lyre into his false Vision. He has to get away, needs to put distance between himself and that unnerving stare. Venti stands, almost stumbling in his haste. He casts one last glance at Albedo, who has already returned to his work, seemingly unaffected.
.
Venti's mind races. Why does he feel as if the ground beneath him could give way at any moment? This alchemist, with his calm demeanour and intense gaze, fills him with a dread he can't shake.
What, exactly, is he? Because if Venti is certain of anything, that man is no more human than Venti is.
Venti's feet move before his mind catches up, carrying him away from the fountain, away from the plaza, and away from the unnerving stare of the alchemist. He ducks into an alley, his heart still racing, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
He feels like a coward, running away like this. He is a coward. An archon huddled in an alleyway. But the fear is too real, too immediate to ignore.
Leaning against the cool stone wall, he tries to steady his breathing. He presses a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. For the first time in a long time, he feels genuinely afraid. Not just for himself, but for Mondstadt. The city he loves, the people he protects.
Who is that man? Is he a threat?
Scratch that. Who is that man, and what will Venti do should he choose to become a threat?
Venti prefers not to intervene. He has full confidence in Mondstadt to take care of themselves, with only a few exceptions; when they ask for his help, directly, he does tend to listen.
Rarely is there an instance when he worries he won't actually be much use though. But the resonance he felt… he worries that if things come down to it, he'll have no choice but to trust in Mondstadt's strength. He wouldn't just bail… he'd do what he could… but Venti's strength lies primarily in words. Twisting them, omitting them, or using them to guide people towards their own answers.
He may not literally be the weakest archon - and even if he were, to be an archon at all is already to set the bar far above what most mortal's could easily conceptualize. But wherever his strength lies, it isn't in brute force, and if any of his suspicions are true, then the power within that man is not something Venti could combat alone.
He knows he needs to investigate, needs to find out more about the alchemist, and what exactly he is doing in Mondstadt. And how long has he been here? Likely longer than Venti has, frankly. Venti closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He needs to think, needs to understand what just happened.
.
Venti's resolve solidifies the next morning. Though the encounter with Albedo still fills him with an anxious sort of dread, he knows he cannot ignore the potential threat. Mondstadt is his city, his responsibility. If Albedo harbours a danger, Venti needs to at least understand what it is, to be prepared for whatever might come.
For the next few days, Venti makes it a point to keep an eye on Albedo whenever he is in Mondstadt. The initial intensity of the feeling fades the longer he spends watching the alchemist, though it never disappears entirely. The sense of danger remains, a constant undercurrent that hums beneath the surface of his skin.
Albedo is most frequently at the alchemy table or the Knights of Favonius headquarters. Venti spends hours perched in inconspicuous spots, his lyre resting in his hands or at his side, his eyes fixed on the alchemist. He watches as Albedo works diligently, his movements precise and efficient. There is a meticulousness to everything he does, a focus that Venti finds both impressive and unsettling. His interactions with the other knights are always polite and professional, if somewhat distant.
When Albedo is at the alchemy table, he often interacts with Sucrose and Timaeus. Venti notices that he rarely spends long periods there, usually stopping by to answer questions or provide hints. Albedo's guidance is always just enough to steer them in the right direction without giving away the full solution. Venti marvels at his ability to dissect problems so effortlessly, his analytical mind clearly operating on a different level.
Analytical, brilliant. It is as if Albedo can see through to the very essence of things. Venti is certain that if given enough time to stare at a problem, Albedo could dissect it piece by piece, peeling back every layer and exposing the truth of the matter.
Albedo is a man who dissects secrets so thoroughly it is as if he never realized they were secrets in the first place.
Though Albedo rarely smiles, his expressions are not devoid of emotion. He seems quiet, soft-spoken, and mild-mannered, yet his gaze is terrifying in its intensity. Venti shudders at the thought of being the target of his scrutiny.
One evening, Venti sees Albedo return to the headquarters late at night. The timing seems suspicious, so he uses the winds to follow him. They relay what they witness; Albedo enters the building and heads straight for Jean's office. Venti observes from a distance, his curiosity piqued. He sees Albedo finding Jean asleep at her desk. Gently, Albedo moves her to the couch and places a blanket over her. He lingers for a moment, a look of concern softening his features, before leaving quietly.
It is not the behaviour of someone who wishes harm on others.
On rare occasions, Venti sees Albedo around the city, accompanied by Klee. These moments are the most revealing. It's during these times that Venti sees Albedo smile—small, sometimes exasperated, but undeniably genuine. There's a gentleness in the way Albedo looks at Klee, an unspoken promise of care and protection. It's a side of the alchemist that Venti finds reassuring.
Albedo listens patiently, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. They walk together to the plaza, where Klee insists on buying a sweet flower from Flora's shop. Venti watches as Albedo helps her pick out the best one, his expression softening in a way that Venti has rarely seen.
For Venti, these glimpses into Albedo's life are enlightening. They reveal a man who is not just a brilliant alchemist but also a caring mentor, a loyal knight, and a protective brother. The initial sense of danger still lingers, but it is tempered by a growing understanding of Albedo's character.
He recognizes that Albedo is not just a potential threat; he is also a protector, a guardian in his own right. His perspective shifts. He no longer sees Albedo as an unknown danger, but as a powerful ally. Someone who, despite the mysteries surrounding him, cares deeply for Mondstadt and its people.
.
Venti sits in a quiet corner of Angel's Share, staring into a glass of dandelion wine. The familiar warmth of the drink does little to ease the buzzing worries. His thoughts circle around Albedo like a restless wind, seeking answers that continue to elude him. He hates this. Hates the necessary vigilance, and everything it implies.
He looks forward to being able to put this all behind him and return to sunning himself by the fountain, harassing his friends for attention (and food, and drink, and Mora).
He cannot deny that Albedo is powerful and dangerous. But then, so is he. As an archon, Venti possesses powers that could be devastating if used recklessly. Yet he chooses to live as a simple bard, to protect and nurture Mondstadt in his own way. The parallels between him and Albedo are undeniable. Whatever Albedo truly is, he seems to prefer the life of a simple alchemist, dedicating himself to his craft and the protection of those around him.
Venti swirls the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. He recalls the moments of tenderness he's observed, the way Albedo cares for Klee and the diligence with which he aids the Knights of Favonius. These are not the actions of someone with malicious intent.
And yet, Venti cannot ignore the sense of danger that lingers.
The birthmark. Venti's fingers tighten around his glass as he recalls the star-shaped mark on Albedo's neck. He doesn't know exactly what it signifies, but the shape is unmistakable. Venti's mind drifts to the distant past, to the cataclysm that tore the ancient civilization apart. If Albedo is from Khaenri'ah, he wouldn't be the only one in Mondstadt. There are others who bear that heritage, living quietly within the city's walls. It is not a crime to be from Khaenri'ah - in fact, Venti wishes more survivors of Khaenri'ah had found refuge in the City of Freedom. But it does raise questions.
Albedo is rarely in the city. As much as Venti has watched him here, he's only getting a very limited view of the alchemist. Albedo spends the vast majority of his time alone on Dragonspine, working on private and personal projects. This isolation is suspicious.
If he wants real answers, he's going to need to drag himself up Dragonspine. The thought makes him shiver unhappily. He has never been fond of the cold. The mountain is perilous, its climate harsh and unforgiving. But he cannot shirk this duty. Mondstadt's safety might depend on his understanding of the truth.
.
Albedo stands at his usual place at the alchemy table, carefully examining a beaker of luminescent liquid. Recently, there's been a disruption to his usually undisturbed focus. The bard.
Albedo's gaze shifts subtly, catching the bard's figure out of the corner of his eye. He is perched on a low wall, strumming his lyre and singing a soft tune. Ever since Albedo has first caught him staring, the bard's busking locations have changed, positioning him more frequently in Albedo's vicinity. The scrutiny makes Albedo uneasy, an unfamiliar sensation for someone so accustomed to solitude and secrecy.
Not many things make Albedo nervous, but the constant, inexplicable observation sets him on edge. As someone who harbours secrets as dangerous as his, being observed so intensely is intolerable.
"Sucrose," he says quietly, "don't look directly, but there's a bard over by the fountain. Have you seen him around before?"
Sucrose immediately looks over her shoulder. Albedo suppresses a sigh.
"Ah, that's Venti!" Sucrose says brightly, turning back to him. "He's been in Mondstadt for a few months now. He's quite popular, actually. Plays lovely music. A bit of a menace sometimes, but he's mostly harmless"
Harmless?
Doubtful.
Venti. The name clicks into place in Albedo's mind, a central piece of a puzzle he's been trying to assemble all week.
Venti arrived in Mondstadt a few months ago, just before the Stormterror incident occurred. Albedo had already found Jean's reports on the incident odd. The mention of a bard, of all things, assisting was curious enough, but the lack of detail in her reports, the glaring omissions, had been even more suspicious. Jean is usually thorough, her reports comprehensive. But those pertaining to the Stormterror incident were unusually sparse, as if something—or someone—was being deliberately left out.
He had put together a clearer story based on what he knew of the incident, and the negative space left within the report. It wasn't difficult to connect points together - but it was still strange that Jean felt the need to omit so much.
Albedo hadn't questioned it at the time. He trusts Jean implicitly, has faith in her as Acting Grandmaster. But the timing… A mysterious bard showing up just before the incident, playing an integral role in its resolution, and then staying in Mondstadt. Jean being uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the details. And now that same bard is hounding Albedo, watching his every move with unnerving persistence.
Albedo's grip tightens on the beaker.
To be watched so closely by an archon is… not a good sign.
He turns back to his experiment, forcing his hands to remain steady. "Thank you, Sucrose," he says evenly. "That's all I needed to know."
.
Albedo tells himself this is a blessing in disguise. He repeats the thought like a mantra, forcing himself to believe it. The presence of Mondstadt's archon, observing his every move, could be seen as an added layer of protection. If he were to lose control, if the worst were to come to pass, if he were to become tainted like Durin…
Having a god wanting him dead is… fine. It's probably for the best.
Albedo remains calm.
He isn't the type to roll over or throw his life away for nothing. He isn't. If it were anything else, anyone else, he'd fight tooth and nail. But Albedo is acutely aware that there is no escaping divine judgement.
More than that… this isn't an enemy he should fight. If he were to win, what kind of a victory would it be - to preserve his own life at the expense of Mondstadt's archon. No. He wouldn't rid Mondstadt of its protector.
It's frustrating.
He has no desire to die, though he has always accepted that as a possibility. He wouldn't go so far as to consider it an inevitability, but… he did remain acutely aware of all possible outcomes.
Even so, he had assumed he would have more time.
He had also assumed that nobody else would know the danger he posed until it was already too late, and then merely hoped in the strength of his friends to avert disaster. To be honest, he has been oddly avoidant when it came to preparing any kind of contingency plan.
This… seems like a better outcome if he's honest with himself.
Really, this is the better outcome.
If he'd wanted to, he could have done it himself at any point.
He hasn't.
Because despite being very aware of the danger he poses, and the harm he can bring to everyone he holds dear, Albedo wants to live.
And he hates to leave his task unfulfilled.
He was hoping he'd have more time to find answers.
Albedo makes preparations. Not to fight. Not to flee.
His preparations are in regard to Klee. He doesn't want to frighten her, but he doesn't want to disappear without an explanation. He doesn't want to disappear on her at all. She deserves better than to be left behind. If Albedo could choose otherwise, he would.
But the choice is out of his hands, so the least he can do is give her an explanation.
He doesn't know when Barbatos will act, so he has no way of knowing how much time he has.
He's spending more time with her than usual. She notices, but it isn't something she's going to complain about. She tugs him down the street by his hand, and he lets her.
Klee's laughter fills the air, her boundless energy infectious. Albedo watches her with a mixture of affection and sorrow. He knows he must tell her something, prepare her for his absence.
"Klee," Albedo speaks, tugging her back to him, his voice gentle but firm, "there's something I need to talk to you about."
Klee looks up at him, curiosity shining in her eyes. "What is it, Albedo?"
Albedo smiles softly at her. "I may need to go on a trip soon. A long one."
Klee's eyes widen. "Why? Where are you going?"
"It has to do with my research," he explains, lying through his teeth. "It's important, and it might take a while."
Klee's expression shifts to one of determination. "I want to come with you!"
Albedo shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips despite the heaviness in his heart. "No, Klee. You need to stay here in Mondstadt. Aunt Alice will worry if she comes home and you're not here, after all."
She pouts. "But… Mommy's been gone for soo long! Klee will be lonely if you leave, too."
"Jean and Kaeya will take good care of you while I'm gone," he reassures her. "And Dodoco will keep you company." Albedo's heart aches with the deception. It's a painful thing.
Klee frowns, crossing her arms and pouting up at him. "But you're going to come back, right? Promise!" She is too perceptive for her own good.
Albedo expects his smile to feel forced, but… it isn't. "I'll do my best to come back. But if I can't, I need you to promise me something."
"What is it?" Klee asks, small voice suspicious.
"Promise me you'll stay with Jean and Kaeya. Promise me you'll be the best Klee you can be, and that you'll keep smiling, no matter what."
Tears well up in Klee's eyes. Alice went away on a long trip, and even though she sends letters, Klee still misses her. She doesn't want Albedo to leave, too. "I promise, Albedo."
Albedo's steps slow, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Klee," he says quietly, "I want you to know something."
Klee looks up at him, searching his face with watery eyes. He's acting strange, and it makes her nervous. "What is it, Albedo?"
He takes a deep breath, his throat tight with emotions he never expected to experience firsthand. "I love you," he says simply. "Never forget that."
Klee's eyes widen in surprise, and then she throws her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "I love you too, Albedo!" she exclaims, her voice muffled against his chest.
He hugs her back, committing the feel of her small arms around him to memory. He needs to make sure she understands that much, even if he can't tell her the whole truth.
After a while, they continue their walk, Klee skipping ahead, her mood lightened by the promise of sweets. Albedo watches her, a bittersweet smile on his lips. He knows he's lying to her, but he has to protect her. He can't tell her he is going to die, even if it means she'll never truly understand why he left.
In the quiet of his thoughts, Albedo reassures himself once more.
This is a blessing in disguise. This will all be for the best.
.
Albedo stands in his workshop in Dragonspine, the cold seeping into his bones, matching the chill in his heart. He knows it's unlikely he'll get much work done today—not with his mind so distracted, his thoughts consumed by the looming threat that hangs over him like a shadow. He doesn't want to be around others right now. He supposes he's like an injured animal in that regard, preferring to lick his wounds in private.
As he begins to gather his materials, he hears it—the faint strains of a lyre, carried on the wind. There's only one bard who would be foolish enough (or, in this bard's case, capable enough) to haul a lyre up to Dragonspine and play in the middle of the snow and sheer cold.
Albedo isn't sure whether to take it as a threat or a taunt. Either way, he's being watched.
It isn't the first time he's heard the sounds carried on the piercing wind of Dragonspine. For the better part of two weeks now, the sound has become an almost constant backdrop to his work.
He hates to admit it, even to himself, but he finds it impossible to focus on work he knows he'll never finish. He's distracted, and in his distraction, he makes a basic mistake.
A pathetic, laughable, childish mistake.
He reaches for a vial of compound, his mind elsewhere, and only notices his error at the last second, when he's already pouring it into the mixture.
The glass explodes with a deafening crack. There's a ringing in his ears, his vision goes white, and pain shoots through his face. He staggers back, hands clutching at his eyes.
When the ringing finally subsides, Albedo tentatively lowers his arms, blinking against the blinding light. Pain lances through his face; a sharp, searing burn that leaves him reeling. His vision is white. He surmises that there's glass in his eyes from the explosion.
Albedo sinks to his knees, brushing a hand experimentally across his eyes. There's no blood. Only chalk dust.
It's nothing he can't fix with alchemy, given time.
But,
The music has stopped.
There are footsteps at the entrance.
It seems time is something he has just run out of.
This wasn't how he had hoped to go; on his knees, blind. But in the grand scheme of things, he supposes it doesn't really matter.
Someone - Barbatos - tries to pull his hands away from his face. He flinches back, involuntary.
"Whoa, whoa. It's just me. That doesn't look so good…"
It's just me.
"It's just me." Does he even realize how laughable that sentence is? What is that supposed to be, a reassurance?
Albedo doesn't speak. He doesn't know what he's meant to say. He lets Barbatos pull his hands away.
"Can you hear me?" The little god's voice pitches up, concerned at Albedo's lack of response.
"... Yes."
"Okay." A brief exhale. "This looks… really bad. I don't know what to do. I've never - I've never seen anything like this."
"It's chalk." Albedo explains, voice neutral.
"... Chalk." The bard, the archon, repeats. He sounds more distressed than Albedo feels. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
"What can I - what should I do?"
Albedo doesn't answer immediately. How should he know? It depends entirely on what the archon is trying to accomplish. He considers his options, weighing them with clinical detachment. The answer he provides is precise, devoid of emotion, the same tone he might use to explain an experiment's outcome.
"If you wish to incapacitate me for further research," Albedo begins, "stopping my heart should suffice. I do not bleed, and I would survive most grievous injuries. However, if you desire to dispose of me properly, you will need to disrupt the flow of my life force. An arrow through the centre of the star on my throat should do the trick. You'll know it's worked because, without any life force, my body should return to dust."
There is a long silence. Albedo assumes the other is taking care to assure his aim is true.
Instead, he hears a shocked intake of breath, followed by a question that's almost a plea, "What the heck are you talking about?"
Albedo frowns, confused. "I was explaining the most practical methods for ending my life. I assumed that was your intent."
"No!" Barbatos' voice cracks with the force of his denial. "No, Albedo, I was asking how to help you, not kill you!"
Albedo processes this new information slowly. "You want to help me?"
"What kind of question is that!? You're hurt. Of course I want to help you."
Unexpected, but… okay. He can work with this.
"On the worktable," Albedo says, voice steady despite the pain. "There should be a jar of purified chalkdust. Bring it here, but touch nothing else. There are volatile elements that could react badly if disturbed."
Barbatos hesitates, then replies, "Got it. I'll be careful."
Albedo hears him move away, footsteps light and hurried. He strains to hear over the ringing in his ears, the rustling of papers, the clinking of glass. The concern in Barbatos's voice, the palpable worry—it's disorienting. He thought the archon was here to end him.
Albedo very rarely comes to incorrect conclusions. He doesn't understand the archon's motivations. It's jarring, disorienting. He's physically vulnerable, and mentally… At a loss.
He does not like the feeling.
The footsteps return. Albedo feels the jar pressed into his hands. He uncaps it, the familiar texture of the chalkdust a small comfort.
"I need you to remove all of the glass from my eyes," Albedo instructs, his tone more severe than he intended. "I cannot heal it if there is still glass in them. And I cannot remove it myself without being able to see."
Barbatos' distress is evident in his next words. "Okay. I'll do my best. Hold still."
Albedo feels a hand under his arm, helping him to his feet, leading him away from the explosion debris. He's guided to a wooden chair and sits, gripping the jar of chalkdust tightly. The archon leaves him, and then he hears the sound of wood scraping against stone. Another chair is pulled up beside his.
A knee jostles his own.
The archon must be sitting directly across from him, now. Gentle hands are on his face. And then; not so gentle.
It hurts. It hurts, but he won't flinch. He doesn't make a sound. He focuses on the texture of the jar, the cool glass against his skin as he grips it.
Barbatos works in silence, not without causing further pain. Albedo can feel the tension in those hands, the hesitation before each pull, the barely audible murmurs of apology when a particularly large piece is removed.
He is… surprised by how much there is. Not only in his eyes; the archon is pulling glass from his face, his neck. He can't see the extent of the damage, but he strongly suspects that, were he human, it would have been very quickly fatal.
"I'm sorry," Barbatos whispers, voice tight. "I'm so sorry."
Albedo refuses to respond to that.
Barbatos continues, his movements careful but sure. Albedo tries to distract himself, to focus on anything other than the pain. Why is Barbatos helping him? He thought the archon was here to kill him. To eliminate the threat he posed to Mondstadt. Yet here he is, meticulously removing shards of glass from his eyes, treating him with a kindness that Albedo can't comprehend.
"It's almost done," Barbatos says, voice strained. "Just a few more."
Albedo nods minutely, gripping the jar even tighter. The last few pieces are the worst. He can feel his control slipping, his composure fraying at the edges. But he holds on, focusing on the fact that once this is done, he can heal.
Finally, Barbatos pulls back. "That's it. I think I got it all."
Albedo takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Thank you."
He opens the jar, fills his hands with chalkdust, and… repairs the damage. That's all it is. Damage, in need of repairs.
He feels the electrical sting of alchemy, and feels the warmth on his skin from the endothermic reaction. He blinks and the world comes back into focus.
Barbatos' face is inches away from his own, peering at him in open concern.
He doesn't flinch back, but he frowns.
.
Venti sits beside Albedo, the cold of Dragonspine biting through his clothes. The alchemist's face is covered in a fine layer of chalkdust. Albedo blinks his eyes open, and his piercing gaze stares unflinchingly into Venti's own.
"Barbatos," he begins, his voice steady despite the pain he must be in. "What are you doing here?"
Venti blinks in surprise. Albedo knowing his true identity shouldn't shock him, yet it does. They have never even properly interacted once, before now. "You… you know who I am?"
Albedo stares at him blankly. "You're not exactly subtle."
Venti rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Please, just call me Venti."
"You didn't answer the question."
Venti sighs, feeling a twinge of guilt. "I was… keeping an eye on you."
"I know. Why did you come to help me when I was injured?"
Venti looks at Albedo, baffled. The answer seems so obvious to him. "Because you were hurt. What else was I supposed to do?"
"If you're Barbatos," Albedo continues, his voice growing firmer, "and you know that I'm a threat—which clearly, you do—then you should be more focused on that. Why haven't you done something about it already? You're an archon. There isn't much I could do to stop you. Especially in the state you found me in."
The question horrifies Venti, and he recoils slightly. Partially because Albedo is only voicing the thoughts that Venti himself had been mulling over, and to hear them stated so bluntly really drives home how terrible he is for thinking that in the first place. "No. You haven't done anything. Why would I-" Venti isn't stupid. He knows that they both know why. Feigning ignorance will get him nowhere. Best just to be as blunt as Albedo seems to prefer. "You haven't hurt anybody."
"Yet. But I could hurt people," Albedo responds, his tone matter-of-fact.
Venti shakes his head. "And so could I. People can hurt people. Anything can become a weapon if wielded with ill intent. Sure, I was kinda scared of you at first. I didn't know what you were or what kind of threat you posed. So, of course, I had to watch you, to be sure. I couldn't just let someone that powerful go unchecked. But…"
"But?"
"But you haven't done anything to deserve death. Especially not for simply existing. You're just living your life, and it's clear you care about Mondstadt. You haven't done anything worth being punished for."
Albedo processes this.
He mentally berates himself for jumping to conclusions. His life has always been one of cautious calculation, but he sees now that he might have misjudged Venti.
He exhales slowly. "I'm not opposed to being watched by you. If anything, it's a good thing. Knowing an archon has an eye on me… Between you and the Traveler, I have a lot less to worry about."
Venti shifts away uncomfortably. "I don't like being thought of as a contingency plan."
"But you'll do it," Albedo presses.
Venti looks away, expression unreadable. "You shouldn't count on it."
Albedo tilts his head, curious. "Why not? Isn't it your duty as Mondstadt's archon to protect its people from any threat?"
Venti's eyes darken, and he seems to be weighing his words carefully. "My duty… no. I protect Mondstadt, sometimes, because I want to. And I don't want you to think of me as some kind of a killswitch."
Albedo's gaze shifts. There is a lot to unpack in what little was actually said. "And if I lose control? If the worst comes to pass, and Mondstadt is in danger?"
Venti leans back, frowning. "If the worst happens, I'll do whatever seems right at the time. I can't pretend to know what that might be until it actually happens. But I won't act preemptively. I want to trust you, Albedo."
A moment of silence stretches between them.
"Thank you," Albedo finally says. "For helping me."
Venti smiles, the tension in his posture easing. "Anytime. Just… try not to blow yourself up again, okay?"
A faint smile tugs at Albedo's lips. "I'll do my best."