ZhongVen - Of Dragons and Rebirth
The skies above Liyue were painted in molten gold and amethyst dusk when Morax rose from the clouds. His true form split the heavens like a blade cutting through.
Mountains bowed beneath the shadow of his endless body -- scales like Cor Lapis and molten amber, horns crowned with ancient light, eyes burning with the quiet authority of contracts older than stars. The air shuddered with each slow coil of his endless form as he surged higher, riding the crossing wind currents that carried whispers from neighboring lands.
It was those whispers that led him to Barbatos.
High above the border between stone and storm, Morax could sense it. The wind was soaked with grief beyond comprehension; instead of the playful, music-touched breeze he had known for nearly millennia already. It was fractured, like mourning.
A small figure drifted alone in the open sky.
White wings trembled with effort as the Anemo Archon floated aimlessly, the Lyre absent from his hands. His ribbons trailed behind him like torn streamers of cloud, head lowered, posture unguarded.
Barbatos did not notice the world-ending body of a Dragon Lord behind him.
Morax slowed. The sky itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, his voice rolled out like thunder layered with stone.
The cry shook clouds apart.
Barbatos flinched violently, spinning in midair as wind spiraled instinctively around him. His eyes widened as Morax emerged fully from the cloudband -- vast, luminous, terrible, and beautiful in his ancient power.
"... Morax?" His voice was small against the wind. "Oh."
He hadn't even felt him arrive. Morax's great head lowered, eyes narrowing with quiet concern rather than wrath.
"You drift as one untethered," he said. "What burden bends the Wind so low?"
Barbatos hesitated. The sky darkened slightly as his memories answered for him.
"... Durin." The name fell between them like falling ash. "I-- we killed him," Barbatos said softly. "Dvalin and I fought him as we had to... but Durin never understood what he was doing. He only wanted to fly in the sky with the Winds and me. To sing with us. And because he didn't understand..." His fingers clenched. "...he destroyed it unaware."
Morax's golden eyes flickered.
"He was not evil," Barbatos whispered. "Just lost."
Silence stretched between wind and stone. Then Morax unfurled his coils, turning through the clouds like a living constellation.
Barbatos blinked. "Come... where?"
Morax's titanic body descended in a controlled spiral, guiding them both toward the distant cliffs below.
"To ground," the Geo Archon answered. "Even the Wind must sometimes remember the weight of the World below."
Reluctantly, Barbatos followed.
They landed upon a high stone plateau where clouds broke against sheer cliffs like waves against a harbor. Golden light poured through the haze as Morax's draconic form folded inward, collapsing into radiant geometry and restrained divinity
When the light cleared, a tall man stood in the dragon’s place—dark robes traced in amber, golden eyes calm and ancient.
Barbatos touched down awkwardly, wings folding. The breeze around him softened for the first time since the battle.
“You grieve as though his blood stains your hands.”
“Because I led him to the wind,” Barbatos replied bitterly. “And the wind led him to his end.”
Morax considered him for a long moment.
The wind stilled in the waiting.
“Grief clouds judgment,” the Geo Archon finally said. “Yet it also sharpens purpose. You must decide whether this sorrow is something you will carry… or challenge.”
Barbatos let out a fragile laugh.
“Oh, challenge is usually my specialty,” he muttered. “I just… I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”
He drifted a little higher, staring into the open sky as if the clouds might answer him. Memories echoed in the currents—Durin’s laughter in the wind, his wild, unknowing joy, the way he had never realized his wings were tearing cities apart.
“I keep thinking,” Barbatos murmured, almost to himself, “that stories only end when everyone agrees they’ve ended.”
Morax’s golden gaze sharpened slightly, but he did not interrupt.
Barbatos lowered slowly back toward him, eyes distant—then suddenly alight.
“The witches,” he breathed.
“The mages of Mondstadt,” Barbatos continued, momentum building as thought turned into desperate hope. “They meddle with fate, stories, time—sometimes all three at once. They’re terrifying, honestly, but… if anyone could look at what Durin was meant to be instead of what he became—”
He stopped himself, wings trembling.
“But that’s their domain,” Barbatos said more quietly now. “Not yours. Not even mine, really.”
“Hexenzirkel magic is not bound by contract,” he said. “It exacts prices even stone cannot guarantee.”
“I know,” Barbatos whispered.
For a moment, doubt crept in.
“But Durin already paid the highest price,” Barbatos said, lifting his head. “If there’s even a fraction of a chance his story isn’t finished… I have to try.”
Morax stepped closer, his presence heavy with unspoken gravity.
“You would gamble with forces that do not answer to gods.”
Barbatos met his gaze, tired but unyielding.
“I’ve spent my whole existence defying what gods are supposed to do.”
Morax studied him—really studied him—then inclined his head.
“Then this is your path alone,” he said. “And I will not interfere.”
The wind softened between them.
“But,” Morax added, “if the storm that follows seeks to swallow you, stone will still stand.”
Barbatos smiled—small, real, grateful.
“Always so steady, Morax.”
“And you,” Morax replied, “still chase impossible winds.”
Barbatos laughed softly, then turned toward the open sky once more.
“I’ll be back,” he promised. “Either with hope… or with closure.”
With one powerful beat of his wings, the Anemo Archon vanished into the clouds—this time not running from grief, but flying straight into its depths.
Morax remained upon the high stone cliff long after the wind had faded.
Some storms, even he could not halt.
But he could endure their aftermath.
Hello! This is a Canon Divergence for Mini Durin's origin, with a side of ZhongVen! Hope you like it <3
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