Chapter Text
You wake to the sound of wind.
Not birdsong. Not voices. Not machines or distant footsteps or the low hum of a healer's ward.
Only wind.
Sharp, restless, living wind. It presses against your skin before your eyes even open. Cold, biting. Like something waiting for you to move. Like something that's been watching.
You try to sit up. Your limbs scream. Your head throbs.
You were supposed to be asleep. Still dreaming.
You remember falling.
You remember her—Celeste, her voice a ribbon around your throat, a lullaby made of thunder. You remember her eyes before they closed.
And then nothing.
Fourteen years. Gone.
They tell you you haven't aged a day.
They tell you it's a miracle.
They don't tell you why the wind has followed you since.
They don't tell you why your name is missing from every prayer, every hymn, every statue.
The wind does not leave you alone.
You walk through Mondstadt like a ghost. The cobblestones remember you, but the people don't. They smile too kindly, too carefully. Like you're something fragile. Like they're afraid they'll shatter you if they speak too loud.
Even Jean looks at you like she's speaking to a memory.
You ask for the year. You regret it.
Everything hurts.
Everything has changed.
And the world keeps moving like it doesn't even notice you've come back.
But the wind notices.
Always.
It moves when you move. It stills when you cry. Sometimes it whispers in your ears when you're alone—not words, but a sound so familiar you ache.
It knows something you don't.
And it wants you to remember.
-
You meet him on the third day.
He doesn't introduce himself.
He doesn't have to.
The lyre gives him away first, followed by the green. His eyes. His hood. The strange, lazy smile.
The songs.
He sings in the plaza like he doesn't care who listens. He hums like the world isn't falling apart under your feet.
You hate him instantly.
But the wind curls around him like it knows him.
And when he sings your name into the air, no one hears it but you.
You freeze.
He winks.
The wind keens behind him like a secret you've tried too hard to forget.
-
He starts to follow you.
Or maybe it's the other way around.
You don't notice it at first—the way he's there when the storms come. When the crowds get too loud. When the silence gets worse than the noise.
He never asks questions.
He never makes you talk.
He just plays.
Sometimes, when you're shaking, he sits beside you and hums until your bones stop aching.
And when you ask him why he won't just leave you alone, he only says:
"Because the wind chose you."
You don't understand.
You don't want to.
But a part of you remembers.
The sound.
The storm.
The promise made in a place the gods have long since buried.
-
The nights grow colder.
The stars seem brighter.
The dreams come harder.
You see her again—Celeste, her white veil soaked in blood, reaching for you from a cliff made of sky.
You hear her voice, but not the words.
You wake with the wind screaming in your lungs.
He's there every time.
He never asks what you saw.
You never tell him.
You don't have to.
He already knows.
-
It starts with a melody.
Low.
Lonely.
Ancient.
It curls beneath your skin like a memory you never asked for. The moment he plays it, something burns in your chest. Not pain—recognition.
You ask him what it is.
He smiles. "A lullaby for those the sky forgot."
And then he calls you by name.
Not your given name.
The one you buried.
The one no one remembers.
The one she gave you.
The one the wind stole the day you fell.
You flinch.
He keeps playing.
And the air wraps around you like arms.
Like wings.
Like warning.
-
You try to leave Mondstadt.
You don't get far.
The moment you cross the bridge, the wind knocks you to your knees.
You think it's grief.
You think it's guilt.
But when he finds you on the dirt path hours later, he kneels beside you and whispers:
"It won't let you go."
You stare at him.
He looks tired.
Sad.
Older than he ever lets himself appear.
You whisper, "What am I?"
And for the first time, his voice cracks:
"Mine."
-
The bond begins in silence.
No spell. No ritual.
Just two names, spoken in the same breath, under a sky that cannot forget.
Yours.
And his.
Barbatos.
The god of freedom.
The god of wind.
The god who chose you—not to save the world, but to save himself.
And when he seals the vow, your ribs burst with sound.
The wind collapses inward.
You scream.
He holds you.
And the sky does not forgive you for surviving.