The Wind is Alive - Xiaoven

4.

The wind comes and goes, as it is fleeting like memories of a distant past.

Before they are equals, they are god and guardian. Before they are Barbatos and Alatus, they are archon and warrior. Before their escapades and time spent together, there are responsibilities and lands to take care of. Even when absent, Barbatos still has to look over his people and guide them should they threaten to stray from the path of good. Even when idle, Alatus still has to remain vigilant and patrol the entirety of his country lest there be the beginnings of turmoil. They have work to do, goals to accomplish, and no amount of indulgence in the solace of each other's company will ever erase those. They will forever be bound by the burden of what they are assigned to do, forever fated to carry the weight of the world on their backs.

Duty calls, after all, and Alatus is no stranger to the way it pulls at his chains and keeps him rooted in place.

"The winds... they've been growing restless in the past few rising suns." Barbatos remarks as he leans on the railings of one of the balconies of Wangshu Inn, his silken cape billowing behind him. He reaches out to the passing breeze that carries the traces of Mondstadt, holds it tenderly in his palm and studies it. "You feel it too, do you not?"

"Faintly, but yes." Alatus by no means can understand the whispers of the wind better than its god can, but his ears that remain peeled for the possible signs of danger are sure to catch snippets of what they say. "What stirs up the storms?"

"An old friend... corrupted." The god has a faraway look in his eyes, one of longing and regret and condolences. "Scales of lazuline, dyed in the purple of despair. Horns of midnight, dripping with the blood of reopened wounds. A lamentable fate."

The warrior hums in acknowledgment. It's not surprising, not unheard of. Corruption rages rampant and never truly leaves, and he himself holding the weight of karmic debt is the prime example of that. "I presume you must take your leave?"

"If only to cease his suffering, yes."

"For how long?"

"I... do not know." Barbatos admits softly, humbly. There are some things he doesn't know, some things he can never truly be sure of. "Time is fickle. Recovery is nonlinear."

"That it is." Alatus nods, turning to face the other properly. He understands. He longs, but he doesn't cling. He doesn't dare put the god of freedom in shackles. "Be safe, now."

They don't move an inch from their places. They stay there, breaths stilling, eyes never leaving each other. Had there been an archon of time, their powers are surely at work with how the moment is immortalized like a still painting.

Moonlight evanescent has its favorites with how it bathes Barbatos in an ethereal glow, silvers tracing the contours of his flawless features the same way Alatus's fingers want to. Dark blue bangs fall over aquamarine eyes brimming with the beginnings of unshed tears, delicately framing the sides of his face in his signature twin braids with glowing tips. The winds around him swirl in unease, tousling his hair and rustling his clothes and threatening to pluck his hat off his head. And yet, Barbatos still looks as beautiful as ever. And yet, Alatus still finds his gaze fixated on the radiance right in front of him, still finds his mind attempting to burn the image into the back of his eyelids and the forefront of his memories. And yet, Alatus still finds his traitorous heart beating rapidly so, still finds his veins pumping a distinct mix of unfamiliar emotions into his body and the hand that reaches out tentatively for... something. Someone, should he let himself dare to dream.

The warrior breathes out, voice a little shaky. "Why do you linger?"

"Why do you?" The god catches the question and throws it back full force.