A/N: I'm back. Thank you for the many likes and I'm sorry I took a bit of a hiatus, I got kinda lost trynta plot the story. It's quite a short chapter but I swear I'll post soon... enjoy :p
THE BARD WAS BACK.
As the news spread out along the citizens of Mondstadt, everyone who drank even a little seeming to turn to the green and white that followed his every step, the news cried out against the perfect weather, songs rising on everyone's lips: the bard was back.
No one knew where he'd gone, or what he'd done during the days he were gone: but that, that was hardly a surprise. Everyone knew the bard of free spirit, and the bard of the winds.
And as the young man strode through the streets, a somewhat annoyingly brilliant smile on his face at eight in the morning, even the pavements themselves seemed to light up. He skipped past the houses with a hum, strummed the lyres; and fitted straight into the atmosphere of what he called his city.
The bard was back, and Mondsatdt was filled with song.
He'd shown up just this morning, early as the sun; two? Three? His outfit without a crease, his lyre still cradled in his hands and his hat still high on his head. His fingers trailing a breeze behind him. A hum on his lips.
It had been, many thought, too long. But he was back.
The first place he headed for, of course, was the Angel's Share. His favourite tavern, and what he deemed to be his workplace and his dominance. He was the best bard there- the best bard anywhere, but he frequented that area the most especially- and although the tavern seemed like a hub of sorts, everyone knew what he was doing there.
"Mm." He grinned, more to himself, and breathed in the air of his city.
He felt a little lightweight, of course, especially how the gnosis was gone from him- of course still with his power, and a stronger, more godlike power that normal people could only dream about- but still, a slight emptiness in his chest.
It was fine, he thought. Maybe.
Instead, his fingers playing with the lyre cradled against his chest, he strummed sharp, clear tunes into the distance: just a few tunes.
Or, he thought, turning his feet abruptly, he could go to Good Hunter's and get a nice, steaming plate of Crab, Ham & Veggie Cake; he swore he could eat five on his own. Prior to how frail he looked, he could eat quite a lot, especially after such a long trip.
But wasn't there food in the tavern?
Shaking his head for being swayed for even a little bit, he sidestepped, away from Good Hunter's, climbing the steps two by two, greeting those he knew along the way. Breathing in the deep air he knew all too well.
His Mond, city of freedom and song.
A friend had always wanted to come here; his special friend, from a long time ago. He wondered how she was doing now, and shook the thought away: the first person to ever find out about him, but that was okay.
He decided he would visit her sometime... should Morax forgive him for trespassing.
She'd love it here, he thought. His tavern was just around the corner.
"Hello!" He said, and pushed the door open.
♬ ♬ ♬
IT WAS WHEN SHE HEARD THE MUSIC SHE REALIZED SHE WAS UTTERLY FUCKED.
Nothing had been out of the ordinary until then, until the music had rung through. A day without Diluc Ragnvindr, actually- that was somewhat strange, since he had become such a part of her life that she saw him so frequently and at such intervals where he was impossible to miss- but nothing else; she had woken up a bit early and had gone out to Springvale, found herself a good view somewhere, and had written a bit more of her book that she had started a month or so prior. A good meal made by Brook- she really was good at cooking- and the most of her days spent there.
The rest was spent in the library. Reading whatever she could get her hands on- reading, reading, reading, because she didn't have time for that nowadays- and smiling nervously at the librarian, who winked at her ever so often.
She had been heading back home, back to the Dawn Winery where she would do a little more writing, and consequently, her research as well. Houses on rent weren't so easy to find, after all, especially in such a place as Mond where people were quite reluctant to move. She had checked many places now. Obviously, no such miracle had happened (yet).
But there seemed to be, of sorts, another miracle.
There was a song that rung out through Mondstadt. A melody that rung out through the quiet streets of Mond, worming into the hearts of people and caressing their souls; a beautiful voice, light as air and twice as cool, a breeze through the mind to sweep away the dust; ad a lyre that accompanied it, playing the familiar tunes as though they were his own.
A simple song. A song she realized that she knew, and one she knew too well.
After all, she had written it.
But there was only one other person in this world who knew of it.... someone who she knew too well. Someone...
It couldn't be. It couldn't be.
She stepped forwards, impulsively, turning the corner with the spin of a heel as her hair flew back, her heart pounding in her chest, threatening to burst out. There was no way-
But it was him. It was him, all too real; him, with those braids he flipped somewhat dramatically, with that smile he threw around way too much, with that innocent look in his face that hid all the centuries he knew. Perched on a chair, his fingers strumming the finishing notes of the song.
But really... why...
Why would she...
"Babs." She whispered. "Babs!"
Her voice was hoarse. His name sounded, maybe, like a thousand melodies ringing out in her head; just like the songs he had sung with her, and the poems he had composed, and how he tilted his head back and tuned a sweet melody in his mouth. The way the breeze brought out the sparkles of turquoise in his eyes, and his fingers weaving in and out,
"Babs!" She cried, and rushed forwards.
He was there to catch her as she wrapped her arms around him.
Like he always was.

YOU ARE READING
𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ; diluc ragnvindr
Romance𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ; She is his muse, his first breath, his morning star- an anomaly in the stillness of his life. She makes alcohol taste sweet, and small talk feel like verses of beautiful poetry. She is Helena Saturnalius, and she is his first an...