Venti cradles something small to his chest. The large oak tree that towers in front of him is alive with movement under the warm day. Sunlight dances off of its leaves in bright patterns and the breeze stirs its branches. Crystalflies drift lazily in its dappled shade, flashing and shimmering when they flit through patches of sunlight that reflect off of their wings.

 

“Be still child of the Anemo God, your dreams are heard, and your wishes nourish the home you love. Continue on to your place of rest.” 

 

He releases the little particles of energy in his hand, the remains of a child’s memory from a moment long past. They scatter to the wind, only to be drawn in by the tendrils of Irminsul that lace through the very fabrication of Teyvat. Vanessa’s tree continues to shift in the languid breeze. A child’s laughter is carried through the scene, or, maybe, that is just a trick of the wind.

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࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ   ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ   ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

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Thank you for reading our story. May the wind guide you, traveler.