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Mostly offline

[oh-wiw]

✦ Hello just call me Wiw. I use they/them for the sake of being anonymous but either way I'm okay with any pronouns.

A little warning I am just starting to write and english isn't my main language, so you'll see a lot of grammatic and spelling error. Updates and posts will be extremely slow considering my offline life but I do hope to make writing into a hobby.

So hey welcome to my little nook.

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 6 ✦ Part 8 ✦

A lost Composer 7

You silently thanked your past self for packing a few days’ worth of food. Hiding away on a ship was far more survivable when you weren’t starving.

The trip had been long, cramped, and deeply uncomfortable. You’d spent most of it wedged between spice crates and cargo nets, barely daring to stretch your legs unless the deck above was quiet. Every creak of wood or passing sailor had made your heart jump into your throat.

But eventually the motion of the sea slowed.

Curious and cautiously hopeful. You peeked out from your hiding spot.

Your hope died instantly.

In the distance, a massive waterfall thundered down like a curtain of silver, mist rising into the sky. Elegant structures and mechanical lifts framed the harbor, all unmistakably ornate.

You slowly lowered your head and cursed the gods internally.

Fontaine.

Of all places.

✧✧✧✧✧

The merchant ship eased into one of Fontaine’s harbors, ropes thrown out as dockworkers shouted instructions. The city’s grand architecture loomed above the water, polished metal and stone gleaming in the sunlight.

You swallowed hard.

Fontaine loved its laws.

And you were currently an illegal stowaway.

Which meant if you were caught, you wouldn’t just get yelled at. You’d likely be dragged straight to Fortress of Meropide.

You took a deep breath.

You could do this. It was just a bit of sneaking.

Carefully gathering your things, you slung your bag over your shoulder and secured your precious instruments inside. Your farmer’s hat was pulled low, mask adjusted just enough to hide your face without drawing too much attention.

You peeked through a gap in the crates again.

The merchants were busy arguing with dock officials, and a couple of Gardes stood nearby reviewing cargo papers. Everyone’s attention was focused on the shipment, not the shadows between stacked crates.

This was your moment.

All you had to do was slip down from the ship… blend into the harbor traffic… and disappear before anyone realized an extra passenger had arrived.

Easy. Right?

You crouched low, preparing to move between the stacks of cargo as quietly as possible while the merchants and guards continued their discussion.

Just a few steps. Then the dock. Then freedom.

But the moment your boots touched the dock, a soft voice rang out behind you.

“Halt!”

Your whole body locked. You gritted your teeth so hard your jaw hurt, then slowly turned your head toward the voice and immediately regretted it.

A Melusine.

Worse, the neat uniform and polished badge left no room for doubt: she was with the Gardes.

Oh, for the love of—

Panic surged hot and immediate, but you forced it down beneath the mask of your persona. In one swift motion, you whipped off your farmer’s hat and swept into a dramatic bow, the movement so polished it almost felt natural by now.

“Greetings, madam!” you said brightly, layering every ounce of charm into your voice. “What can I do for you this fine day?”

The Melusine blinked up at you with wide, unamused eyes.

There was a beat of silence.

Then she lifted a small clipboard. “You may begin by explaining why you disembarked from that vessel without being listed on the passenger manifest.”

Your smile twitched.

Ah... Straight to the point.

You straightened slowly, hat clutched against your chest, and gave a soft, airy laugh. “Now, now, that sounds much more suspicious than it is. I’m more of a… surprise guest.”

The Melusine’s expression did not change.

“A stowaway,” she corrected, scribbling something on the clipboard.

“No, no, no, let’s not use ugly words,” you said quickly, raising both hands in mock offense. “I merely boarded in a moment of distress and found myself tragically committed to the voyage.”

She looked up from the clipboard. “So… a stowaway.”

“…An accidental stowaway.”

Scratch scratch scratch.

She wrote that down too and you felt your soul leave your body a little.

“Madam,” you said, voice lowering into something almost pleading beneath the theatrical charm, “surely we can settle this with a warning? A stern look? A disappointed sigh? I respond very well to disappointed sighs.”

The Melusine adjusted her hat.

“Fontaine maritime code requires that all undocumented arrivals be detained for questioning pending verification of identity, cargo tampering, and intent.”

Every word hit like a falling guillotine.

Your pulse spiked so hard it made your fingers tremble.

Detained.

Questioning.

Verification.

You knew enough about Fontaine to know those words never meant anything simple.

Your mind immediately jumped to prison bars, paperwork, trials, and the looming nightmare of the Fortress of Meropide. You could practically hear chains clanking in the distance.

Nope. Absolutely not. I did not survive attempted murder by Eremites just to get arrested over boat tax.

You laughed again, this time a little too high-pitched. “Well! That sounds very official. And I respect that. Deeply. Profoundly, even. But I assure you, I’m just a humble musician. No cargo tampering, no criminal intent, barely even enough mora to qualify as a nuisance.”

The Melusine’s gaze dropped to your mask.

Then your bag.

Then back to the mask.

“Why are you wearing a Fatui mask?”

... of course...

Of course, that damn Fauti mask.

You gave a weak smile. “Fashion?”

She stared and you only wilted.

“…I stole it.”

Scratch scratch scratch.

She wrote that down too.

You nearly screamed.

You were escorted towards the inspection office as your mind raced through every terrible possibility at once: Stowaway charge. Fatui suspicion. Illegal entry. The mask. The Eremites.

What else could possibly be added to that list?

You sighed quietly, shoulders slumping as dread settled deeper in your chest. At this point you half-expected someone to accuse you of piracy or treason just to complete the collection.

Too busy catastrophizing, you failed to notice the quiet strangeness trailing behind you.

Small flowers began pushing through the cracks of the dock planks where your footsteps fell. Tiny white blossoms unfurling between weathered wood that should have held nothing but salt and splinters.

The sea beside the harbor calmed as well. The restless waves that had been slapping irritably against the docks softened, smoothing into gentle ripples.

Even the breeze seemed oddly attentive, drifting behind you like a curious companion, tugging faintly at your sleeves and hat.

You noticed none of it.

But others did.

Several Melusines working along the harbor paused in their duties. One stopped mid-inspection of a cargo crate, nose twitching slightly as she looked up. Another tilted her head while holding a bundle of paperwork.

They watched you pass.

For a moment their eyes widened with quiet recognition, something instinctive stirring in the back of their minds.

Something familiar.

Something warm.

Then the feeling slipped away just as quickly.

One of them blinked and shook her head lightly.

“Hmm…” She turned back to her work, brushing the thought aside as imagination.

✧✧✧✧✧

Once you stepped inside the building, the questioning began almost immediately. They asked the usual things first: Your age, your name, where you came from. But the moment you gave your name, you noticed the officers staring at you with distinctly unimpressed expressions.

When you added your surname, the Melusine beside them narrowed her eyes suspiciously, ears twitching as she muttered under her breath about people making jokes at Their Grace’s expense.

You blinked. Their Grace?

Who in the world were they talking about? Neuvillette???

When they asked where you were from, you gave a vague answer—something about being from a faraway town. Mostly because you were fairly certain no one in Teyvat would believe your real birthplace if you actually said it aloud. The Melusine merely scribbled it down on her clipboard, mumbling under her breath, “Avoiding the question…”

Then came the question of why you had entered Fontaine. You answered before thinking.

“Not dying.” The moment the words left your mouth, you shut your mouth just as quickly.

The Melusine stared at you with the same deeply unamused expression she seemed to reserve exclusively for your existence.

You scrambled to correct yourself.

“Tourism,” you said quickly. “And music. Mostly music. With a strong secondary goal of not dying.”

She wrote that down too.

You wanted the sea to rise up and swallow you whole.

As the questioning dragged on, your panic sat hot and restless beneath your skin, making every second feel longer than the last.

You barely noticed the strange stillness settling over the room.

The breeze drifting in through the open window had softened, turning cool and gentle where before it had been brisk with the harbor air. It brushed against your sleeves and hair like a careful hand, almost soothing in a way that only made your nerves worse.

On the clerk’s desk, a small vase of decorative flowers had begun to bloom wider. Petals slowly unfurled, turning toward you as though seeking sunlight that wasn’t there.

At the corner table, the water in a glass pitcher had gone impossibly still. Not a single ripple disturbed its surface. It reflected the ceiling above with such perfect clarity it looked more like polished glass than water.

It was subtle.

Quiet.

Easy to miss.

But the Melusines noticed.

The one questioning you kept pausing mid-sentence, her ears twitching slightly as she glanced around the office with growing unease. Her eyes flicked to the flowers. Then the pitcher. Then the open window, where the breeze seemed to linger rather than pass through.

She frowned. It wasn’t the sharp, annoyed frown she’d been giving you all afternoon.

This one was different.

Searching.

Puzzled.

As though she were trying to sense something just beyond her reach, some answer buried beneath the ordinary surface of the room.

For a brief moment, her gaze lingered on you. Then she shook her head lightly and returned to her clipboard.

To you, unfortunately, that small shake of her head looked exactly like disappointment. Your stomach dropped.

Oh no. That was never a good sign.

You immediately started sweating.

The Melusine looked back down at her notes.

“Your answers remain inconsistent,” she said flatly.

You nearly ascended on the spot.

“Inconsistent?” you echoed, voice cracking just enough to betray your panic.

She tapped the clipboard with one small paw.

“You claim to be a tourist, but you arrived by hiding on a merchant vessel.”

“Well, yes, but that was less of a travel preference and more of a life-preserving emergency.”

“You claim the Fatui mask was stolen.”

“Technically true.”

“You claim your purpose in entering Fontaine is music and…” She squinted at the page. “…not dying.”

You buried your face in your hands for half a second.

“In my defense,” you muttered, “that was the honest answer.”

She gave you a look. You straightened immediately.

“Which I realize now was perhaps not the best answer.”

Across the room, another Melusine who had been sorting documents had gone completely still. Her round eyes were fixed on the vase of flowers, which had somehow bloomed so fully they were now spilling over the rim in a riot of soft petals.

She slowly turned toward you.

You, still in the middle of quietly dying inside, did not notice.

The questioning Melusine sighed and scribbled something else down. That was somehow worse.

Every time she wrote something, you felt your lifespan shorten.

“What are you writing?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

She didn’t even look up. “Observations.”

“Could you… maybe observe less?”

“No.”

“Fair.”

Then she looked at you.

Longer this time.

It made you extremely nervous

It’s as if she was comparing you to a memory she couldn’t quite place.

“Do you have any affiliations with the Fatui?”

You nearly choked on air. “Nope!” you said too quickly with a laugh.

Every official in the room looked at you.

The silence that followed was so complete you could hear the faint tick… tick… tick… of the wall clock near the window.

You immediately regretted it. This interrogation is putting you off your game. So you cleared your throat and tried again, much more carefully this time.

“No,” you said, voice smaller, more controlled. “I do not have any affiliation with the Fatui.”

The Melusine’s pen hovered over her clipboard. Then she wrote something down.

You didn’t know what was worse… that she was documenting every terrible answer you gave, or that she somehow looked more suspicious the calmer you sounded.

The human clerk at the desk folded his hands.

“And the mask?” he asked flatly.

You stared at him.

Right.

The mask.

Of course.

You gave a weak, strained smile. “In my defense…I thought it was cool for maintaining a mysterous aura.”

“That is not an explanation,” the Melusine said.

“It’s the truth,” you replied, before immediately realizing that somehow made it sound even worse.

The human clerk pinched the bridge of his nose. Across the desk, the Melusine’s pen remained poised over her clipboard, utterly patient in the way only someone fully committed to procedure could be.

You hated that patience.

It felt like being gently dissected.

You swallowed and tried again, forcing your voice into something less panicked and more respectable.

“I found the mask some time ago,” you said carefully. “I kept it because it hid my face, and because…” You hesitated, already hearing how stupid this would sound. “…it helped with street performances.”

The clerk stared and the Melusine blinked once.

You pressed on, because clearly digging yourself deeper was now your only talent.

“A mysterious bard draws more attention than a normal one. It’s branding.”

Silence.

The wall clock ticked.

A flower petal drifted from the over-bloomed vase and landed on the desk between you.

No one acknowledged it.

The Melusine slowly wrote something down.

You squinted at the clipboard, trying desperately to read upside down.

“Did you just write ‘committed to the bit’?”

“That is not relevant to your questioning,” she replied.

“I feel like it’s very relevant to my defense.”

The human clerk exhaled sharply through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a suppressed laugh. Unfortunately for you, the Melusine remained immune to charm, humor, and basic mercy.

She looked back up at you. and ask, “Where did you obtain the mask?”

“I already answered that question…” you said.

"And I wanted to where you got it."

"..."

“Like I said before I stole it,” you reapeted.

“And where did you steal it?” the clerk asked immediately.

You opened your mouth.

Will I get a prison time if I tell the truth?

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“…Outside.”

The Melusine’s ears twitched.

“That is not a location.”

“It was very outside. Very cloudy in fact.”

She stared at you so flatly that you almost apologized to the concept of law itself.

Then she wrote something else down.

You were going to die by paperwork.

The clerk leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled. “You understand how suspicious this appears, yes?”

“Yes,” you said instantly.

“An unregistered foreigner arrives hidden on a merchant vessel,” he continued, voice calm and maddeningly measured, “Wearing a Fatui mask, carrying no official travel documents, giving vague answers regarding place of origin, and repeatedly mentioning ‘not dying’ as a motivation.”

When he listed it like that—

You winced. “...When you summarize it, it does sound bad.”

“It is bad,” the Melusine said.

You put a hand over your chest in mock offense. “For the record, I think I’m delightful.”

The Melusine ignored that with the ruthless efficiency of a seasoned bureaucrat.

“And yet,” she said slowly, “there is something unusual.”

You lilt your head.

She set the clipboard down. That was somehow more terrifying than when she wrote on it.

The other Melusines in the room had stopped pretending not to stare. One was still watching the flowers. Another had moved closer to the pitcher, eyes fixed on the perfectly still water.

The clerk noticed the shift in the room and frowned. “Officer?”

The Melusine didn’t answer immediately.

She was still looking at you.

Longer this time.

Not at your mask.

Not at your clothes.

At you.

And it made your skin crawl with nerves.

It felt less like suspicion now and more like she was trying to match you against a memory she couldn’t fully grasp.

Something familiar.

Something impossible.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

“Remove the mask.”

You went still.

“...”

You exhaled, trying to laugh it off, draping your words in the same theatrics you always used to distract and charm. “Ah, but madam,” you said, tilting your head and letting a wry smile curl your lips, “the mystery is everything. Take away the mask, and what’s left? Only the tragedy of a poor, wandering bard!”

Your fingers twitched and you could feel your heartbeat hammering. 

The face it hides, the real you, isn’t someone anyone should see.

Not now. 

Not ever. 

This persona, this bard is your new life. Your second chance. 

The selfish, previous version of yourself is gone.

“This isn’t merely theatrics,” the Melusine said softly, voice steady yet threaded with authority. “Concealment in matters of law and harbor security is not a performance.”

You swallowed, the weight of your new identity pressing down hard. The person you were before selfish, reckless, unfinished—was gone. 

What stood here now was fragile, crafted from the chance to live a life unclaimed by past mistakes.

Your grin widened, exaggerated and defiant. “Officer,” you said, hand still pressed to your chest in mock solemnity, “if I reveal myself, I shatter the very essence of the bard you think you’ve cornered. The legend, the mystique… all gone! Surely you’d prefer the mystery to linger?”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, unamused but patient. “…Not quite intrigue if the mystery is solved, no?”

You let your smirk falter for half a heartbeat, the truth threatening to slip past the mask, but quickly replaced it with practiced bravado. Oh, how you want to openly sneer at this Melusine. 

This is the exact reason why I do not want to go to Fontaine.

The fragile fact that people will remember you by your face. The same selfish, ungrateful  face that abandon everyone behind.

You never what to be regconized by your stupid mug. Nor see it for yourself.

Whoever that person is. Is dead to you.

You slump into your seat with a dramatic sigh, letting your shoulders droop as if the weight of the world or at least your ridiculous reputation rests on them. “Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I guess,” you mutter, voice heavy with faux resignation.

The Melusine’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, calm and unreadable, before she finally turns back to her work. You exhale quietly, the mask both comforting and suffocating, knowing the pretense is far from over. 

✧✧✧✧✧

You slump against the railing of the small transport boat, staring out over the glimmering expanse of Fontaine’s waters. The waves reflect the fading sunlight, serene and unbothered, while your mind races in a chaotic storm.

Well… at least you made your choice.

The mask still clings to your face, the only thing standing between your true face and the world that might tear you apart if it knew who you really were. You preserved your identity… for now. But the price is heavy. Arrest, house arrest, and a long, tedious process at the Court of Fontaine await you.

You exhale, fingers pressing lightly against the mask as if grounding yourself. Can you even defend yourself? The information you gave to the Melusine, the evasive, half-truths about your origin, your purpose, your affiliations, has already made your records suspicious. Any misstep, any hint of contradiction, could unravel everything you’ve tried so hard to protect.

You’ve faced audiences, this… this is just another stage. And like any performance, you’ll need to improvise, play your part perfectly, and hope the story you’ve spun holds.

The boat rocks gently under your weight. You glance at the horizon. The Court is waiting. So is your fate.

You wonder if Neuvillette appreciate music? Outside of the court, maybe. However, inside?

You’ll just have to wait and see…

...

… probably not…

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 6 ✦ Part 8 ✦

a/n: I had this on my drafts hoping it's not confusing, also no other pov here because I can't describe Neuvillette going over his paperwork. I couldn't think of the right words ToT I also wantted the conversation to go no where, hope I actually written that correctly.

Taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @lilacoaks @angelasylum00 @khalhaimdad @genshin-impacts-me @desirabletravel @eyeless-kun @avocaea @snowfire0313

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 5 ✦ Part 7 ✦

A lost Composer 6

Your journey to Bayda Harbor passed in an unexpected calm. You had half-expected to be ambushed by Sumeru’s wildlife, tigers leaping from the brush, something venomous lurking just out of sight. But none of that ever came. Instead, when you made camp, you could feel them nearby. Eyes in the dark. Footsteps just beyond the firelight. Always close… yet never crossing that invisible line toward you.

It kept you on edge, nerves prickling every time a branch snapped or leaves rustled.

You briefly entertained the ridiculous thought that they were only there to listen to you play, but you quickly dismissed it as childish. This wasn’t a fairytale.

And yet…

When you practiced the lyre, the tension eased. Small critters crept closer, cautious but curious, leaving little offerings behind: nuts, berries, the occasional oddly-shaped fruit placed neatly beside your pack. They watched you with bright, unblinking eyes, heads tilted as if listening with their whole being.

It was strange. Unexplainable.

You eventually chalked it up to this world simply being more whimsical than the one you came from. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly to yourself, feeling, absurdly, like some off-brand Snow White with a lyre instead of a songbird chorus.

Cute, certainly. And undeniably more charming than your old world ever was.

✧✧✧✧✧

After several days of walking and relentless practice, you finally lowered your instruments with a tired sigh. There was only so much repetition your ears could tolerate before every note began to blur together.

The solo flute.

The lone lyre.

Maybe a bit of drum? 

Again and again, scales and fragments, melodies you stitched together just to keep your fingers nimble.

You missed other sounds.

Not just another instrument playing a counter-melody, but a true ensemble. Layers weaving together, harmonies swelling beneath a lead, percussion grounding everything in a steady heartbeat. You longed for the richness of it. The way strings could cradle a woodwind line, how a second voice could transform a simple tune into something alive.

Playing alone with only the rustle of leaves and distant birds as accompaniment was beautiful, yes. 

But lonely.

Nature could echo you, but it could not harmonize with intention. It could not argue over tempo or suggest a key change. It could not laugh when a chord progression unexpectedly worked.

You stared at your lyre resting against your knee.

One person. That was all you were now. One pair of hands. One voice. No matter how skilled you became, you couldn’t create true depth alone. Harmony required more than talent.

It required others.

Annoyingly, your thoughts drifted back to your old world. Back to cramped rooms filled with sheet music and scattered instruments. Back to the debates about what melody to start with, which rhyme scheme felt stronger, whether to open soft or dramatic. You remembered the playful arguments over key signatures and tempo markings. 

The experimentation. 

Throwing ideas around recklessly. Letting mistakes turn into breakthroughs. Trying something ridiculous just to see if it worked. Letting the music decide for you in the end.

You even remembered acting smug when explaining music theory, launching into enthusiastic tangents about modal interchange or borrowed chords.

“Nerd,” your friends would groan in unison.

And yet they’d listen anyway.

…

Out here, every choice was yours alone.

No one to harmonize.

No one to argue with.

No one to laugh when you overcomplicated things.

You rolled onto your back in the grass, staring at the sky with a knitted brow. The wind stirred softly around you, almost like a quiet, sympathetic hum.

Your friends…

Your dear friends.

The laughter. The cramped rehearsals. The inside jokes only the four of you understood.

You swallowed hard.

You wondered how the band was doing now. Whether they still practiced in that same stuffy room. Whether they replaced you. Whether they had to.

You left so much behind. People who believed in you. People who trusted you to finish what you started.

And for what?

To just… die?

How many unfinished scores were still sitting in drawers? Scribbled lyrics without a chorus. Progressions only you understood. 

How many half-written melodies did they have to sort through, trying to piece together your intentions? 

Scrambling all because their main composer was suddenly gone?

Selfish.

The word echoed in your skull, cruel and unrelenting.

Selfish.

Running away. Leaving others to clean up what you abandoned.

You clenched your jaw.

You didn’t change—

“Well, well… what do we have here?”

The gruff voice cut through your spiraling thoughts so sharply you didn’t even realize you were tearing up until the cool air touched your cheeks.

You straightened instantly, wiping your face in one swift motion before anyone could notice. In practiced reflex, you pulled your mask over your face and adjusted your hat, hiding whatever vulnerability had slipped through. Then you turned toward the sound.

A group clad in red stepped from between the trees. Sun-browned skin, desert garb, weapons glinting. Their smiles were anything but kind.

Eremites. You remember, hostile enemies from in game.

They spread slightly as they approached, a loose circle forming without needing to say a word. Your pulse spiked.

You grabbed your bag and rose to your feet, forcing your posture upright.

“Greetings, fellow travelers!” you called smoothly, offering a graceful bow as though this was merely a chance roadside meeting. Inside, your heart was pounding so hard you were certain they could hear it. “Care to listen to a tune?” You struck a pose with your lyre, fingers hovering over the strings with theatrical confidence.

They didn’t slow.

One of them chuckled low, the sound humorless. Another adjusted the grip on his blade.

They weren’t here for music.

You took a subtle step back.

Just one.

The confident bard persona cracked at the edges, your smile stiffening as reality settled in. You swallowed.

“Well,” you muttered lightly, trying to keep your voice steady, “tough crowds.” You said with a playful voice, hoping for a conversation. You took another step back as they kept advancing, keeping your distance. You swallowed.

“Listen,” you tried again, voice still airy, almost teasing. “I’m but a humble bard. Very poor. Tragically poor, in fact. Robbing me would be deeply disappointing for all parties involved.”

A few of them snorted. Not convinced.

The tallest among them tilted his head. “Your mask,” he pointed out. “You belong to the Fatui. Hunting one of you down fetches a very pretty penny.”

Ah.

You resisted the urge to curse.

You forgot about that tiny detail. You forgot it was a Cicin mask. 

A Fatui mask.

“Would you believe me if I say I stole it?” you asked, the last of your composure fraying as a thread of genuine nervousness slipped through.

A beat of silence.

Then laughter.

Not amused laughter but mocking.

“You expect us to believe,” one of them drawled, twirling a dagger between his fingers, “that you just happened to steal a Fatui Cicin Mage’s mask… and lived?”

“Finders keepers?” You respond with a crooked grin.

✧✧✧✧✧

Festive music carried through the warm night air, drums beating like a second heartbeat for the land, flutes and voices rising in bright celebration. Laughter, dancing, the crackle of firelight. Natlan was alive with performance and pride.

And at the center of it all, upon a raised seat overlooking the celebration, a god sat… thoroughly unimpressed.

Their gaze drifted lazily across the stage as dancers spun and musicians played with passionate fervor. The performers gave everything they had, every step, every note meant to honor the one watching.

Yet the god only sighed softly, resting their chin against their hand. Exhaustion hung over them like a quiet shadow.

Beside them stood the Pyro Archon, Mavuika, radiant and composed, her posture regal as she poured another serving into the god’s bowl. She smiled warmly, chatting with them in a tone meant to keep the atmosphere light, as though nothing in the world were amiss.

But beneath the smile, tension coiled in her shoulders. Wondering if their Grace enjoying themselves.

A voice from the festival called her name. One of Natlan’s heroes, her friend is waving her over from the side.

Mavuika glanced back at the god on the seat.

They looked exactly as they always did these days: unmotivated, distant, watching the performances with mild interest but little else. At the very least, they didn’t seem completely bored tonight. That alone was something.

“Your Grace, may I be excused—”

She bowed deeply, but before she could finish, something lightly tapped the table before her.

The god had nudged their empty bowl forward.

“Go,” they said simply, voice flat with quiet dismissal. “And fill up my bowl.”

No irritation. No warmth. Just casual indifference.

They didn’t even look at her again, their attention already drifting back to the stage where the music swelled and dancers leapt through flame-lit air.

For a moment, Mavuika remained bowed, hiding the brief tightening of her jaw.

“Thank you, your Grace.” Then she straightened with the same practiced smile and turned away, leaving the god to watch the performance alone.

She approached the edge of the celebration where Kinich waited.

“What is it, Kinich?” she asked quietly. “Did something happen with any of the performers? Did anything malfunction?” Her brow creased slightly before she added, half-sighing, “Did Ajaw escape time-out again?”

Kinich shook his head calmly. “No. I made sure he stayed in time-out. Wouldn’t want Their Grace hearing his… insubordination.”

He gestured back toward the festival grounds. “Everything is fine. Performers are fine. Equipment is intact.”

Mavuika’s shoulders eased slightly now that the worst possibilities were ruled out.

“Then what is it?” she asked, her tone calmer.

Kinich held out a sealed letter. “It’s this.”

Mavuika accepted it, her eyes immediately catching the wax seal pressed into the parchment. The symbol was unmistakable. The insignia of the Dendro Archon.

A letter from Nahida.

“Ah,” Mavuika murmured softly. “Thank you, Kinich.”

She turned the letter over in her hands, curiosity flickering across her expression. The message had been marked urgent, important enough to reach her even during the height of Natlan’s festival.

What could the Dendro Archon possibly need from her… and why so suddenly?

After reading the letter, Mavuika’s expression shifted, subtle, but unmistakable. 

The other Archons had shared their findings. Their suspicions.

A wandering musician in Sumeru. A bard in a Cicin mask, dressed in Inazuman clothing, carrying themself like a drifter and earning coin with song. A stranger whose melodies stirred the wind, delighted the Aranara, and made the world itself respond.

If their theory held true… then the god currently residing in Natlan might not be Their Grace at all.

Mavuika lowered the parchment, her golden eyes unreadable.

“Hm,” she murmured softly. “How interesting…”

Without another word, flame licked at the edge of the letter in her hand. The parchment curled, blackened, and vanished into drifting ash within seconds. No scraps remained for curious eyes to piece together.

Kinich watched the ashes scatter on the wind. “What is it?” he asked, tone calm but attentive.

Mavuika only shook her head at first. “Nothing you need concern yourself with just yet,” she said smoothly, though the edge in her voice made it clear it was very much something to be concerned about. Then she looked at him properly. “Actually— no. There is something.”

Kinich straightened slightly.

“I need you to inform the others,” Mavuika said. “Quietly. Tell the other heroes to keep watch for a traveling musician.”

She began listing the details with measured precision. “A bard wearing a Cicin mask. Inazuman-style clothing. A worn farmer’s hat. Likely carrying more than one instrument. Possibly traveling alone.”

Kinich’s eyes narrowed. “Dangerous?”

Mavuika paused. Her gaze drifted back toward the raised seat at the center of the festival, where Their Grace still sat watching the performances with that same detached boredom.

“…Potentially,” she said at last. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

Kinich accepted the answer without pressing, though his expression made it clear he had many questions.

“And you?” he asked.

Her smile returned warm and bright.

“I suppose,” she murmured to herself, “I’ll be keeping our Grace entertained.”

If Nahida’s instincts were right, then the wisest course was clear.

Let the false god remain comfortable.

Let them believe nothing had changed.

✧✧✧✧✧

You ran.

You kept running, lungs burning, legs screaming, every ragged breath tearing at your throat. The straps of your bag dug painfully into your shoulders, your lyre thumping against your side with every desperate step. Branches brush your sleeves, roots threatened to catch your boots, and still you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t stop.

If you stopped, they would catch you.

And if they caught you—

No.

You shoved the thought down so hard it made your stomach twist. Don’t think. Don’t imagine. Just run.

Behind you, their laughter carried through the dark like a knife dragged over stone. Mocking. Amused.

They were playing with you.

You knew it.

If they truly wanted you dead, they probably would’ve already closed the distance. This was sport to them, a frightened little bard bolting through the forest.

So much for your confident bard persona.

Humiliation and terror warred in your chest, but fear won out, feeding your body the last scraps of strength it had left.

So you ran.

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon, the sky swallowed by indigo and moonlight, but at some point the trees had begun to thin. The dense wilds of Sumeru slowly gave way to clearer roads and worn paths, and through the pounding of your heartbeat, one thought rose above the panic:

Bayda Harbor.

You were close.

You had to be.

You knew there would be people there: Merchants, dockworkers, guards, travelers, anyone. Someone would help. Someone had to.

Your breath came in broken gasps as you stumbled onto the road proper, nearly tripping over your own feet. Gravel crunched beneath your boots. Your vision blurred at the edges, tears and sweat stinging your eyes beneath the mask.

Then—

Light.

Faint at first, flickering in the distance. Lanterns.

When you reached the harbor, lungs burning and vision swimming, you nearly cried in relief—

Only to find it almost completely empty.

No guards in sight. No bustling dockworkers. No late-night merchants. Just the creak of moored ships, the slap of dark water against wood, and a few lanterns swaying in the night breeze.

Your heart dropped.

Where the hell are the guards?! You screamed internally, bent over and gasping for breath. Is this harbor really just like in-game?!

You were about to shout for help when the sound of boots thundered out from the treeline behind you.

Too close.

Panic seized you.

Without wasting another second, you scrambled onto the nearest ship, nearly slipping on the gangplank in your haste. Your hands caught rough wood, splinters biting your palms as you hauled yourself up and ducked behind a stack of heavy crates lashed together with thick rope.

The darkness wrapped around you, shadows swallowing your form.

They wouldn’t think to check a boat, right?

You pressed one trembling hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose despite the way your chest heaved. Your other hand clutched your lyre so tightly your knuckles ached.

Then—

“Find the brat! I want them alive!” The gruff shout rang across the harbor from the entrance, sending a fresh wave of terror through you.

You heard boots splitting off in different directions, the scrape of weapons, muttered curses as the Eremites spread through the docks.

One set of footsteps came dangerously close. You froze.

They were right there, just on the other side of the crates. Close enough that you could hear the rough rasp of their breathing, the irritated mutter under their breath.

“Damn tigers being so aggressive…”

You clenched your jaw to stop your teeth from chattering.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t—

“Hey! What are you ruffians doing with my crates?!”

The voice cracked through the night like a whip. The Eremite near you jerked to a halt.

“Guards!” The newcomer bellowed, louder this time, voice rich with outrage. “Guards!”

Your eyes widened. The harbor, quiet just moments ago, suddenly exploded into life.

Lanterns flared brighter in nearby buildings. A door slammed open. Another voice shouted from farther down the docks. You heard the clatter of hurried footsteps and the unmistakable metallic jingle of armed patrol approaching.

“Who’s causing trouble at this hour?!” Someone barked.

The Eremite cursed viciously. From your hiding place, you risked the tiniest peek through the narrow gap between two crates.

A merchant stood at the end of the dock, red-faced and furious, pointing dramatically at the Eremites swarming around his cargo like angry vultures. Behind him, two harbor guards in Sumeru colors were sprinting over, spears in hand, with a few more close behind.

The Eremite leader clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Move,” he snapped. “Scatter.”

“But the target—”

“Not worth a public scene.”

Boots pounded against wood as they withdrew fast, melting into the shadows between warehouses and back toward the forest like a tide receding.

You didn’t move.

Your body stayed locked in place behind the crates, hand still clamped over your mouth, even after the last of their footsteps faded.

“Cowards!” the merchant yelled after them. “Touch my shipment again and I’ll have therer heads mounted on a stake!”

The guards reached him at last, breathless. “What happened?”

“Bandits, obviously!” the merchant huffed. “Creeping around my cargo like rats!”

One of the guards frowned and shook their head, continuing their conversation with the merchant. Their voices blurred together in the background, distant and unimportant compared to the thunder still pounding in your chest.

You decided to ignore them.

For now, you just needed to breathe.

Slowly… in… out… in… out. Your hand pressed against your ribs as if you could physically calm your racing heart. The crates beneath you were rough and solid, the smell of spices and wood filling the air.

Safe.You were safe—

The boat moved.

The sudden lurch snapped you out of your thoughts.

Your head whipped around.

The dock was moving…

No.

The ship was.

You scrambled up from the crates, nearly slipping again as the vessel gently rocked against the tide. Lanternlight from the harbor drifted farther and farther away, ropes being hauled, sails unfurling with a heavy whump above you.

Your eyes widened in horror.

“—set the sails! The earlier we set off, the earlier we arrive!” A sailor’s voice barked somewhere above deck. You stared at the shrinking dock, mind going blank.

…You were on a departing ship.

Of course you were.

Of course the one place you hid just happened to be leaving port.

You dragged a hand down your masked face and let out a muffled groan of despair before slumping back down onto the crates.

“…Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

You sank back onto the crates with all the grace of a corpse collapsing into a grave, your lyre slipping uselessly into your lap. For one long moment, you just sat there in stunned silence, too exhausted to even panic properly.

Then the panic came anyway.

Your mind raced through every terrible possibility at once.

Would they find you and throw you overboard?

Could you even survive a sea voyage hiding among crates and spice sacks like some desperate raccoon?

Gods.

You dragged both hands down your face, muffling a strangled groan into your palms. “This is what I get,” you whispered bitterly to yourself. “This must be punishment for that lyre performance.”

The ship groaned again as it caught the wind, swaying into deeper waters. You looked out once more at the shrinking lights of Bayda Harbor, dread pooling in your stomach.

Please.

Somewhere safe.

Somewhere you at least vaguely knew how to survive.

You curled tighter against the crates, hat tipped low over your face, every muscle still aching from the chase.

“Gods…” You muttered under your breath, voice thin with exhaustion and stress. “Please let this be towards to Liyue.”

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 5 ✦ Part 7 ✦

a/n: Varka makes me want to go back playing genshin anyway heres the next part, sorry for the long ass wait. Were almost to Mondstadt :D Although the next chapters might be hard for the reader and be forced to think about their past.

Taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @lilacoaks @angelasylum00 @khalhaimdad @genshin-impacts-me @desirabletravel @eyeless-kun @avocaea 

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 4 ✦ Part 6 ✦

A lost Composer 5

After a few more days passed, your coin pouch felt a little heavier, the result of long nights playing at the tavern to toss a few extra mora your way. You’d used the surplus wisely: Stocking up on essentials, securing provisions, and even treating yourself to a sturdy, brand-new tent.

Your final stop before leaving Sumeru City was meant to be the Zubayr Theater. Part of you had hoped for a spark of excitement, maybe even a chance to catch a performance before you set off. But when you arrived, the grand hall was quiet. The lanterns were dim, the stages empty. The festival that had filled the streets with music and color only days ago had ended, leaving behind an echo of celebration and silence in its wake.

No crowds, no fanfare, no last-minute invitations.

Just a quiet theater, resting after the storm of festivities.

With a faint, wistful sigh, you adjusted the strap of your pack and turned toward the northern city gates. Your next stage waited somewhere beyond Sumeru’s borders. 

Mondstadt awaits.

✧✧✧✧✧

You were halfway across the northern city gates, the sun warm, on your back and your pack heavier than ever with supplies, when a familiar voice called out from behind you.

"Leaving already? Did I miss your last performance?"

You froze mid-step, your heart skipping, then turned on your heel. There she was. The same woman from the tavern, her poise as effortless as the day you first met her. That same gentle smile curved her lips, though her eyes held something far sharper, far more curious.

A grin spread across your face before you could stop it. With a dramatic flourish, you reached up to take off your worn farmer’s hat and swept into an exaggerated bow, so deep you nearly smacked the brim against the ground.

“My lady,” you greeted playfully, tilting your head up just enough to meet her gaze with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Seems like we've met again. Here to give me more sweets?”

She chuckled, a soft, knowing laugh that only made you want to push your theatrics further. “Ah, so that’s what you remember me for? A few pieces of candy?”

“Of course,” you said dramatically, placing a hand over your chest as if wounded. “A sweet gift from a sweet encounter.”

Her amusement lingered, but beneath it, her gaze sharpened ever so slightly, like she was peering straight through your performance to the truth beneath. “I didn’t expect you to leave so soon,” she said looking through the forest behind you, “Sumeru has grown rather fond of you.”

"Oh my, you flatter me," you said with a grin, one hand pressed dramatically over your chest as though her words had struck you straight through the heart. "But alas, I must resume my journey, for the road beckons me to continue. Plus, I’m not in the mood for an encore."

The woman giggled, clearly entertained by your theatrics. “May I ask where your journey leads?” she asked, her voice light and curious.

She tilted her head slightly, that same soft smile playing on her lips but her eyes told a different story. They were sharp, observant, studying you with the quiet patience of someone turning over puzzle pieces in her mind.

“Or,” she added after a beat, “would you rather I guess?”

You met her gaze, and for a moment, you felt as though she might actually be able to. That she could peel away the layers of playfulness and find the person beneath the mask.

Someone you're not fond of.

You forced a chuckle, acting unbothered. “Oh, guessing games, are we?” you mused, voice light. “Dangerous business, that. What if you’re right, and I lose my air of mystery forever?”

Her smile deepened, a touch of mischief shining through. “Then perhaps you should answer carefully,” she replied smoothly. “So you can keep that mystery intact.”

You let out a thoughtful hum, tilting your head slightly as though weighing her words, when in truth you were simply buying yourself time. Your grin stayed easy, playful, but behind it, your mind was racing.

She’s sharp, you realized, watching her carefully from beneath the brim of your worn farmer’s hat. Back at the tavern, you’d brushed her off as merely curious. Perhaps just another local intrigued by a wandering musician. But now? Now her gaze felt too focused, too calculating. This wasn’t idle small talk. She wanted something from you.

But what?

Information? Perhaps. Though what secrets could a simple bard possibly hold? Or maybe she was after your past, the one you’d buried beneath layers of masks, melodies, and forced smiles. The one you’d sworn never to speak of again.

You shifted your weight, a hand brushing lightly over the case at your side, grounding yourself. No, you thought firmly. If I want to move on, if I truly want to leave that old life behind, I can’t give her or anyone even a sliver of it.

You straightened your posture, a roguish smirk tugging at your lips as you slipped effortlessly back into character.

“Well,” you began, voice light and teasing, buying yourself precious seconds while you scrambled internally for a clever lie. Or at least some flashy deflection, to steer this sharp-eyed woman away from her probing questions.

Before you had to think too hard, salvation arrived in the form of another local, who suddenly swooped into the conversation. He slung an arm casually around your neck, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey now, how about one last song before you leave, eh?”

Relief bloomed in your chest, though you masked it beneath a theatrical sigh. You recognized him immediately—a familiar face from the taverns where you often performed. You never quite figured out why he always came to watch you play, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less. This was the perfect excuse to slip away from the woman’s scrutiny.

“Why not?” you said with a playful grin, adjusting your worn farmer’s hat with a dramatic flourish. “Anything for a loyal fan.”

In one smooth motion, you hopped onto a nearby rock, pulling your lyre from its case and settling into a performer’s stance as the crowd began to gather.

Her eyes glinted with amusement, her voice carrying that teasing lilt again. “Strange,” she mused softly, “I could’ve sworn you said you weren’t in the mood for an encore.”

You didn’t miss a beat. With a casual shrug and a sly grin, you replied smoothly, “Ah, but who am I to deny a loyal fan’s request?”

Around you, the murmurs of the crowd grew louder as more people turned to see what was causing the commotion. Whispers rippled through the gathering onlookers, and you caught snippets of your name or rather, the name they’d given you, the masked musician. Clearly, they remembered the tavern performances where your songs had captured their hearts.

You let out a silent sigh as you adjusted the strings of your lyre, hands moving with practiced ease. So much for slipping away quietly, you thought wryly. You had been hoping to leave Sumeru like a ghost, your departure marked by nothing more than a faint memory.

But with the growing crowd, there would be no subtle exit.

A shame, you mused inwardly as you positioned your fingers over the strings. 

If I can’t vanish quietly… then I’ll leave with a bang. And with that thought, you struck the first note that silenced the crowd.

✧✧✧✧✧

Deep within the Sanctuary of Surasthana, a tiny god sat in quiet meditation, her small form perfectly still, eyes closed in serene focus. A gentle warmth blossomed in her chest, spreading through her like sunlight breaking through morning mist.

She felt… at peace.

Soft melodies drifted through her mind, achingly familiar, as though they had once been part of a distant dream. She knew this music, she was certain of it, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall where or when she had heard it before.

“Nahida.”

The tiny god’s brow furrowed, the serene calm of her meditation rippling like disturbed water. The melody lingered, hauntingly beautiful, just beyond her reach. Each note was delicate yet heavy with meaning, threading itself through the very air as though the world itself was holding its breath to listen.

Around her, the flora responded in kind. The massive trees of the Sanctuary shivered despite the stillness, their leaves rustling in reverent harmony. Blossoms unfurled, their petals trembling, as if the land itself remembered something its Archon could not.

“Nahida!”

The sharp call snapped her out of her trance. Nahida’s eyes fluttered open, shining with unshed tears. The music still clung to her like a fading dream, and her heart ached with a yearning she couldn’t name.

Wanderer stood before her, arms crossed, expression edged with his usual impatience. But when he saw the tears brimming in her eyes, his scowl softened... barely.

He let out a rough huff, averting his gaze as though annoyed with himself for caring.

“They’re here,” he said bluntly, voice carrying a strange weight. “And they’re waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Hat Guy,” Nahida said softly, her small hands brushing away the last traces of tears. She didn’t fully understand why the melody had moved her so deeply, why her chest felt so warm and heavy at the same time, but there was no time to dwell on it now. Composing herself, she rose to her feet and walked beside Wanderer, leaving the quiet of the Sanctuary behind.

Despite his usual air of indifference, Wanderer’s sharp gaze flickered toward her now and then, subtle but unmistakable, as if checking to see if she was truly alright. Nahida noticed, of course, but chose not to comment. Instead, she offered him a soft smile.

“If you would like,” she said gently, “you could join the meeting. It might be more effective than going on your own investigations.” Her tone was light, teasing but sincere. “Only if you wish to, of course. I imagine you don’t enjoy being kept in the dark.”

Wanderer paused, caught off guard, then scoffed and turned his head sharply away.

“No,” he said, voice clipped and firm.

Nahida giggled, the sound soft and musical. “Very well. I’ll tell you what we discuss afterward.”

Wanderer huffed, letting out an irritated noise that sounded far too close to a pout. “Don’t assume I care about you and your little gatherings. I have no interest in the god you all fawn over.” His words were sharp, but there was an almost imperceptible edge of defensiveness beneath them.

Nahida tilted her head, unoffended as always, and met his glare with gentle amusement.

“I see,” she said calmly. “Although I do have to wonder if that’s why you’ve been visiting the taverns so frequently as of late.”

That earned her a visible twitch from Wanderer, his shoulders stiffening as he narrowed his eyes.

“It was for my thesis,” he snapped, a bit too quickly.

Nahida’s soft giggle returned, light and knowing. “Of course you were.”

✧✧✧✧✧

Once Nahida entered the pavilion, she was met with shouting, “I’m telling you, Their Grace is here!” a familiar voice cried, loud and insistent. Venti stood in the center of the room, cheeks flushed, his green cape fluttering as he gestured wildly with his hands. His usually playful tone was edged with frustration, like a string pulled too tight.

Across from him, a tall woman with flowing purple hair and an elegant yet imposing presence crossed her arms, glaring down at him with an exasperated look. “And I’m saying your intoxicated, bard,” Raiden Ei replied sharply, her voice carrying the same finality as a thunderclap. “Their Grace is in Natlan right now. Didn’t Nahida send you a letter just a few days ago? They moved locations recently.”

Venti stomped his booted foot against the polished floor, almost pouting like a child. “No, no, no! You don’t understand! I heard them! I felt them! Their music, it flowed through the wind itself. It’s here, in Sumeru! I’d stake every last bottle of dandelion wine on it!”

Ei’s brows furrowed, her expression caught between disbelief and irritation. “Your senses are clouded. You’re chasing an echo and disrupting this meeting with baseless claims.”

Before Venti could retort, Nahida cleared her throat softly, her small voice cutting through the heated argument like a bell chiming in still air. Both Archons turned to her immediately, the tension in the room shifting toward her presence.

“Now, now,” Nahida said gently, though her bright eyes shimmered with curiosity. “Why don’t we all take a breath and start again?” She paused, looking at Venti with knowing concern. “Venti… what exactly did you hear?”

Venti spun toward her, his teal eyes wide and brimming with an almost desperate excitement. He clutched his hands to his chest, as if cradling the memory of the melody itself.

“It wasn’t just a song, Nahida,” he said, his voice trembling between awe and urgency. “It was theirs. The music carried their warmth, their essence. It was unmistakable! It wove through the winds, soft and divine, and for the first time in centuries, I felt… home.” His last word broke like a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

Nahida’s breath caught, her small hands folding neatly in front of her. The ache in her heart, the strange yearning from her earlier meditation, now pulsed sharper, as if resonating with Venti’s words. She tilted her head slightly, her expression calm, though her mind raced.

“Are you certain it wasn’t the festival’s music?” Ei cut in, her tone clipped but not entirely unkind. Her arms remained crossed, though her grip tightened slightly. “Sumeru has been bustling with travelers and performers lately. Even the most skilled musician can misinterpret a sound when they are so… invested in hearing something else.”

Venti rounded on her, his face flushed with indignation. “This wasn’t just music, Ei!” he snapped. “This was their grace flowing through every note. I would know their touch anywhere. No mortal could create such harmony. Not even the most talented of bards.” His voice cracked as he added, “I would never mistake it.”

Nahida’s fingers curled slightly against her clothes, her small face serene even as her heart began to pound. Venti’s desperation, his unshakable certainty, echoed the warmth she herself had felt earlier. The melody that had made the very flora of the Sanctuary tremble with joy.

She drew in a quiet breath, her mind rapidly connecting threads of information: the sudden flourishing of Sumeru’s forests, the Aranara’s heightened delight, Venti’s claim and that masked musician at the edge of the city.

“Venti,” Zhongli said steadily. “Can you describe what you heard? Not just the sound, but… what it felt like.”

Venti’s head snapped toward Zhongli, his frantic energy momentarily stilled by the weight of the Geo Archon’s calm, commanding presence. The bard closed his eyes as if to pull the memory from the very depths of his soul.

“It felt…” His voice faltered for a moment before regaining strength, trembling with reverence. “It felt like the first spring breeze after a cruel winter. Like laughter shared beneath the branches of a thousand-year-old tree. It was soft, tender, yet vast—like a song woven by the world itself.” His hands clenched tightly over his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “Each note was filled with them. I would never mistake their melody.”

The room fell into a hush. Even Ei’s sharp expression faltered, her lips parting as if to speak but no words coming forth.

Nahida’s heart pounded in her small chest, the ache from earlier swelling into something nearly overwhelming. The warmth I felt during meditation… Her gaze softened, and she clasped her hands together tightly in front of her. She understood now why the trees had swayed without wind, why the Aranara had been so inexplicably joyous. This was no mere rumor, no echo born of a bard’s drunken fancy.

Before she could voice her realization, Zhongli’s calm, deliberate tone rolled through the room like a low drumbeat.

“And this melody,” he asked, his golden eyes half-lidded in thought, “Where did you hear it most strongly, Venti?”

Venti’s hands clutched at his chest as though holding onto the fading remnants of the song.

“At first, it came from the streets of Inazuma,” he said, his voice reverent. “For weeks, the wind carried their song to me. It was fleeting at first, but it grew clearer, stronger, until there was no doubt in my heart.” His breath hitched, his words tumbling faster as his excitement rekindled. “But then… the wind shifted. It told me their melody had moved—across the sea, all the way to Sumeru City.”

Zhongli hummed low in his throat, his brows knitting slightly.

“So they traveled,” he mused, tapping lightly against his teacup. “Odd indeed…” He took a slow sip of tea, unhurried as ever, his golden gaze thoughtful and shadowed.

Raiden Ei, however, did not share his calm. She straightened, her violet eyes narrowing with sharp precision. “Liyue should have been their stop before Sumeru,” she interjected firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “Inazuma was last on Their Grace’s itinerary before returning to Natlan. That has always been the schedule.”

Zhongli silently poured more tea into her cup, and though she accepted it with a curt nod, her grip on the porcelain was tense.

“That would imply,” Zhongli said carefully, setting the teapot down with a muted clink, his voice carrying the weight of stone, “that either the schedule was altered without informing us… or that someone else is posing as Their Grace.”

Raiden Ei’s posture straightened, her sharp gaze hardening like drawn steel. Venti, in contrast, leaned forward with a lazy-seeming slouch, though the edge in his voice betrayed his seriousness. “Which one is it?” he asked lightly, yet each word was pointed, cutting through the air like the whistle of an arrow.

Nahida’s small hands folded neatly in her lap as she inhaled softly. “That,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “is exactly what I wish to discuss.”

Zhongli reached for the teapot again, pouring warm tea into Nahida’s delicate cup with his usual deliberate grace. She nodded in thanks before continuing.

“I’ve encountered this stranger a few times,” Nahida admitted, her bright jade eyes flickering with unease. “They’ve always been disguised as a local—mask, humble clothing, nothing that would draw suspicion. At first, I thought little of it, given how many travelers have gathered for the festival…” She trailed off, her lips pressing together as she recalled the fleeting encounters.

Across the table, Venti tilted his head like a curious songbird, his teal eyes narrowing. “And their music?” he prompted gently.

Nahida’s fingers curled slightly around her cup. “I’ve only heard it once,” she confessed, her voice softening. “But it was enough. Even in that single moment, I could feel the trees around the Sanctuary stir with joy. The Aranara themselves seemed… overcome.”

Venti’s breath caught audibly, his entire body going taut.

Raiden Ei’s brow furrowed, her voice measured but sharp. “And you did not confront them?”

Nahida shook her head slowly, her small hands resting neatly in her lap. Though her voice remained calm, a faint crease of worry marred her otherwise serene expression. “I couldn’t,” she admitted softly. “At the time, I was focused on attending to Our Grace during their visit. My attention was entirely devoted to their needs and ensuring their stay went smoothly.”

Her eyes lowered, thoughtful and troubled. “When the visit ended, however, I began to notice… strange shifts among my people. Citizens suddenly flocking to the taverns, a peculiar excitement spreading through the city like wildfire. Even my charge, who had always been disinterested in such things, began showing a keen interest in tavern performances.” Nahida paused, her delicate fingers tightening slightly. “I wondered at the time what had sparked such behavior. Now, I suspect the answer.”

The room was quiet save for the faint clink of porcelain as Zhongli refilled his cup, his golden eyes fixed intently on the young Dendro Archon.

“Only today did the final piece fall into place,” Nahida continued, her voice steady but threaded with urgency. “With the signs aligning—the flourishing flora, Venti’s testimony, and my own fleeting encounter with their music—I have come to a conclusion.”

She lifted her gaze, meeting each of theirs in turn. “I believe this stranger may very well be the source of the melodies that have stirred the land… and the hearts of the people.”

“I believe this stranger might be Their Grace and the one who currently sits upon the throne may, in truth, be an imposter,” Nahida said quietly, her voice steady despite the weight of her words.

After a beat of silence, Nahida continued, her tone calm but resolute.

“However, we must remain cautious,” she said, folding her small hands before her. “If this theory proves true, then our next steps must be handled delicately. Any misstep could cause panic—or alert the imposter before we are ready.”

Venti leaned forward, his teal eyes alight with fierce conviction. “Then we must find them. If it’s truly them, they shouldn’t be wandering alone. Not when their very presence is enough to set the world yearning.”

Zhongli nodded gravely. “And if it is not them,” he added, “then we must uncover who wields such power before chaos takes root.”

Raiden’s grip on her teacup tightened. “Either way,” she said quietly, “we cannot ignore this any longer.”

✧✧✧✧✧

With an overly theatrical wave, you bid the crowd farewell, grinning all the while. But the moment you were out of sight, you buried your face in your hands and let out a muffled groan.

Gods, what were you thinking? you scolded yourself silently. Why in the world did you decide to play the lyre when you were still learning? And to make things worse, you hadn’t even warmed up your voice before singing!

You groaned into your palms, the sound of your own voice echoing faintly in your memory—off-key in some parts, cracking in others. “Gods above…” you muttered through gritted teeth, dragging your hands down your face until they rested on your neck.

You kicked a stray pebble off the dirt road, shoulders slumping as the adrenaline faded and embarrassment settled in full. “Truly, the epitome of musical grace.”

You exhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you trudged along the dirt path. “Note to self,” you muttered under your breath, “Never. Ever. Touch an instrument you barely know in front of a crowd again.”

The memory of the mismatched chord echoed in your mind, sharp and dissonant. You winced. “Ugh, guess I wont be sleeping tonight.” You sighed again, tugging at your hat brim in defeat. “At least they clapped… maybe out of kindness. Or pity. Probably pity.”

You shook your head, forcing a small laugh. It was a learning experience, you thought. A repeated learning experience, you just never learned  With a resigned shrug, you adjusted the strap of your pack and kept walking. “Next time, warm up first. And stick to instruments you actually know, idiot.”

Still, despite your mortification, you couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you. The crowd had laughed, cheered, and tossed you a few coins regardless perhaps out of pity, but still. You tugged your hat lower over your face, half to hide from the world and half to muffle the grin tugging at your lips.

Unaware of the quiet miracle left in your wake, you kept walking lost in your thoughts, grumbling to yourself about wrong chords and shaky notes. But behind you, the world seemed to stir. Tiny critters peeked out from the underbrush, their bright eyes following your every step. Flowers turned their faces toward the sun and bloomed where your boots had touched the soil, colors unfurling in soft ripples across the path.

The air itself seemed lighter, the breeze humming faintly with the remnants of your song—as if Teyvat itself was still listening.

For the first time in centuries, the land had heard Their Grace’s voice once more. And though you remained blissfully unaware, the world itself was rejoicing.

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 4 ✦ Part 6 ✦

a/n: I’ll be real, I stop playing Genshin ever since I got Bennett’s skin. So I have no idea whats happening in Nod Krai or any of the new characters :/ I’m probably missing a lot of lore. But I’ll still continue this story, since I already have an ending plan for it.

Taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @lilacoaks @angelasylum00 @khalhaimdad @genshin-impacts-me 

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 3 ✦ Part 5 ✦

A lost Composer 4

Somewhere within the quiet sanctum of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, a tiny god wandered the marbled halls in thought, her bare feet making no sound against the cool stone. Outside, the flora of Sumeru danced with life lush, vibrant, and unusually exuberant, as if the land itself were humming a joyful tune. 

The trees swayed not just with the breeze, but with purpose. The flowers bloomed early, wide and radiant. Even the ever-elusive Aranara flitted about more openly, giggling in their strange tongue and whispering secrets to the wind.

The Dendro Archon, watched it all unfold from the many windows of her sanctuary. She had spoken with the Aranara, listened to their riddles and gentle stories, and heard the way they spoke of a return. Of music and grace. Of something once lost now finding its way home.

It wasn’t uncommon for the Aranara to be cryptic, but this time… their joy was real. Unmistakable.

And it wasn’t because of her.

No, they had said it clearly, reverently: “Their Grace is back.”

Nahida rested a delicate hand against the frame of an open window as the wind drifted past, unusually fragrant and melodic, as if carrying the faintest trace of a tune.

Something or someone was stirring the very soul of Sumeru.

✧✧✧✧✧

 

After playing at the tavern you peruse the shops of Sumeru with careful eyes, weaving through stalls filled with spices, exotic fruits, silks, and instruments of every shape and tone. Today, your goal is simple: find a case for your lyre.

A gift far too precious to leave unguarded. 

As you run your fingers along a line of handcrafted cases, testing their stitching and fit, a more practical thought settles in: 

You can’t carry every instrument you long to play. Not with your feet still wandering and your pack already heavy. Your enthusiasm might be endless, but your arms are not.

It’s a bittersweet realization. You imagine one day sitting before a grand harp, fingers trembling as they pluck strings you’ve never touched before. Even if it isn’t yours, yet you still dream of hearing that sound under your hands.

You settle on a modest but sturdy case lined with soft green fabric, something that will keep the lyre safe through the roads ahead. As the shopkeeper wraps it, you glance over your shoulder at the other instruments with a wistful smile.

You may not carry them all, but you’ll chase their songs wherever your journey takes you.

One day, you thought.

Your plan had been simple, visit the Zubayr Theater, maybe peek in, maybe even sit in the far back to watch. But like every time before, the guards at the entrance held up a hand, firm but polite. “Full house,” they said. Again. 

And from the excited chatter of the crowd outside, you gathered it was for good reason. The final night of the festival, the grand closing performance.

Of course the theater would be packed. You weren’t the only one turned away, but it didn’t ease the sting.

So, you gave a quiet nod and turned around, making your familiar walk of shame back down the steps, You tried not to dwell on it. Tried not to let your curiosity take over for what made the citizen of Sumeru so excited this past few days.

When you arrived at the tavern, the familiar warmth wrapped around you like a cloak. You greeted the bartender with a smile, nodding to a few patrons who raised their mugs and gave you cheerful waves. 

But tonight, you didn’t unpack your flute. You didn’t pull out your lyre or warm up your voice. Instead, you found a quiet spot near the back and sat down, content to watch someone else step into the light for once. You let the music wash over you, gentle and unfamiliar, your hands cradling a warm drink rather than an instrument.

Tonight, you weren’t the performer. Just a listener.

The soft clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation, and the steady rhythm of the musician’s tune all blended into a comforting backdrop as you quietly enjoyed your meal. The warmth of the tavern, familiar and lived-in, wrapped around you like a blanket. It was one of those rare moments of stillness, you greatly enjoy.

And that calm was gently interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

You turned slightly, looking up to see a young woman standing beside you. Her clothing marked her as a local, flowing fabric in the soft greens and golds typical of Sumeru’s style, adorned with delicate embroidery that hinted at both artistry and practicality.

She smiled politely, tilting her head. “Would you mind if I sit here?”

You offered a soft smile in return, gesturing to the empty seat across from you. “Not at all.”

She sat down with an air of quiet confidence, placing her hands neatly on the table. Though she said nothing at first, her eyes lingered on you with faint curiosity, as if she knew something she wasn’t quite ready to speak aloud. Still, her presence didn’t feel intrusive… only curious, patient, and maybe just a little familiar.

Not wanting to be swallowed by the awkward quiet that had begun to settle, you parted your lips to speak but the young woman beat you to it.

“So,” she asked softly, her eyes studying you with a calm, inquisitive gaze, “how are you finding our nation so far?”

You blinked at the sudden question, then leaned back slightly, humming thoughtfully. Her tone was casual, but her attention was sharp, like someone quietly observing more than just your words. Still, the question was harmless enough.

You gave her a polite smile, one that came naturally. “It’s been great, actually. This is my first time traveling to a foreign land… and so far, I’m really enjoying myself.”

She nodded, almost as if she expected your answer. “I’m glad,” she said simply, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Sumeru can be a strange place for newcomers—especially during a celebration like this. There’s a lot of... noise. But maybe you’ve brought some of your own.”

The comment hung in the air, light but loaded. She said it with a smile, but something in her tone made you wonder just how much she knew.

But you brush past the weight of her words. It would be rude to assume.

You let out a light chuckle, trying to keep the mood pleasant. “Oh! Indeed I have,” you said, a touch of playfulness in your voice. “I’ve been enjoying myself quite a bit, singing and playing for the tavern patrons.” 

You leaned back in your chair, a relaxed smile spreading across your face. “They’ve been rather generous with their coin lately. I must admit, it feels nice... to be appreciated.”

The woman returned your smile with a gentle one of her own, nodding quietly as she listened. “I’m glad,” she replied, her tone sincere. Then, after a short pause, her voice lowered slightly still soft, but now tinged with something more curious. “Though… there have been a few whispers. Rumors, if you will.”

That caught your attention, your expression tightening just slightly before you masked it with a light laugh. “Rumors?” you echoed, feigning amusement while subtly tensing beneath your calm exterior. “Pray tell, what kind of rumor?”

Your tone was playful, but you couldn’t help the flicker of nervousness behind your smile. 

The woman’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes gleamed with a quiet knowing as she leaned in just a little.

“They say there’s a traveler, a traveler that wears a mask” she began, almost conspiratorially, “who sings so beautifully, so soulfully, that their voice could rival their Grace’s.”

Your heart skipped—just once—but you kept your expression smooth.

There was that word again…

Your lips still curled in a half-smile.

“Oh?” you said lightly, laughing under your breath. “That’s quite the compliment. I’m not sure who started that one, but I assure you, I’m just a humble street performer with a cheap flute and a borrowed drum.”

She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her expression. “Maybe so,” she said, “but the rumors persist. The way people describe your music… it’s not just skill. They say it feels divine.”

You looked away for a moment, focusing on the worn wood of the table, the clink of glasses in the background, the sound of the other performer still strumming softly behind you. Anything but her eyes.

You cleared your throat and offered a lopsided grin. “Well, I suppose if the stories bring in more coin, I can’t complain, but—” You grinned wider, cupping your face with both hands in mock flattery. “Oh, you make me blush.”

She chuckled, but didn’t press further. Still, you felt her watching you, not with suspicion, but curiosity. Like she was trying to figure out a puzzle you didn’t even realize you were a part of.

The moment stretched a little too long, so you let your hands fall and leaned forward, fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup. “You’ve got a sharp look about you,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Do you make a habit of analyzing wandering musicians?”

Her smile remained, but now it looked a little knowing. “Only the interesting ones,” she replied. “Especially those who don’t seem to realize the ripple they leave behind.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. Before you could ask what she meant, she stood, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves.

“It was nice speaking with you,” she said with a polite nod. “I hope I hear your music again soon, maybe at the Zubayr Theater next time.”

You watched her rise with that same unreadable grace, but you weren’t about to let her go without a little flair.

With a dramatic sigh, you slumped back in your seat and clutched your chest. “Leaving already? And here I thought we were building something special,” you said, voice laced with mock heartbreak.

She paused mid-step and turned her head just slightly, a soft chuckle escaping her. “You performers really are full of theatrics,” she said, amused.

You gave her a grin. “It’s part of the charm.”

From her pocket, she pulled a small paper-wrapped bundle and gently placed it on the table in front of you. “For your voice,” she said, “and maybe… a bit of sweetness for the road.”

You blinked at the candied Ajilenakh Nuts, taken aback by the small kindness.

Before you could thank her properly, she simply smiled and slipped back into the crowd with a wave, vanishing between laughter and clinking glasses.

You stared after her for a moment, then looked down at the treat in your hand. A quiet gift, laced with mystery just like everything else tonight.

You popped one into your mouth, chewing slowly as the soft music resumed in the background. Sweet… and warm.

What an odd encounter that was…

✧✧✧✧✧

Nahida stood beneath the soft canopy of Sumeru’s ancient trees, the sunlight threading gold through the leaves like blessings. She had sensed the approach before he arrived—his presence familiar, sharp as ever, but no longer as volatile.

She didn’t look up right away. “I didn’t expect you to visit today.”

“I didn’t come to chat,” came the curt voice of the Wanderer, his arms crossed, expression unreadable as ever.

Nahida turned her gaze to him with her usual calm, curious smile. “Then what brings you here?”

Wordlessly, he produced a folded letter and handed it to her. The paper was of fine quality, sealed with the delicate emblem of a small Inazuman.

She broke the seal and read it.

It was written in careful strokes. They spoke of a mysterious musician—a masked traveler—who had once performed in Inazuma. Their melodies were described as otherworldly, soothing, divine. Birds would gather when they played, the cherry blossoms bloomed brighter, and even the sea breeze softened when the flute began to sing.

“Their presence,” the letter said, “breathed life into the air as if the gods themselves had whispered into the soil. We had not known peace like that in decades.”

Nahida’s brows gently lifted. Her fingers traced the final sentence, which lingered in her mind like an echo:

“We still don’t know their name, only that they left quietly... and the wind hasn’t sounded the same since.”

She looked up at the Wanderer, who stared somewhere off to the side, feigning disinterest.

“Do you believe this is the same traveler?” she asked gently.

“I don’t believe anything,” he snapped, though softer than usual. “But I’ve heard the same music in Sumeru now. Same pull. Same… feeling.”

Nahida’s gaze grew distant again, thoughtful. “Then the pieces are falling into place.”

She folded the letter with care and stood. “Thank you for bringing this.”

The Wanderer huffed and turned away, but paused.

“If they really are what you think they are,” he said without facing her, “then what will you do to the being playing god?”

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 3 ✦ Part 5 ✦

Taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @lilacoaks @angelasylum00 @khalhaimdad

[oh-wiw]

A lost Composer

Lost and alone, you travel to this familiar world, leaving behind your old world to achieve your dream. This fantastical world is your new world, so does your chest feel heavy? It doesn't matter, for this would be your journey on becoming a bard. And yet you still feel like you're walking in the dark...

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Main Journey ✦

✧ Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ Part 5 ✧ Part 6 ✧ Part 7 ✧ part 8 ✧

✦ Extras ✦

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 2 ✦ Part 4 ✦

A lost composer 3

Because of the sheer number of coins tossed into your worn hat. It was far more than you ever expected. You were finally able to buy a brand-new flute. It was a beautiful instrument, polished and finely crafted, nothing like the humble bamboo one that had carried you this far.

Excited beyond words, you left the city behind for a while and made your way into the quiet woods beyond the city's edge. You lifted the new flute to your lips. This time, you didn’t play the familiar melodies from your world. No covers, or no borrowed tunes.

✧✧✧✧✧

Instead, you began to compose. Slowly and uncertain at first, then with more freedom, more heart. Notes formed like breaths, like thoughts taking shape. The melodies were raw and unrefined, but they were yours.

You wrote each melody down in your little notebook, its pages already worn and smudged from travel. Every note, every rhythm born from the moment found a place in messy lines and rushed scribbles. There was no pressure to make it perfect.

You weren’t composing for anyone anyway. Just for yourself.

It wasn’t until you paused to turn a page in your notebook that you noticed it. A small figure nestled between the roots of a tree, peeking out with curious, glowing eyes. An Aranara. Watching you quietly, almost shyly, as if afraid it might scare you away just by being seen.

It was half-hidden behind a mossy root, watching you with wide, curious eyes. Its small hands clutched a leaf like a shield,

You froze for a moment, surprised, then slowly lowered your notebook. A smile tugged at your lips as you raised your flute again. Not to practice this time, but to play. You let a soft, gentle tune flow out, it wasn’t one of your own compositions or anything complicated.

Just a comforting melody, something meant to soothe and invite.

You played for the little one, each note an unspoken promise: It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re welcome here.

The Aranara didn’t run. Instead, it crept a little closer, drawn in by the sound, eyes no longer filled with fear, but wonder.

Seems you did have an audience after all.

One by one, the Aranara began to emerge from their hiding places. Behind tree trunks, under leaves, tucked between roots and rocks.

First just a few, then a dozen. Some sat quietly, listening with wide-eyed in anticipation, their tiny bodies swaying with the rhythm. But most picked up their little instruments made of wood, seedpods, or leaves, and joined in.

You didn’t lead. Not really.

You simply offered the melody like an open invitation and followed their rhythm, letting their playful tunes shape the flow. The music became something spontaneous as improvised harmony danced between you all bright, and so full of joy.

It wasn’t a polished performance, not in the slightest.

It was wild, chaotic. Notes fluttered, clashed, and soared. You all were playing for each other and that blend into a new melody. For once, you weren’t playing alone or for coin.

You were just playing, being a part of this jazzy melody beneath the forest canopy.

“Thank you for playing with us again,” one said, its voice light like the wind through leaves. “It is an honor playing with you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the word again. Before you could ask what they meant, another Aranara stepped forward, cradling something in its tiny arms: a wooden lyre, small and carefully carved, adorned with vines and petals woven into its frame.

“A gift for our Grace,” it said, gently holding it out to you.

You hesitated, heart catching in your throat. For a moment, the forest felt impossibly still.

You weren’t sure what they meant. You weren’t sure why they said it. But as your hands closed around the wooden lyre, you smiled and utter a small thank you to these small forest creatures.

The weight of it felt delicate in your hands, afraid you might break your new gift. You were just about to ask why they called you Grace, when a sudden rustle from the bushes snapped the moment apart.

The Aranara scattered in an instant, like rats in a kitchen, leaving behind only rustling leaves.

From the brush emerged a few people. Clearly locals, judging by their Sumeru-style clothing and earthy tones. They looked around in awe, searching the forest like they expected to see more.

“We heard music,” one of them said. “It was… incredible. Like something out of a dream.”

“Truly,” another added, stepping forward with wide eyes. “We thought there was a troupe of performers out here!”

You blinked at the sudden attention of strangers. “Just me,” you said casually, gesturing to your flute and now the lyre nestled beside it. Not wanting to sound like a loon at the existence of the aranaras.

They gushed with compliments about your tone, your skill, your unique sound. You couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm, a playful glint in your eye as you waved them off.

“Aww stop, you'll make me blush,” you said with a grin, not taking it all too seriously.

One of them piped up eagerly, “You should play at the Zubayr Theater! With your talent, the place would be packed every night.”

You gave a polite smile, and about to decline the offer gently. After all, you weren’t looking for a spotlight, for a coin maybe, but you're tired of chasing such things.

Before the words could leave your lips, someone else chimed in with quiet sincerity, “I’m sure their Grace would love to hear you play.”

You froze, just for a moment.

Their Grace?

The words echoed in your mind. You’d heard them earlier, from the Aranara. And now again, from someone entirely different. A coincidence? You hoped so. Your fingers brushed instinctively against the wooden lyre cradled at your side.

You forced a soft laugh, brushing it off. Maybe they just mean the Dendro Archon, you reasoned silently. That would make sense… wouldn’t it? But you’re not Nahida.

Also isn’t Nahida close with the Aranaras? you mused silently, your eyes drifting to the place where the aranaras had vanished.

Why would they call you your Grace if Nahida is their Archon?

You sigh, frustrated. Clearly, trying to think further into this thought only gives you more questions than answers.

Instead you answer their question with a small, kind smile, your fingers absently brushing the strings of your lyre. “Maybe,” you said, voice tinged with hesitation.

The thought of stepping onto a stage again under lights, in front of an audience felt distant, almost unreal. It had been a long time since you'd performed like that. Not since your old world.

You don’t like it.

How the feeling grips your chest, wanting to make you choke. Like a hand tightening around your lungs, sharp and suffocating.

It's heavy.

It makes your throat dry, your body tense with unease. And god how you wish it was merely stage fright. How simple and easier would that be, if you were only scared.

You push those feelings down and offer the locals a warm smile—gentle, practiced. “But I will definitely play at the tavern again tonight,” you say lightly, strumming your fingers against strings of your new lyre. “If you still want to hear me play.”

They lit up with excitement, nodding and grinning, and just like that, the pressure in your chest loosened... if only a little.

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 2 ✦ Part 4 ✦

a/n: I don’t know how aranara speaks despite finishing that sumeru world quest ToT Also hiii :) I’ve never played an instrument before, besides those cheap bamboo flutes for kids. So I know nothing about music theory or composition.

Taglist: @fantasyhopperhea

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 1 ✦ Part 3 ✦

A lost composer 2

You arrived at Sumeru, apparently you entered the wrong ferry and entered the land of dendro. You were so excited to go to Mondstadt that you boarded the wrong boat in your excitement to finally leave Inazuma behind.

It didn’t matter that you had boarded the wrong ferry, because as you stepped Port Ormos, you remembered the Zubayr Theater beneath the Akademiya. A place where music and the creative arts thrived and maybe, just maybe, they'd let you perform. And with any luck, earn enough mora to buy instruments you’d never had the chance to touch back in your own world.

✧✧✧✧✧ 

The cheap bamboo flute in your bag has served you well. Its familiarity was a comfort, and playing it came as naturally as breathing. It’s sound easy to summon thanks to years of intimate practice. But now, something inside you longed for more. Strings, drums, reeds. Sounds that is foreign to your finger, you hoped to explore sounds you had only ever imagined. 

You first took a moment to fix your mask, adjusting its fit carefully so it sat just right on your face. Then you smoothed out the wrinkles in your kimono, brushing off the dust of travel. With that done, you stepped into the crowd and began to mingle.

The air was buzzing with excitement, conversations overlapped and the streets felt more alive. You made your way through the crowd, asking around, hoping to catch a ride to Sumeru City. But your hopes were quickly dashed with a polite answer and a firm “no.”

You weren’t alone, though. Dozens of others were being turned away, all trying to make their way to the city for some grand event. Whatever was happening, it had captured the region’s full attention.

As you lingered by the edge of the crowd, weighing your dwindling options. You approach a small group of travelers. They, too, had been denied entry to the ferries heading to Sumeru City, but unlike most, they were willing to make the long trek on foot from Port Ormos through the vast, untamed forests of Sumeru.

You offer to join them. After all, you had no map, no compass, and no real knowledge of how to navigate the dense jungles and paths of this region. All you had was the in-game knowledge from the game. A general sense of direction, vague landmarks committed to memory, and a few expectations that might not translate into this very real, very alive world.

Fortunately, they agreed for you to join. With that, you set out on foot, following dirt roads.

In return for their kindness, you offered your own services to the group. During rest stops beneath the canopy of the jungles, you brought out your flute and filled the air with gentle melodies. Soft tunes drifted through the leaves, blending with the calls of wildlife and the rustle of the wind, turning quiet campsites into moments of peace.

When you weren’t performing, though. You helped wherever you could gathering firewood, assisting with simple meals, helping set out tents, all while keeping the mood light with the occasional hum or rhythm. The others seemed to appreciate it as laughter came easier around the fire, and the long miles felt a little shorter with music weaving through the road.

The city thrummed with life the moment you arrived. The streets were a swirl of colors and motion, alive with scholars debating under shaded arches, performers drawing crowds with graceful dances and merchants calling out deals in every corner.

A celebration was clearly on the rise. Bright lanterns hung from balconies and tree branches alike, swaying gently in the breeze. Streamers of silk and ivy criss crossed above the streets, and the air was thick with the scent of fresh spices, incense, and blooming flowers. Every corner buzzed with anticipation.

Sumeru City was certainly bustling this time of year, more than you had expected. You weren’t sure what the occasion was. Maybe a festival? You quickly discarded that thought. Mostly because of the sheer volume of people. And the crowds weren’t just local, people from all over Teyvat had gathered here for some reason. 

This wasn’t just a local celebration. It was something bigger.

Either way, you had a plan. With your flute in hand and a familiar tune on your lips, you took to the streets and taverns of Sumeru City, weaving your music through the busy air. Celebration or not, a crowd was a crowd and with more tourists than usual filling the streets, meant more mora to earn.

You didn’t know how long the celebration would last, or what exactly it was exactly for  but it didn’t matter. Because the extra mora quickly added up enough to afford better meals, even lodging that didn’t creak when you breathed.

Unaware of your growing influence, you played as you always did. Gently, sincerely, with no real goal beyond earning a few mora and passing time. But what started as a modest performance slowly became something more.

Crowds began to gather wherever you played. The tavern, once half-full on quiet nights, are now overflowed with eager listeners around tables and stairwells just to hear your melodies. On the streets, foot traffic slowed as travelers and locals alike stopped to listen, enchanted.

Eventually, the commotion drew attention although not all of it was welcome. The Eremites, acting as unofficial enforcers in certain parts of the city, stepped in to disperse the crowds and restore order. You took the hint. With a polite bow and a soft closing tune, you ended your performance early that day, not wanting to find yourself playing behind bars instead of on a street corner.

That night, you kept to the tavern’s shadowed, playing softer tunes for the patrons who still lingered, unaware of the effect your music had. You didn’t see the way people paused outside just to listen. You didn’t notice how even scholars lowered their books to follow the sound. 

To you, it was simply a song, another way to earn a little mora.

But to them, it was something more. Something they couldn’t name, but couldn’t forget.

You thought nothing of it. With the festival in full swing, it made sense that people would gather. Music was everywhere, after all. You assumed the crowd was drawn by the celebration, not by you. 

It was just a lucky coincidence, you told yourself, a moment where your flute happened to fit the mood.

And while that was partially true, no one truly expected you. A wandering, masked musician with a worn farmer’s hat  and a simple bamboo flute, to play with such grace. 

There was something in your music that words couldn’t touch: a quiet divinity that calmed restless hearts, slowed busy minds, and softened even the sharpest tempers.

To the people, it felt like more than talent. It felt like a blessing, one they couldn’t name, but couldn’t walk away from either.

It felt familiar.

✧✧✧✧✧ 

Somewhere far at sea, atop the swaying deck of a lone ship, a certain bard sat with his lyre resting gently in his lap. He strummed a soft chord, eyes half-lidded as he gazed toward the horizon. The breeze tugging playfully at his hair and cloak. A quiet sigh escaped his lips.

“Seems like the wind misled me,” he murmured with a wry chuckle.

He leaned back and began to hum to the unfamiliar melody. It wasn’t a song of old tales nor the future. It was something different. Something on the now. A tune born of the present moment, carried on the wind from a distant land in the north.

And as his fingers danced lightly across the strings, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Whoever you are,” he whispered to the wind, “please keep playing.”

✧✧✧✧✧ 

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 1 ✦ Part 3 ✦

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 2 ✦

A lost composer

You woke up with a gasp, body filled with sweat. You got hit. You know you did, but now you're surrounded by grass and trees. The plants seemed to be illuminated a blue hue, with the night sky. 

You immediately stand up and wondering where exactly you are, only to be met with the night sky.

You were expecting the usual void. The ink-black dome that has always stretched overhead like a ceiling smeared with charcoal. No shimmer. No depth. Just emptiness.

But tonight the sky is alive.

✧✧✧✧✧

At first, it's almost overwhelming, then you feel awe and then grief. It was slow and haunting, settling in your chest as if it was its home.

That dull throb of missing, of mourning, of remembering. But you don’t let it rise. Not tonight.

You push it down.

You ignore the feeling and focus on your present. As you walk through the strange, beautiful world, eyes forward, steps steady. There’s so much to see, so much to do than tto mourn whatever you are.

You begin to walk, and as you take in your surroundings. The sight of Fatui agents and hilichurls scattered in the distance. Then it finally clicks: you’ve somehow ended up inside the very game you used to play.

Driven by caution, you sneak around and manage to swipe a few things: just a cicin mage’s mask, some mora and just enough rations to get by. Later, you stumble across an abandoned kimono and a worn farmer’s hat. They're not much, but they'll help you blend in.

You walked until you stumbled upon a small village. With the mora you had taken, you bought a cheap bamboo flute. While it's mostly something children use, you know how to play a tune expertly. The villagers toss you a coin or two when you perform, and you end up staying in Konda village for a while. Eventually, you manage to catch a ride on a carriage heading to Inazuma City.

Arriving at the city the carriage rolled to a stop, guards eyeing every newcomer with practiced suspicion. You stepped down quietly, keeping your head low beneath the frayed brim of your hat, clutching your pack tightly, the weight of your stolen and modest goods. Hoping the guards wouldn't know.

The streets of Inazuma City is buzzed with activity: Merchants calling out their wares, patrons going on their business, children playing around and guards patrolling.

Finding a quiet corner near a bustling market square, you slipped underneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree and took out the cheap bamboo flute to play a tune. It was nothing of note, just a cover from an anime you watched. Yet it was clear enough to draw glances from passersby and some even giving a spare coin or two.

You do this for weeks, returning each day to the same quiet corner beneath the cherry blossom tree, its petals drifting gently around you. With your bamboo flute in hand, you play different tunes each day but most of them are covers from themes of a game or from shows you watch.

At first, it’s just curious villagers and children who stop to listen, tossing a few mora your way before moving on. But over time, you manage to grow a crowd. A merchant pauses longer than usual. A shrine maiden lingers on her way back to the Grand Narukami Shrine. Even a Tenryou Commission officer, in full armor, stops once, arms crossed, saying nothing, only listening.

It wasn't until the familiar faces of Inazuma began to approach you that you realized your quiet routine had stirred more than passing interest: 

One warm afternoon, as you finished a song beneath the cherry blossom tree, a cheerful voice called out. Thoma, smiling warmly. "Hey there," he said, crouching slightly to your level, "You’ve got quite the gift. How about joining me for some tea at the Komore Teahouse sometime? My treat." You blinked, caught off guard, but his invitation was genuine.

Days later you spot an eccentric fireworker, once you finished playing your tune. "Wow! That was amazing!" You look up to see Yoimiya beaming at you, her bright eyes practically sparkling. “Your music has such a warm feeling to it! The kids in the village would love it. You should come play for them sometime! What do you say?”

And recently, Arataki Itto himself stomped up, arms crossed and wearing his trademark grin. “Yo! Bamboo-flute traveler! We’ve been hearing about your tunes everywhere. But I bet you’ve never played TCG before, huh?” he declared proudly, holding up a new deck of Genius Invokation TCG cards. “Come chill with us! Loser gets to buy lunch!” He said handing you the deck.

You won, easily.

You spend your weeks beneath the cherry blossom tree, flute in hand, playing each day for whatever mora the townsfolk spare. It’s not a grand living, but it’s enough. Enough to buy the essentials and eventually, a small hand drum. You begin weaving it into your performances, adding rhythm to melody.

The mora trickles in bit by bit, but with time and persistence, you eventually gather enough to afford a ferry ride all the way to Mondstadt. You don’t need an encore to leave Inazuma with your flute and drum packed away, you set sail toward Mondstadt. 

Onto your next performance.

✧✧✧✧✧ 

Somewhere, both distant and intimately near, the Archons sat at a long white marble table. Five gods in silence, listening to the soft, wistful ballad played by the Wind Archon himself. In the center, slouched and indifferent, sat a figure who bore your face.

The Creator.

It had been centuries since the Creator last played a note, their silence explained away with soft explanations of “art block” and the absence of inspiration. The other Archons accepted it without question,each finding their own quiet way to offer encouragement or devotion. Hoping to spark something. Anything. That might lift the Creator’s hand to play again.

They wove festivals, built temples, composed songs and hymns in their honor, all in quiet reverence for the one who once shaped the world with sound. Yet it was only Barbatos who remained closest, never tiring in his effort.

Playing tune after tune, it was a burden he bore with a smile and a song, though weariness tugged at his soul. Still, he played for the chance, however slim, to hear the Creator’s music once more.

Until one evening in a tavern where Venti sat with a drink in hand, a small respite since the Creator is visiting the nation of dendro. He heard a melody, a melody he never heard before. Even with all his power knowing every piece of the past and future, he never once heard this kind of melody the wind sent him.

It didn’t have any lyrics but Venti hoped it was their Grace finally playing. Although curious enough, the melody was at Inazuma, not Sumeru. It made Venti question his sobriety. Was the wind playing a trick on him? Or something else?

But then came the next day. And the one after. Each time, a new melody danced through the breeze. No ordinary mortal could compose such sound, not with that quiet depth, that gentle command of emotion. It had to be them. Their Grace. Who else could stir the wind to stillness, make the world pause and listen? Only the Creator had ever held such power—to calm gods, to soothe storms, to make even silence sing.

Venti could no longer ignore it. Day after day, the melodies drifted in on the breeze—gentle, unassuming, but threaded with a power only he could recognize. Each note tugged at something ancient within him, something sacred. It had to be Their Grace. It must be. No bard, no scholar, no wandering soul could compose music that resonated with Teyavat itself.

It seems it's time to visit the land of electro.

✧✧✧✧✧ 

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 2 ✦

a/n : Inspired by this song and mostly other sagau writings about the reader being a musician. I feel like I should do the ideas one idea at a time, but this is just something quick, no planning or whatever.

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 1 ✦ Part 3 ✦

Letting go of the tension and anxiety in your body. You screamed.

Although it came with a cost - a hoarse throat. It may not be the smartest move to make, especially at night. 

But hey, at least you're no longer panicking.

✧✧✧✧✧

Your train of thought was abruptly cut off as something bright and swift struck the ground beside you. It was an arrow. A fire arrow, igniting the grass beneath it and illuminating the nearby area. You looked ahead, and spotted two otherworldly creatures standing in front you.

Humanoid creatures with a soft, fluffy collar and masks that seemed eerily familiar. Pyro hilichurls. That were earlier sleeping nearby… and they probably didn't appreciate you disturbing their rest with your earlier screeching.

You attempted to alleviate the awkward atmosphere with a greeting,”Uh.. Hey.” But the only response you received was an arrow loaded onto a crossbow.

Which signal you to run. Dodging the arrows that whistled past you, and you can only hope they won't be able to set the entire forest ablaze with their fiery projectiles. The thought of burning with the forest or getting plummeted on arrows only motivates you to run faster.

When the two hilichurls are out of sight, you took the opportunity to pause and catch your breath. The nearby tree provided the much-needed support as you leaned against it, your chest heaving. You took in deep breaths, hoping to slow your racing heart and regain some composure.

The cool air caressed your face, the only sound accompanying you is the leaves rustling through the wind. You focus your thoughts on the physical sensations and not the fact that you just saw two fictional enemies from a game you love. Or the simple realization they intend to shoot an arrow through your heart. Leaving you dead, bloodied…

No. 

Focus.

You force your restless mind to focus away from your situation. Anything to keep the panic from rising again. The rough texture of the tree bark beneath your fingers. The steady beat of your heart within your chest. The soft, melodic chirping of crickets in the night air, and the cool breeze gently caressing your skin.

Said wind strengthens as a gust of wind slaps your face, forcing you to grab onto the tree to keep from being blown away. You open your eyes, trying to understand what pulled you out of your thoughts, but are immediately struck by the same fierce wind once more.

An anemo slime hovers in front of you like a balloon, preparing to blast you away. Not wanting to be a flying kite. You quickly abandon the tree and take off running. But the slime has already unleashed its concentrated wind, lifting you off the ground.

Even if it was only just a moment, your heart still leaps out from your throat. You slam to the ground hurting your chin, but clumsy get up only to continue running. Even if you're a little dazed. You run.

You ran until your legs hurt, and you didn't stop until you saw the city in the middle of the lake. 

The city of freedom: Mondstadt.

From afar you can see the buildings, with their warm, golden lights spilling out from windows and lanterns, creating a soft, welcoming ambiance. The Favonius Cathedral stands tall and proud, its spires reaching toward the night sky. And the stone walls, sturdy and protective, stand strong, keeping its inhabitants safe.

While the water below mirrors the city in its entirety, reflecting the radiant moon and the twinkling stars above. Their luminous light dances upon the surface, making Mondstadt appear as if it is drifting effortlessly through the night sky.

It's beautiful. You pause for a moment, captivated by the breathtaking sight of the fictional city in the distance. 

You were so entranced, that you failed to notice the dendro slime silently creeping up close behind you. A sudden rustle, far too close. Snaps you back to reality. 

You turn around, heart lurching, just in time to see its curious eyes staring up at you. Startled, you stumble backward—your foot slips. And before you can react, you're tumbling down a small cliff, the world spinning in a blur of panic and dirt.

A groan escapes your lips as pain pulses through your body, while the world is still spinning around you. When the dizziness finally fades, a cold dread sinks in… you've landed on a hilichurl camp. 

The creatures, alerted by your rude entrance, quickly close in. Surrounding you from all sides holding their weapons. Instinctively, you scramble backward, for some desperate to put some space between you and them. Only to feel your back press against a solid, unyielding wall. 

Trapped and nowhere to run. You're completely surrounded.

A heavy thud slightly shakes the ground showing itself at front is a Mitachurl. They stomped toward you, its towering figure looming overhead. Causing your breath to hitch in fear as your legs turn cold.

As it raises its massive axe, your heart beats fast. As your instincts take over — you throw your arms up, shielding your face in sheer panic, bracing for the inevitable blow. 

But instead of pain, you felt a soft breeze pass across your cheek. Then, a voice calls out, loud and clear.

“Providing cover fire!”

“Everybody stand back!”

A soothing warmth feeling washes over you, wrapping around your entire body like an embrace. You watch in amazement as your bruises and scratches begin to fade away. 

You then jolted when a loud howl was heard in the battle. Your eyes snap forward, only to be met with pure chaos — hilichurls trying to chase someone down, are clashing with two boys. While someone is locked in combat with the massive Mitachurl, skillfully keeping the beast at bay.

You force your legs to move and sprint, but it only took you a few seconds for your legs to give up. Still in shocked from your near death experience. You internally curse yourself as a hand reaches out to aid you.

“Come quick, before they'll realize you're gone.”

You look up to see a familiar blue eyed blonde boy. He didn’t have time for your existential crisis and quickly grabbed your hand. Then run, forcing your legs to sprint away from the battle.

Finally away with the chaos the boy let go of your hand. “Okay we should be far enough… uh… are you okay?” The blonde asks as you stare intensely at the boy and you slowly reply with a light chuckle. 

Yup, you are officially insane.

You took a couple of deep breaths so that you're a little more composed when talking to them and utter: “Mika noʎ ʞuɐɥ┴.”

The blonde boy raises his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting a stranger to know his name. He then furrowed his brows, “I'm… sorry, I didn't get that.”

Your mouth stretched into a thin line, not expecting your words to sound different. You spoke again. “ǝɯ ƃuᴉʌɐs ɹoɟ noʎ ʞuɐɥʇ 'pᴉɐs I.”

Confusion fills you as you repeat the words more slowly, hoping the blonde boy would understand. He just shook his head, then gently grabbed your hand and guided you to sit down on a nearby rock.

“Nevermind that, here let me check if you're injured. Just to be sure.”

Mika quickly checked for any scratches and bruises, first aid at the ready and when found none he nodded. 

Then a loud snapping of branches took you by surprise, making you jolt. Mika at the ready to shoot with his crossbow. But instead of a Hilichurl or a wolf, the sight shown are two boys: One beat up with many scratches and a worried rugged boy holding up the other close.

“Bennett, hurt!”

The familiar white hair boy whines as he places the bruised boy down next to you. And Mika is already beside him, analyzing his wounds.

“Big bad, threw friend!”

“I'm fine, Razor. Plus this it's not my first time getting thrown.”

The enthusiastic boy grins while Razor only whines further. As Mika shook his head then rummaged his bag for the medkit.

Looking at the injured Bennett you noticed they don't exactly match their appearance in the game. Razor looks more wild, Mika a bit softer and Bennett has more scars than his in-game design.

If you're being honest, the design in-game doesn't do them any justice. They're are much more small details added, that makes them more lively…

… more real…

A loud hiss interrupted your staring, bringing you back to your dread reality. As Mika cleans Bennett's wounds, making you realize…

These boys just fought for their lives to save you. A stranger. Be it a sense of duty or something more for their goodness of heart. They could've just left you there for dead but didn’t.

And they suffer the damages. These are young boys, teenagers at best.

Isn't the job of the adults to protect the children?

…

You sigh as you watch Mika struggle patching up Bennett with limited resources. While Bennett played it off saying, “Aw it's okay, you tried your best. I'm fine now anyway!” Despite the boy still needing more bandages.

Seeing the action angers you. A curse of knowing these boys' background and character. And your lack of knowledge of first aid, despite learning it in high school. You curse yourself for not remembering.

Not only that looking at Mika vision and the lack of light, meaning his burst isn't available to heal.

So without a word you ripped a piece of your shirt and gave it to Mika. “sᴉɥʇ ǝʞɐʇ ǝɹǝH.” Which shocks the boys from the sound and Bennett doubles down on the situation.

“Woah, woah no need to take drastic measures. I'm fine, see!” Bennett was about to prove himself when Razor grabbed both of his shoulders and sat him back down.

Three against one, Bennett is forced to comply. As Mika patches up the unlucky boy's wounds.

A few hours went by before Razor headed out to hunt for food. Meanwhile, Mika kept himself occupied by chopping vegetables and foraging, leaving you alone with an injured Bennett for company. You avoided staring at him, trying not to make things awkward. You may know him, and help him in-game. But you're basically strangers—with you knowing far more about him than he does about you.

But Bennett suddenly perked up, clapping his hands together—wincing slightly as he forgot about his injury. “So!” he said, a little too loud but with a grin. “What brings you out here, huh? It’s not every day someone ends up camping with Mondstadt’s unluckiest adventurer!” He laughed, scratching the back of his head, clearly trying to play it cool despite the obvious pain. 

“My name’s Bennett by the way!”

His energy was contagious, and despite yourself, you felt your shoulders relax. That awkward tension? Gone in an instant—replaced by the whirlwind that was Bennett being, well, Bennett.

He pointed toward the blond boy tending the pot by the fire. “That’s Mika over there. He’s the one handling the cooking.” Mika looked up just long enough to offer a small wave and a shy smile before turning his attention back to stirring the contents of the pot, clearly focused. “And the one who went out hunting? That’s Razor. He’s kind of a wild spirit, but he's actually really nice!”

Bennett shifted where he sat, adjusting his bandaged leg with a faint wince. ““So, funny story… well, not ha-ha funny, but, you know… I actually got stuck in this old hunter’s trap a little while ago. Wasn’t even doing anything dangerous for once, I swear!” he said, laughing at himself. 

“Razor was the first to find me. He sniffed me out. Literally. And then ran off before I could say anything. I thought he just left me there.”

He paused for dramatic effect,  then shook his head with a grin. “But nope! Turns out he went to find Mika, who was nearby. Then the two of them came back together and helped me out of the trap. Mika patched me up.”

Well that certainly explained why Mika doesn’t have enough bandages, you thought.

Bennett’s eyes then landed on you, curious but warm. “That’s when we ran into you. Didn’t expect to see anyone else, way out here. But hey things happen for a reason, right?” He smiled brightly despite the pain in his body.

You don't believe that, as sometimes situations are just a coincidence. 

Still, you replied, “˙uᴉ pǝddǝʇs ʇ’upɐɥ sʎnƃ noʎ ɟᴉ pǝuǝddɐɥ ǝʌ’plnoʍ ʇɐɥʍ ǝɹns ʇou ɯ’I ˙ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ ʎq 'ǝɯ ƃuᴉʌɐs ɹoɟ sʞuɐɥ┴” It wasn’t until the words left your mouth that you remembered: they wouldn’t understand a single word you just said.

Razor returned, dragging a dead boar behind him. He looked up at the camp, his expression as unreadable as ever, but his eyes softened when they landed on Bennett chatting with you. With a grunt, he dropped the boar by the fire, clearly satisfied with his hunt. He gave you a quick glance, then turned to Mika to help with preparing the meat.

Bennett, meanwhile, turned back toward you, still smiling from your earlier words. Until he blinked, as if just realizing something. “Wait… that wasn’t Mondstadtian, was it?” he asked, his head tilting slightly in surprise. “Huh. Didn’t sound like anything I’ve heard around here.”

He looked at you for a second longer, then his grin returned, a little softer now. “No big deal! I mean, we’ll figure it out. I’ve been through worse than a little language mix-up.” He tapped his chest. “Bennett,” he said slowly, clearly, then pointed at you with an encouraging look.

You chuckle fondly, as he already told you his name before but you played along and gave him your name anyway, and for once he understood.

And that encourages him further and despite Bennett not understanding a word you say he still continues to talk about his adventures of past events and dreams. Which you already know. 

Still, you did your best to respond, trying to bridge the gap with gestures and expressions. As you try to communicate with him with the best of your abilities. And when you spoke, Bennett will try and decipher your words, as the others joined as well with food at hand. 

Honestly it became a game of charade.

After a lot of laughter, guesses, and a LOT of exaggerated hand motions filling in where words couldn’t and with a belly full of food. For once in your weird situation, you feel okay. Not trapped or constantly regulating emotions, you feel fine. Like a weight in your chest is somewhat flited.

With the boys it feels like your situation is bearable, but as much as the feeling is freeing you must be real with yourself. These aren’t your friends, there are only fictional characters made by someone in a company. 

They're not real.

And even if they were, they're not your friends…

Looking at the boys talking to each other, reminds you need to go home. You need a way to get back to your world. Your home.

You jolt when someone taps your shoulder, looking at the perpetrator it was only Razor. Who looked at you worriedly, he called your name. “Are you good?”

You nod your head and give the boy a gentle smile. You scooted over then patted the now-clear space beside you. Gesturing him to sit besides, which the wolf boy takes. “I want to teach lupical words,” he said suddenly. You turned your head, curious, your expression encouraging him to go on.

“Yes, teach,” he repeated, a little more firmly. “I will try… so people are happy. So we understand.”

The sincerity in his voice was simple but pure and it made your heart ache in the softest way.

Without another word, Razor reached for a stick and began drawing in the dirt beside the fire, using the ground as his blackboard. He etched a rough but recognizable symbol of a tree, tapping it gently. “Tree,” he said, then pointed to the one nearby to help you make the connection. 

“ǝǝɹ┴” You repeated, he then repeated the words slower this time and you try again. It was weird you can understand Razor clearly in your head, but his words and they way he pronounces them are different. It’s like hearing a different language all your life, you understand it. But you just never able to learn to speak it.

But how would you know, you only learned one language all your life.

Razor words were simple, and his voice uncertain at times, but despite the struggle, he kept going, patient and focused. This went on for a couple of minutes and a couple of lesson later you still learned nothing. You feel guilty for not being able to pick up simple words, it’s not even phrases which makes it worse. 

Razor has gone silent, worn out from using voice than what his used to. He sat beside you, shoulders relaxed. You didn’t want to disturb him, so instead, you picked up the same stick he’d used and began idly scribbling in the dirt.

Your hand moved lazily, writing the word tree, using the lines of the alphabet from your language. It didn't mean anything, just something to keep your mind busy from berating yourself.

You didn’t even notice Mika approaching until his shadow fell across the words. Curious, he leaned over your shoulder and blinked at the strange symbols, eyes following the strokes you made. He tilted his head. “That’s... a tree, right?” he asked softly, as if double-checking.

You nodded.

There was a pause. Then Mika’s face lit up as an idea struck him. He quickly reached into his satchel and pulled out a slim, leather notebook. One that looked unused but clearly meant for field notes. He offered it to you with a hopeful smile, along with a small piece of charcoal. 

“Here,” he said. “If speaking is hard… maybe this helps.”

Surprised you took it. The paper inside was still crisp and clean, still untouched by words. You scribbled something small. Your name. Then turned the notebook so Mika could see.

“Is that your name?” He asks, and you nod, making him grinned. Mika then pointed to the next blank space. “Spell tree,” he encouraged, eager to decipher your language.

You nodded with enthusiasm and wrote it down. Once you were done you gave it to Mika and he wrote the same word under yours. So that you can be at least be familiar with the letters of this world.

This repeated for a while, the other two joining in. Speaking the words that they wanted you write and then writing it, below you. Until you made a full alphabet of the new language, although you notice it's the same in game.

Guess some things stayed the same after all.

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 1 ✦ Part 3 ✦

a/n: the ships are mostly platonic, also I'm sorry if the dialog is off character. I just wanted to put Reader in a scenario ToT Also my works are not beta read ._.

taglist: @chericia

[oh-wiw]

The World Beyond the Loading Screen

How did you enter this world so familiar and yet unfamiliar to you? All of this is like a dream, fantastical yes, but not real. Familiar and beloved characters. Where your doppelganger is long awaited by everyone. And why is there a new religion?? That wasn't in the game???

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Their First Encounter ✦

✦ Beginning ✦

✧ Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧

[oh-wiw]

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 2 ✦

Shifting around you slowly open your eyes. When did you even close them? It was already evening. Shifting your head around to be greeted with the moon and its starless night sky. You groan and rub your temples, ignoring the electric feeling of your arms for using them as your pillows last night.

Ah, yes the consequence of sleeping on your desk instead of the perfectly made bed beside it…

Despite it, you're still exhausted.

✧✧✧✧✧

That's been happening a lot recently. Every time you close your eyes to sleep or rest. You feel even more exhausted than when you were awake.

It was mostly dreamless sleep for you or maybe you just don't remember the details of your dreams.

You stretch, trying to soothe your back from sleeping at your desk. The bright screen from your laptop easily caught your attention, your profile pic is displayed in the center. Seems like you slept in voice call again, you quickly type something on chat and shut off the device.

Elegantly dragging your body to bed, and flopping head first onto the mattress. You stayed there for a moment, shifting your head to your side so that you could breathe. You close your eyes and letting sleep overtake you as your body relaxes. And it came slowly but surely, as you feel yourself starting to drift off. Allowing sleep to embrace you. 

However, before it fully enveloped you. You jolt awake exclaiming, "My resins!"

Now fully conscious, you frantically get your phone and log into the game.

You hoped that your game would run smoothly this time, after experiencing some technical difficulties earlier in the day. The game unexpectedly disconnected while you were opening chests, and your attempt to log back in was met with a loading bar that refused to move.

This wasn't the first time it happened, so you weren't too worried at first. Thinking it was most likely something wrong with Genshin itself, as your game either kept freezing or just plain glitching. Even when you log in your account on your laptop, the problem just kept following you. 

You didn’t bother to report it or ask the others if they have the same issue. Because it only rarely happens and you were still able to play the game. So there wasn't really a problem. Besides your phone burning up, but that's just normal.

You just hope that it’ll actually let you enter the game. All you need is to use all your resin and then you'll go back to bed. The stone door creaks open, and you set your eyes on the loading screen, waiting for the Pyro element symbol to make its appearance. But it never did. 

Guess you’ll just let your resin cap today. Annoyed, you place your phone on the bed and gaze at the ceiling. Your vision is slightly blurred, and a headache is threatening to form. You attempt to relax your body, starting by massaging your temples to alleviate the pain in your head.

Why are you having a headache right now? you pondered, figuring since you did miss dinner today… and yesterday… and the day after that….

… 

Finally concerned for your health, you decided to get out of bed and head to the kitchen to eat something. Bur not forgetting to pocket your phone.

Upon reaching out your hand to turn the knob, you are overcome with a sudden bout of excruciating pain. Your headache worsens, as the room begins to spin, and your vision turns completely white. Your body collapses to the door, as you frantically grab onto the knob in search of support, but to no avail, in your weakened state, you accidentally open the door and tumble to the ground.

Lying there for an undetermined amount of time, you concentrate on your breathing, attempting to lessen the agonizing pain. After a while, the pain began to fade leaving you with a sense of discomfort. Although you remained to lie on the ground, gathering your thoughts on what just happened. 

It wasn't until you start to take notice of prickling sensations on your skin and how the cold wind blows- Wait wind?!

You immediately push yourself and are greeted by the sight of the towering cliff and millions of glittering stars. The purple and blue hue, which contrasted perfectly with the vast, dark night sky, captured your eyes and the bright, glowing Moon accompanied the starry vista. It all filled you with disbelief and confusion.

You weren’t able to appreciate its captivating beauty, not when your eyes are stuck in the distance, where a familiar island floats in the sky.

Struck silent, you stay staring at the horizon thinking it’ll fade and disappear if you stare hard enough. But to no avail, it didn't. So you try to blink away the view but it still refuses to disappear from your vision. "No, this cannot be happening," you mutter, as panic starts to settle in. 

A moment ago, you were in your apartment; how did you end up in such a familiar yet foreign place? Struggling to make sense of your situation, you become overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness and uncertainty, desperately trying to understand why you are here and how to get back, but no explanation comes to mind. 

With shallow, erratic breaths, you attempt to collect yourself and look around, only to see a field surrounded by towering cliffs and the remnants of old Mondstadt. A gentle teal glow emanates from the center tower you know is called Stromterror’s Lair, what was supposed to be only fiction: further on adding to your confusion and fear.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, easing your tension, as you try to hold off the mounting sense of panic that threatens to overtake you. You remind yourself that everything will be okay, that this is just a weird dream that your brain decided to mess with you.

Not wanting to look at the sight and to stir further panic within yourself, you looked down instead. Your hands grip the grass beneath you. You can feel the texture of the soil as it shifts under your hands, and the sensation of the prickly grass prickling your skin sends shivers down your spine. 

This is one hell of a vivid dream.

Shaking off the overwhelming feeling, you quickly get to your feet to leave. But as you turn around, you were only greeted by a lone, stony arch, with overgrown ruins positioned behind it. Disbelief and utter confusion wash over you as you begin to question if you've lost your sanity or if you are suffering from some sort of mental break or delusion.

You stood still for a moment as your breathing started to go heavy. The archway still looms before you, reminding you of your confusing reality. So you closed your eyes and forcefully took a deep breath. Gently pulling your hair back to soothe yourself for a moment. 

You know exactly what to do. 

There’s only one logical action for this situation.

✧✧✧✧✧

Somewhere far, on a large tree where the wind is always blowing there sits a green-clad bard in one of the tree's many branches. Cider by his side, the bard strums a lovely tune throughout the night. 

It’s a peaceful night in Mondstat, and everyone is laid to rest as the bright moon looks over the knights who guards the city. The wind tells bard wishes and stories, making him chuckle and hum in introspection.

Until a scream was heard making the bard jolt from his spot and almost dropping his lyre. He wondered why the wind brought him such a sound. 

Seems like the sound came from between Stromterror’s Lair and Wolvendom, the wind more noted specifically at Brightcrown Mountains. As he lilt his head to look west where the ruins of old Mondstadt lay.

“Who could be awake at this time of day… and more importantly are they okay?”

✧✧✧✧✧

✦ Masterpost ✦ Part 2 ✦

[oh-wiw]

Creator! Reader: Baby!!! *reader hugging and cuddling a young Tepetlisaur*

Sovereigns: ...

Creator! Reader: My sweetest babies come here!!! *reader with a bright smile extending their arms to the others Saurians*

Apep to Neuvillette: ... our grace is never that affectionate with us during the times of old