Mondstadt was not a city like Liyue–with its late nights and glowing lights. Nor like Sumeru where scholars stayed up late until the hours of the morning for their studies. Mondstadt had the lackadaisical pace of a dull evening breeze that had not quite decided to carry itself far. Those who worked at dawn were accustomed to retiring early, and it left the city in a dark quiet calm. All was still except for the castle that hosted the city’s protectors, the Knights of Favonius, and the poor knights who were on duty at such an hour. That, and of course, there was one more exception to the stillness. Vibrant activity was found in the taverns within the city. Such liveliness more than made up for the quiet night the moment one stepped inside and was met with a bombardment of voices, light, merriment, and song. 

 

Angel’s Share, being the most popular tavern in the city of Mondstadt, was as bustling with patrons as one would expect. It was filled to capacity, making it hard not to bump into someone who was too drunk to walk straight. Or maybe oneself would be the person too incoherent to avoid toppling into someone. Regardless, there were no fights breaking out. If you were to run into someone or spill a drink, you would be met with more laughter, or a cheer for more wine, or a long soliloquy from a stranger you suddenly know way more about now than you care to.

 

Amidst the festivities, the din of the crowd lulls for a moment, just enough to hear a voice. At the far corner is a group of tamer people, calmed to listen to a green-clad bard. Venti sits perched atop a small stool, one knee propped as he strums his lyre. The blessing of Anemo laces through his fingers and plays with his hair. It threads through the notes in his voice and flows to those around him. Though no one seems to notice. All are too inebriated under the roof of the tavern.

 

As I sit beneath one tall tree, I wonder what has it seen? 

Who has played beneath its branches? Who used to look up and dream?

Who has taken shelter from forgotten storms? And carved their name into its shell?

Whose small hands and bright faces, what secrets can it tell?

Do they hate the darkness and love the light?

Do they forgive those who hurt it, or wish that they could fight?

As I lie beneath this one tall tree, I wonder how long it has been here

What childrens’ laughter has it caught in its leaves? I suppose it’ll never tell

 

Venti’s song mingles with the shouts and laughs of patrons as they converse and gather more drinks. It permeates the atmosphere, adding to the merriment, but sometimes goes unnoticed. Like a spring breeze after winter, under a long-awaited sun. Just as subtle, if not moreso, is a tall man who has made his way to the bar. He is clothed in all black, all of his skin covered up to his throat. The man’s blonde hair and oddly-shaped pupil stands out in contrast to those around him, though he is unnoticed by those too wrapped up in their own evenings. Half of his face is carefully covered by a mask, though two blue eyes shine brightly as they gaze at the bartender. Such is the appearance of the Bough Keeper.

 

Diluc Ragnvindr is tending his bar this night. He does not mind the festivities. In fact, he enjoys making drinks quietly on his side of the bar while the rest of the nightlife do whatever silly things delight them as they drink. His gaze does occasionally sweep across the room, to be sure there is no trouble. His attention settles momentarily on the Bought Keeper before returning to the drinks he is currently mixing. As always, his gaze is alive with flames that make it intense as he listens to the other. Dainsleif speaks softly. His tone, sober and gentle, great in contrast to the night around them. 

 

“I have tracked it near here. The corrupted and abyssal energies it leaves in its tracks indicate it is dangerous enough to be concerned about. Especially since I can not pinpoint what it is after. It moves erratically, and attacks certain things while leaving what I would assume to be more obvious targets, untouched.” 

 

Diluc’s hand stills, then he pushes the drinks aside for them to be scooped up by a group of patrons. He starts making another round for a regular he sees approaching. He responds, “Is there any correlation between the attacks that could help with understanding the motive?”

 

“Cries and laughter,” Dainsleif replies. “Those sounds have been reported. And things have been stolen from homes where children abide. However, in all instances, any children within the locations were found fast asleep and showed no indications of being woken up or harmed.” 

 

“And there are no witnesses to this thing?”

 

“None, only the tracks and claw marks left behind.”

 

Diluc looks like he is going to comment when the lights flicker. Wind howls through the open windows, and as it rushes through the building the lights turn out. The torches on the walls extinguish as if snuffed by an invisible force, and everyone falls silent. From outside, the sounds of someone crying is barely audible on the wind. Or maybe it is someone laughing. It is hard to tell. The moment sends a cohesive shiver through the tavern, then, as quickly as it comes, it is gone. The lights reignite in the tavern. With a flush of warmth from pyro, Diluc relights the torches. The redhead’s eyes glance to Venti, and Dain’s follow, but the small bard looks just as confused. 

 

“H-how about I play another song?” Venti suggests amidst the suddenly startled and scared.

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(This story contains alcohol consumption. Angel’s Share does not endorse irresponsible drinking. Drink responsibly).