Chapter 45 — Venti's Political Vision
Mondstadt was unlike any other nation in Teyvat. Its freedom was both its blessing and its curse.
When Kael first arrived, he had assumed that reforming a land built on liberty would be harder than reshaping the rigid systems of Liyue. After all, Liyue's laws could be bent through contracts—but Mondstadt's winds resisted all restraint.
And yet, as time passed, he realized that Mondstadt wasn't unchangeable. It was simply complacent.
The scars left by the Lawrence Clan's tyranny had taught the city the value of freedom—but also left behind a quiet fear of authority. After the clan's downfall, reforms began subtly: the Knights of Favonius took over governance, while the Church of Favonius tempered faith with duty, ensuring no new tyrant could ever rise.
For now, it worked.
Grand Master Varka had left on his expedition to the far north, taking with him the bulk of Mondstadt's elite knights. His departure effectively left the city under Jean's leadership.
In practice, Mondstadt was no longer led by its Grand Master, but by its Acting one.
A young woman with an unyielding heart—and a burden heavier than she would ever admit.
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A Quiet Conspiracy?
Kael rested his chin on his hand, eyes narrowed in thought.
If one looked closely enough, even history's coincidences began to resemble careful design.
Eroch, the corrupt inspector who once served under the Knights, had conveniently forced Diluc out after his father's mysterious death. Not long after, Varka departed, leaving Jean to lead.
Was it possible that someone—perhaps even Eroch himself—had wanted this exact outcome?
Diluc, the youngest Cavalry Captain in history, had once been destined for greatness. If he had stayed within the order, Jean might never have risen so quickly.
But Kael shook the thought away with a quiet sigh.
In truth, none of that mattered now.
The problem wasn't the system, nor even the nobles who still clung to their fading influence.
The problem was Jean herself.
She was a capable knight, perhaps even a hero.
But she lacked one essential thing—a ruler's ambition.
Jean had the loyalty of a protector, not the authority of a sovereign. She commanded respect, but not obedience. Inspiration, but not fear.
If Mondstadt ever needed reform on a grand scale… her kindness might be her undoing.
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The Wind and the Knight
Later that evening, as Kael sat in his room overlooking the quiet city, a gentle breeze fluttered through the window.
He didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Breaking into people's homes again?" he asked dryly.
Venti materialized on the sofa with a grin, holding a half-empty bottle of dandelion wine. "Oh, don't be like that, my friend! It's not breaking in when the wind is invited."
Kael glanced at the bottle. "That looks ancient."
"It is ancient," Venti said proudly. "Buried it myself centuries ago. Thought I'd share it before the flavor fades into legend."
Kael fetched two glasses and set them between them. The wine shimmered faintly with Anemo energy. Even before drinking, the scent of dandelions and sunlight filled the room.
They drank in silence for a few moments before Kael finally asked, "How do you feel about Jean?"
Venti leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "Jean's sharp—smarter than most. She's already figured out who I am. But since I'd rather not deal with the ceremony of 'oh, Lord Barbatos has returned!' we've agreed to keep it quiet."
Kael smirked. "Convenient."
"She reminds me of someone," Venti murmured, eyes distant. "Vennessa. The Lionfang Knight. Her heart burns with the same sense of duty."
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Freedom's Burden
Kael swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. "Do you really believe she's the right person to lead Mondstadt into the future?"
Venti tilted his head, his smile faltering. "Why? You have doubts?"
"She's strong," Kael admitted. "Brave. Kind. But too soft. She can inspire people—but she hesitates when she should command."
Venti's playful grin faded completely. His eyes, bright as emeralds, seemed to darken.
"You're not wrong," he said quietly. "But leadership isn't always about commanding. Sometimes, it's about believing. Jean makes others want to be better. And that… is something even gods can't force."
Kael studied him, noting the rare seriousness in his tone.
Venti, for all his playfulness, had seen more than any mortal could imagine. He had watched civilizations rise and fall, tyrants toppled, heroes forgotten.
His philosophy was simple—freedom, above all.
To him, even the worst mistakes were worth the cost of self-determination.
But Kael had lived differently. He had seen how unchecked freedom led to chaos, and how order—when used wisely—brought strength.
"Jean may be a symbol," Kael said, "but Mondstadt doesn't need symbols anymore. It needs change. Discipline. A leader who can cut through the rot, not just soothe it."
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The Bard's Counterpoint
Venti chuckled softly. "You're talking about Diluc, aren't you?"
Kael didn't deny it. "He's capable. Respected. And ruthless enough to do what Jean won't."
Venti took another sip, his gaze drifting to the window. "If Mondstadt were burning, yes—Diluc would be the one to stand in the flames. But if peace ever returns, his fire might scorch what little harmony remains."
He set his glass down with a soft clink.
"Jean is the heart of Mondstadt. But Diluc is its blade. A nation cannot be led by a sword—it needs a song to remind it why it fights in the first place."
Kael smiled faintly. "A poetic way to say you don't trust him."
Venti grinned back. "Oh, I trust him. I just don't trust his anger."
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A Role for the Darknight Hero
After a pause, Venti leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. "Still, I've considered another position for him."
"Oh?" Kael raised an eyebrow.
"There's a secret division within the Church of Favonius," Venti said, his tone suddenly sharp. "They operate from the shadows—investigating corruption, hunting traitors, maintaining balance. What if Diluc led them instead?"
Kael frowned thoughtfully. "The Church's secret branch… the Order of Dawnlight, isn't it?"
Venti nodded. "Exactly. He's already working in the shadows as the Darknight Hero. Why not make it official?"
Kael could see the logic immediately. Diluc's independence, his secrecy, his moral conviction—all perfect for a role that protected Mondstadt from within.
Still, there was a problem.
"You're forgetting his ties to Snezhnaya," Kael said quietly. "Even rumors of that connection would make people question his loyalty."
Venti sighed. "I know. And as much as I'd like to help him, I can't step in directly. The people must make the choice themselves."
That was the essence of Barbatos's rule—invisible guidance.
Where Zhongli shaped the world through contracts and permanence, Venti shaped it through freedom and faith.
He didn't command the wind; he merely let it carry people where they were meant to go.
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The Weight of the Archons
As the night deepened, Kael swirled the last of his wine, his expression pensive.
"You and Zhongli couldn't be more different," he said softly. "When he sees a problem, he intervenes. You… let it unfold."
Venti smiled faintly. "That's because Rex Lapis ruled through structure. I rule through choice. The moment I start controlling everything, Mondstadt stops being free."
Kael said nothing.
His mind drifted to the other nations—each struggling beneath their own truths.
The Raiden Shogun, frozen in time, sacrificing her people's happiness for the illusion of eternity.
Nahida, bound within her own Sanctuary, unable to act freely.
And in Fontaine, Focalors danced on a knife's edge, balancing justice and chaos under the watchful gaze of Neuvillette.
Every Archon carried a burden. Some through love. Others through guilt.
Perhaps Barbatos's sin… was indifference.
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Uncertain Winds
When the bottle was empty, silence filled the room.
Kael leaned back, watching the moonlight ripple across his glass. "So that's your vision for Mondstadt—a city led by faith and song."
Venti smiled softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No… a city led by its people."
And then, with a swirl of wind and the faint scent of wine, he vanished.
Kael sat alone, staring into the fading gust.
Faith. Freedom. Discipline. Justice.
The winds of Mondstadt were still shifting—uncertain, unbound.
And somewhere within them, the future waited to be born.