He was awakened by a sound.
It wasn't just any sound; it was the melody of nature. He raised his head, struggling with a headache and a confused body. Venti kind of regretted having been a bit tipsy during the conversation with that voice, wishing he had at least asked for her name.
He closed his eyes, trying to feel the wind around him and communicate with it.
Venti sensed something strange, and then understanding hit him. The winds—he didn't recognize them. Not even the faintest breeze. When he was just a mere wind spirit among the thousand winds that swept through all of Teyvat, he could feel and recognize every single one. But now, all he could feel were nothing more than four winds.
Only four winds, when there used to be thousands, his brethren for company.
At last, he noticed he was lying in the middle of a forest, and not under the ancient tree in Windrise. He considered the possibility that he had ended up in the forest while drunk until he remembered his conversation. He definitely shouldn't have been drinking that day.
Venti gathered his strength to stand up, gently dusting the dirt from his clothes. He looked around, then picked up a familiar scent of strawberries.
The aroma hit his nose strongly, as he briefly savored the sweet and slightly tart scent of the red fruit.
Grabbing his lyre, nearly hidden in the green grass, he decided to walk toward the smell, while his mind tried to unravel the situation he found himself in.
First, he tried to recall his conversation with the voice, forcing himself to piece together the puzzle. The only words that resonated in his mind were "world" and "fate."
But what could those two words have to do with each other? The word "fate" alone was a huge insult to him, a foolish concept. Everyone should be free to choose their destiny and act according to their own will, rather than being forced into something they don't wish to become.
As for "world," he had no idea what that could mean. Venti sighed in defeat. Times like these, he wished he had Diluc by his side, which made him laugh—probably the redheaded bartender would demand his payment before saying anything useful.
When he arrived at the source of the strawberry scent, the air current shifted, bringing the same aroma that didn't go unnoticed by Venti. He raised his left arm, enjoying the fragrant air passing between his fingers, while a gentle breeze caressed his body.
He walked through the strawberry field, looking at the berries that covered the vast stretches of land, and then he realized he wasn't in Mondstadt. He wasn't even sure if he was in Sumeru or Fontaine. Not that he had visited the two nations in the past two hundred years.
A grumbling sound escaped the bard's stomach, and for the first time that day, he felt the urge to eat something. He hesitated for a moment as he looked at a delicious red strawberry on the plant. Well, the owner of this field wouldn't notice if he took just one strawberry from among thousands.
Bending down to pick the fruit from the green plant, Venti felt the strawberry's surface—soft but firm, with a slightly rough texture from the tiny seeds scattered over its skin. He placed it in his mouth; it was sweet with a refreshing and juicy touch that spread through his mouth.
Even though it was the best strawberry he had ever tasted in his long life, in his opinion, it was an incalculable distance from comparing to the fruit of the gods: apples!
Imagining the unmistakable sweet and slightly acidic taste in his mouth made the bard's body tingle with excitement. How Venti would love to find an apple tree at that very moment.
Still, Venti enjoyed the delicious strawberry flavor lingering in his mouth, then continued walking, trying to find the edge of the strawberry field.
And, if he was lucky, maybe find someone who could tell him where he was.
Bored, the bard started to hum as he crossed the field, his gentle melody blending with the tranquil sound of his lyre.
He continued to play his lyre, filling the air with a sense of peace for a good while, as he watched the bright blue sky.
Venti almost got lost again in the enchanting melodies of his lyre when he felt an unusual shift in the air to his right—a fast-moving arrow was headed his way.
Dodging with the grace that only someone like him could possess, Venti quickly took a fighting stance, strumming his lyre aggressively yet delicately.
The wind around him grew fiercer, responding to its god's command. The concentration was so intense that the wind, once invisible, became visible, swirling and turning into an extension of Venti himself.
Feathers glowing green floated around Venti.
Just as he was about to attack, he stopped in shock. He could feel an overwhelming power within himself—something he never thought he would see in himself again.
The power of an Archon.
In his chest was his Gnosis, which was nothing less than proof of an Archon's status as one of the Seven. But how did he have his Gnosis back?
He had lost it to that Crimson Witch, but most surprisingly of all, Venti felt that his Gnosis was much more powerful than at that time.
Better yet, it was more powerful than ever, not even when he defeated Decarabian, the God of Storms, and ascended to godhood was it this powerful.
This made Venti think of his old friend and his companions.
Lost in his thoughts, the bard was surrounded by young men and what looked like adults dressed in strange armor—the breastplates had muscles molded into them, making it look like they were their muscles.
Venti wondered again if he had drunk too much.
Because stepping out from the crowd that surrounded him was a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, thick eyebrows, brown eyes, and a scruffy beard. But that was nothing. The strange part was that his lower half was a white stallion.
"Intruder, identify yourself!" demanded the man.
"Hi?" Venti replied stupidly as the centaur stared at him with a narrowed gaze.