ostentatious

He died honorably in a rebellion for freedom. The dream he had worked tirelessly for finally became a reality. 

"I do so wish to see the birds in flight." 

But he never did.

—

The Archons are often seen as perfect beings. They are divine. They are strong. They are always depicted as untouchable in their statues, their formidable forms towering over the mortals. What the archons aren't is imperfect. They aren't weak. They aren't fragile.

There were many things an Archon could do after they ascended. Maybe they would visit Celestia with their hard-earned gnosis. Perhaps they would get up and flaunt their title to their enemies. Or they could demand praise from their loyal followers as supreme beings. All the power and the titles they had coveted were theirs to keep, and what they wanted, what they killed for, they received. The number of things they could have was almost limitless.

The first thing Venti did after ascending was change his form into that of the Bard's. He would have liked to see this Mondstadt, he reasoned. He would have loved to hear the high-pitched chirps of the doves and the gentle sound of the flapping of the wings of the finches. Venti had no doubt his heart would've been at peace if the Bard could only feel the gentle breeze caress his cheek.

But he was no more. And now, all Venti can do is stare blankly from the top of the tree at Windrise, his mind trapped on what could have been. What should have been.

He could've easily changed his form into an elegant and divine dragon, just like Morax did. He could've stayed in his original form—a wind spirit—like Bu'er did. But he had to let his friend live on. He had to let him see the new Mondstadt. Where everyone was free and peace was so abundant that people could barely recall faded tales of what it used to be.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough for Venti. It wasn't the same, and it would never be the same. He was gone.

He stares at the eagle feather in his palm, a prized possession that he has kept all these years since his ascension. He regrets that he was never able to give it to him. He regrets that the Bard never saw a single bird in flight.

But his biggest regret was that nobody even knew him. Nobody remembered him. The Tale of the Wind and the Bard was not widely known. None of the citizens of Mondstadt knew what had gone down those years ago.

Once upon a time, there was a wind spirit. Once upon a time, there was a bard. Once upon a time, the Archon War happened. The wind spirit came out of it victoriously as an Archon, and the Bard came out of it dead.

He brings the eagle feather closer to him as he overlooks the city of Mondstadt, perched on his statue in front of the Favonius Cathedral. The Bard wouldn't have wanted this, he knew. He would've wanted Venti to live his life happily and forget all about him.

And yet here he was, a spitting image of the Bard, overlooking the city they worked so hard to protect. The city they worked so hard to free.

And he couldn't force himself to smile. He couldn't force himself to let go of him. He couldn't let him be forgotten.

Maybe someday he will throw the feather into the breeze. Maybe he wouldn't. But either way, he was glad the Traveler knew about the Bard. Even if the Bard was erased from Irminsul, the Traveler would not forget him. Even if the Traveler moved on to another world, they would not forget him.

The knowledge wraps around him like a comforting blanket. Even if the citizens of Mondstadt would never know him, at least he knew the Traveler would always keep the Bard in their heart, no matter what. His sacrifice is known, and it was most certainly not in vain.

Maybe he would let go of the feather soon, after all. The Traveler knew. They would never forget.

Maybe that was enough for him.