Chapter Text
The woman appears out of thin air.
That is not what draws Venti's attention to her.
“Oh, I know you.” She says, tilting her head. She is surrounded by winds.
Winds unlike those that used to belong to them as Barbatos, and unlike those that belong to Diluc now.
Venti blinks at her. “Well, I don't know you.”
“Yeah, that happens.” The woman sits down at the base of the apple tree Venti's been playing at, arranging her white dress around her carefully. Venti's gaze gets stuck on her hand, and how wrinkly it seems, when the rays of the sun fall on it… She didn’t seem so old-
But then again, not many beings who are really old, look their age. Take their beloved for example.
When they raise their head, they are stuck by a piercing gaze.
“Are you happy?” The woman asks, out of the blue. Venti expected a lot of questions from her, but not this one.
…it's a pretty strange question, but this woman is already pretty strange with her winds. They don't mind her brashness at all.
“I am,” they reply honestly, absently playing their lyre. “Are you?”
“I suppose so,” she says. She continues watching them with that piercing gaze. “There is not much for me to be sad about.”
“Happiness is not really the absence of sadness though, is it?” Venti argues. They look away for a second and when they look back, it takes them a long moment to place the woman.
They are pretty sure her face did not look like that a second ago.
“No. Not that I would know how to define happiness – I just exist and know myself not to be sad.” She tilts her head again. “How do you feel happiness?”
Venti doesn't have to think much of the answer. “I spend time with the ones I love,” they start, smiling softly. “I play music for the people, I walk around town, I taste delicacies, I enjoy the sun warming my face… There are a myriad of ways to be happy, if you know where to look.”
“Huh.” The woman's expression changes again as she smiles. Venti is pretty sure her eyes were hazel just now, not blue. “I think I understand.”
Venti's worry quiets. Who cares if she had a changing face? There is something they can say with all honesty… “I hope you find your kind of happiness.”
The woman looks away from them, for the first time. Her piercing gaze settles on the blue skies. “I see why I said that I ought to talk to you.”
“You did? What wonderful advice to give to yourself,” Venti says, though they don't really get what she means.
“I know,” her nod is very self-assured anyhow. “I thought it would be a bit of a hassle to come to this moment, just to meet you, but it wasn't at all.” Venti's mind zeroes in on the phrase 'this moment'. The woman's complexion shifts again. “Even though I am supposedly dead now…”
“Time never really stops though, does it?” Venti tries. She shrugs, but glances back at them.
“Time is a made-up concept just like any other. How could a made-up concept stop?”
That makes sense, Venti thinks. “Does that mean you don't have a beginning or end either?” They ask curiously.
“I suppose.” She taps her chin. “Although I do have to come from somewhere. Since I remember not being where I will be. But at the same time, I am already there, long past it, even.”
Venti hums along. “It is always quite fascinating to hear other gods' genesis story,” they confess. “Do you ever meet other versions of yourself?”
“No, never.”
Venti puts down their lyre, instead, pulls their legs up and puts their head in their chin. The woman giggles a bit, but smiles again. “I suppose I can indulge you a bit, God of Stories.”
“I don't think I ever received that title,” Venti says conversationally.
“Maybe you have, maybe you will.” Her ever changing eyes only betray amusement.
“Call me Venti,” they ask, although the name must not make any difference to her.
“As you wish, little windspirit.” She nods. Then taps her chin again. “I wouldn't call it meeting my other versions… Do you know of a time when time doesn't exist?”
“No, not at all,” Venti assures her. This explains the winds by her side.
Like time, winds are everpresent. Not everywhere sadly – they are not as powerful as her winds, or at least the winds Venti knows aren't – but they go hand in hand.
“Naturally, that means that I am everywhen and nowhen at all,” she explains. Venti nods.
“And you retain all experiences you have experienced and none at all, because you have yet to experience them.” They like this. No, scratch that, they love it. “I hope you don't mind me saying this, but this sounds like the basis for an amazing story.”
“I would be most highly honored to have you write a story with any relation to me, little windspirit.” Her grin is sharp and full of affection. She is steadily rising to the top three of Venti's favorite gods. Morax on the other hand is very close to losing his second place.
Diluc, placed as winner, is, naturally, undisturbed.
“Maybe I already did, and maybe you've already heard it.” Venti nudges her shoulder and she laughs.
“And I loved it,” she says. “And I will love it.”
“Glad to know my work has been and will be appreciated,” Venti responds in kind. They feel giddy. “Will it be possible for us to talk again? I would love to have you around more.”
“Already sending me away, little windspirit?” she asks, with a laugh. “But I am always around, already. There is never a time when I am not around.” Still, Venti sees her visibly consider something. “I am afraid my abilities for physical manifestation are limited. However…”
“Yes?” Venti leans ahead in interest.
“My winds can take anything from anytime to me.” She gestures with her hand and one such wind moves to dance around Venti, playfully battling with the winds that already surround them… “I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to send messages back.”
“Oh, that sounds simply lovely!” Venti beams. “I will be sure to keep it in mind.”
They know a lot about messages sent through the winds – at the end of the day, Diluc’s summoning powers are the same. To know that they now have a steady way of accessing their brand new-old friend…
“As for now – where were we?” They ask. The woman is now sporting hair much like their own. “I believe I was just telling you about this newest story I wish to compose…”
She settles in by their side, and they spend the rest of the afternoon together. Time flies by, if Venti is allowed to say such a thing, with comfortable conversation.
When the time (again, hah) comes for them to depart to the winery, Venti hugs her one final time. “A pleasure every time.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, little windspirit,” she says, and her arms strengthen around them once more. Then she is gone; her winds washed away by the next gust of more familiar ones.
Venti doesn’t glance over their shoulder. She isn’t there anymore – but that does not mean she isn’t present anymore.
“Thank you,” they whisper. She will hear.
She has already heard.
She hears now.
They walk with a skip to their steps.