Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is an army approaching Mondstadt. 

Mondstadt is not supposed to know about the army approaching their nation. Unfortunately for the army’s plans of secrecy, the people of Mondstadt are experts in knowing things that they aren’t meant to – though, it also helps that their archon is nosy as hell. 

If anything ever happens in Mondstadt, anything at all, Barbatos will know of it – and if Barbatos knows of it, then so will everyone else. Word travels fast on the winds, after all. 

And today, the winds carry word that war is on its way. 

Jean Gunnhildr, the Acting Grandmaster and the highest military authority, what with Grandmaster Varka still on that expedition up north, is the one responsible for defending Mondstadt from these foreign invaders. Not solely, not as long as she has her Knights by her side, but she is still meant to lead them. The thought of such a thing daunts her, but she knows she’ll be able to rise to the challenge – Jean has never been one to back down, and she doesn’t plan to start doing so today. 

But war is not on the horizon just yet. They have time to prepare, to fortify and defend, as they wait for the incoming army. The Knights of Favonius have been doing twice as many drills as usual as the walls around the city are fortified, and many of the merchants and citizens have been stocking up on food and other supplies in preparations for a potential siege. 

Mondstadt’s walls have protected it from many an attack, but their isolated position in the middle of Cider Lake doesn’t exactly lend itself to a quick escape out the back, should invaders march right up to their front door. They have boats, of course, not to mention the gliders that practically everyone in the nation are equipped with, but it’s all too possible for a sufficiently large army to surround the entire lake. A siege is too real of a possibility to discount, and so they stock up, reinforce their walls, and do their best to prepare for every potential circumstance. 

These are the things that Jean has to consider. Anticipating the enemy’s plans is the best thing she can do right now if she wants to help Mondstadt – running off to fight the incoming army on her own is out of the question, regardless of whether she’d win or lose. 

(She wouldn’t win. Of that much, she is certain. 

Jean has never been a hubristic person, and she’s well aware that only one being in all of Mondstadt could hope to take out an entire army all on their own.) 

And as the people of Mondstadt prepare for the worst, a certain bard watches the interlopers make their way from the shore. For a moment, he simply observes them, before the winds swirl around him and he disappears in a blink. 

oOoOo

The first time that The General met The Boy on the road to Mondstadt, he heard him from a good distance away, the gentle breeze rustling the trees and cooling his men as they marched carried the sound to his ears, and he ordered his troops to halt as he went around the bend to investigate the noise. The Boy sang cheerfully, playing what seemed to be a peasant's tavern song, upbeat and foreign to his ears as a stranger to this country. 

As he approached The Boy stopped singing and smiled broadly at him, although he kept plucking away at the tune on his lyre. The General considered taking him prisoner, it would be a shame to kill him outright, he thought, a shame to let such talent go to waste. He would be able to travel much faster than the army, too, so it would not do to simply let him walk free. 

It would not do for the enemy to have too much time to prepare. 

"Good day, Stranger" The Boy said, still smiling, "you will not find what you seek in Mondstadt." 

The General frowned, "how do you know that I travel to Mondstadt?" 

The Boy's grin stretched somehow wider. 

"I know many things," he said, "Besides! There is only one city down this road, unless you seek the Stormterror's lair, and that city is Mondstadt."

"And how do you know what it is I seek there?" The General asked The Boy. The Boy’s lyre still sang its cheerful tune, singing of friends and food and freedom, the tune still foreign and strange to The General's ears.

"There is only one thing that men like you, who come with armies and violence, seek, and there is none of it to be found in Mondstadt." 

The General snarled and drew his sword, enraged by the insult, but, between one breath and the next, The Boy was gone, wind rustling the bushes surrounding the stump where he had sat, strange music still echoing in The General's ears long past when the sound had stopped. 

The general returned to his troops, ordering a squad to scour the brush, but nothing and no one was to be found.

oOoOo

“How far out are they?” Jean turns to Kaeya, sitting in the right-hand seat to her own at the head of the table. It’s been centuries, perhaps even longer, since Mondstadt has held any sort of war council, but if any situation calls for it, it’s this one. 

Kaeya frowns, tapping his fingers on the table in a repeating rhythm. “Two days, perhaps. They move slowly and they made landfall at an unfortunate spot – the winds must’ve blown them pretty far astray.” 

“I see.” Two days isn’t much time, but Mondstadt has made do with less in the past. Jean still remembers the story of Vennessa’s rebellion, and she’d managed that with nothing but her own two hands and the support of the people beside her. “Have you gotten word back from Diluc’s contacts?” 

“Nothing so far. They’re keeping an eye out, but at the moment, our enemy is a mystery. I was planning on doing some reconnaissance myself later.” 

Lisa shakes her head, cutting in. “Don’t bother. They’ll see you coming, no matter how stealthy you are – there’s just too many of them.” 

“Ah, you underestimate me, Lisa. Don’t you think I know how to be covert by now?” 

Near the end of the table, Eula scoffs. “Certainly not. Send Amber – she can scout overhead, and even if they see her, they won’t be able to catch or hit her.” 

It’s a possibility. With her glider, Amber can outfly most archers and she’ll have a better vantage point than any ground reconnaissance can do, but it’s just too risky if something happens. They have no idea what sorts of weapons or technology these people can wield – if Amber is knocked out of the sky, it will be Jean’s fault for sending her up there in the first place. 

“No,” she decides. “It’s too risky to send in any sort of spy team if there’s a chance of them getting caught. We’re shorthanded enough as it is with Grandmaster Varka and half our men still up north. We need to focus on protecting the numbers we have, not sacrificing the few for the good of the many.” 

Disgruntled, but pacified for the moment, Eula nods, and the war council continues on after that. 

When Jean returns to her office after the meeting, there’s a slip of paper on her desk done in a familiar handwriting, listing the exact size of the army and the weapons they wield. 

It’s signed with a single dandelion seed, pressed flat into the paper. Jean knows exactly who it’s from. 

oOoOo

The next time that The General met The Bard, he was riding ahead of his men, keeping watch for signs of anything amiss. The gentle breeze that had rustled leaves and cooled the men and horses as they marched had risen, becoming slightly uncomfortable to walk against and whipping hair and leaves and twigs into eyes. 

He almost didn't hear the music until he ran into The Bard, as it blended in with the whistling of the winds, complementing them, a gentle lullaby, sounding slightly closer to more familiar music from his home country. Just enough to be slightly nostalgic, but still jarring and foreign in places. 

As it got louder, closer, he turned the corner and saw him, seemingly untouched by the strong wind. 

"The Archons will not let you take their continent so easily, Mondstadt is more defended than you may think" He said, still smiling slightly, smiling sadly, at The General. 

"The Archons stand no chance against the magic I have brought with me" The General replied, "and do you think I did no research? I know that the Archon of Mondstadt is the weakest of the lot, and he has not been seen for hundreds of years, the city is practically defenseless" 

"Are you sure?" The Bard said, and The General, having been inching closer to seize his chance to catch and kill him, leapt. 

By the time he reached the rock where The Bard was sitting, he was gone once again, the only trace of him the echo of a lullaby on the wind.  

oOoOo

The army is only a day out from Mondstadt. 

Jean is running out of time. 

The troops are armed and armoured. They have enough food stocked up for weeks, and the small gardens that dot the city are primed to grow more. The walls are the strongest they’ve ever been, and the portcullis is firmly shut, both of the usual guards now standing inside of the city to keep watch over it. 

Their soldiers wait atop the walls’ towers, hidden safely behind the parapets. Their arrows are fully stocked, and their gliders are ready. At any moment, they can leap from the wall and glide over the army, be it to drop down and attack from above, or to shoot from midair as they fly by. Aerial combat is, after all, a specialty reserved solely for the Knights of Mondstadt. 

Kaeya’s cavalry unit has no horses, but they are ready to fight regardless. Lisa, for once, leaves the safety of her library and dons the armour of a warrior, lightning crackling along the metal as she watches the horizon. Eula and Amber wait with Noelle by the side entrance, ready to defend their home ‘til their final breath. 

Above it all, Jean stands atop the Knights’ Headquarters and sees her people standing below, weary and wary, but still ready to defend. Their lives and their freedom are at stake here, and no true child of Mondstadt would ever let either go without a fight. 

And above the Acting Grandmaster, perched at the highest point of the cathedral, a figure dressed in green watches over his city. Always present, though never seen. 

oOoOo

The final time The General met The Strange Bard, he almost didn't. 

The wind had risen again to a blinding gale, developing a stinging chill that cut at exposed skin and hurt to look into for too long, everyone in the formation tiring quickly as the smaller and lighter among them fought to stay standing. 

The General didn't even realise that he had ridden ahead of the army, that he had encountered The Strange Bard again, until he heard a small voice, somehow audible over the wind. 

"Don't do this. You don't want this" The Strange Bard said, his voice aching with sorrow. 

The General didn't look at him. 

He thought that he could picture his face regardless. 

He thought that he could almost hear music. 

He thought it sounded familiar. 

"It is my duty" he replied. 

"Very well." 

It is only once The Strange Bard vanished once more that the song he was plucking on his lyre echoed, all too familiar in The General's mind. 

A funeral march, from his home country.

oOoOo

The army is visible over the edges of Mondstadt’s walls. 

Jean could tell her knights to attack now. She could begin this war with nothing more than a single word, and the blood would spill endlessly as a result. She holds so much power right now, and yet, she feels completely powerless in the face of the possible consequences. 

Her people could die today. 

The storm brewing on the winds feels like fate in the air – turmoil and strife made tangible, the ozone nearly thick enough to taste. It’s never been this bad before, and yet, not a drop of rain has touched her head. It’s only the winds whipping back and forth, threatening to tear the sky in two with the force of the gusts. 

It’s desperate. It’s a last-ditch attempt for something, anything to save her, because Jean has never been the devout churchgoer that her sister is, and she’s found it hard to do this ever since she met him in person. 

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and Jean is feeling that more than ever right now. 

So, she closes her eyes and folds her hands in front of her, and she prays to Lord Barbatos, Archon of Anemo and Freedom, Patron of Mondstadt, Purveyor of Revolution and Revelry, to help her people in any way that he can. She knows it’s more than she’d ever ask of Venti under any other circumstances, but as she said – desperate times. 

Jean only hopes that he can forgive her for the high demands she lays upon him. 

She only wants her country to be safe. She only wants her people to live and be free – and she can’t even fathom the concept of him disagreeing with that. 

Venti, like everyone, will do what he can. If this is beyond him, and the final call falls down to Jean alone… 

She’ll lead her people, just like she always has. It is her duty, her blessing, and her curse. 

oOoOo

When The General and his army arrived at the gates of Mondstadt the wind had risen once again, freezing and dangerous and still threatening more. The General could hardly see as he stared up at the great closed gates. 

Atop the wall, the Archon Barbatos stood with a bow in his hands, the weapon strangely familiar. 

"Heed the wind's warning, or the storm to follow will destroy you." The wind carried the Archon's voice to his ears, powerful and cold as the air and Anemo whipping around him. "Three times you were warned, and three times you did not listen. You will not find what you seek in Mondstadt." 

The Archon drew his bow. 

"I suggest you run."

oOoOo

It’s been many a year since Venti has touched this weapon. 

The last time he’d wielded it… when had it been? The Archon War? He’d levelled mountains back then, and with ease. The scourge of the battlefield, bested only by Rex Lapis. His reputation of peril had long since fallen into obscurity, but to Venti, whose memory stretches as far as time itself, it feels like yesterday. 

The Recurve Lyre fits perfectly in his hands, like it was made to – it was made to, of course. He’s the only one who’s ever been able to wield it. An instrument bending backwards into a weapon, with a draw weight so high that no mortal could ever even hope to string it, let alone nock an arrow and let it fly. 

This is the weapon that Venti chooses today. This is the weapon that Barbatos will wield against these invaders who threaten his people and his home. 

He stands atop the gate, invisible to both the enemy and to his own children. The winds whip higher and higher as the divot in his brow deepens, reflecting the unusually furious mood he’s found himself in. 

How dare they? 

How dare they enter his country, make landfall on his shores, take their army tromping through his wood, and march with malice on his city? How dare they seek conquest in a nation of freedom? How dare they interfere in his land, and expect him to do nothing about it? 

The General is approaching at the head of the oncoming horde, sitting smugly atop his horse, and Barbatos is furious. He hasn’t felt rage like this since Durin struck Dvalin with that poison – since he thought he would lose one of his last remaining companions. This man seeks to take his entire nation from him, and it is only right that he pay for his transgressions. 

Barbatos knows he must barely be visible through the sheets of wind that now tear through the sky, but he reveals his form regardless. The white cloth is still just as pristine as the first time he’d worn it, flowing elegantly despite the violent winds around him. 

“Heed the wind’s warning, or the storm to follow will destroy you,” Barbatos states. His voice isn’t loud, but it will be heard. Of this much, he is certain. “Three times you were warned, and three times you did not listen.” 

One last chance to run. 

“You will not find what you seek in Mondstadt.” 

Barbatos knows he won’t take it. He draws back an arrow, aimed perfectly at the center of the General’s forehead. 

“I suggest you run.” 

The arrow flies like a kestrel, cutting through the air with a perfect precision that’s untouched by the howling gale around it. It strikes true, just as Barbatos knew it would, because not once in all his years has he ever missed his target. 

The General falls to the ground, dead in an instant. 

The resulting shockwave from the arrow, however, ensures that not a soul is thinking of him as the army finds themselves thrown backwards with an impossible force. 

Barbatos draws a second arrow from the air, threads of Anemo weaving together in his hands to create the very object he needs, and in an instant, another shot is loosed from his bow. He can see the impact crater it makes on the ground, right in the center of the converging enemy troops, sending them all flying in every direction. 

The thing about Barbatos’s weapon in particular is, in short, the exact reason why not a single other soul can wield it. It’s impossible to string without the requisite physical strength, and because of the weight behind the bow itself, each shot is equivalent to an explosion. It obliterates everything in the area, leaving nothing by a flat, empty crater in its wake. If not for how close his city is, Barbatos could level this entire plain, leave nothing but dust – but he can’t do that to his people. They love these lands, and so he, the Archon of Freedom, restrains himself. 

Instead, he descends from the city wall in a swirl of Anemo, bare feet touching down on the ground as he begins to walk towards the enemy. Their leader is dead, and their forces scattered, but for as long as they draw breath, they are a threat to Mondstadt and its people. 

Barbatos prepares another arrow, letting the teal glow of the Anemo energy light up his shadowed face beneath his hood. 

For once, he isn’t smiling. 

Chapter Text

The invading army is gone. 

The enemy is entirely gone, and Jean’s Knights didn’t have to do a single thing. The people of Mondstadt did not lose a single soul today, nor shed a single drop of blood. 

And everyone in Mondstadt knows exactly who they have to thank for it – because for the first time in five centuries, the Anemo Archon is descending from the sky in the center of the town square, wreathed in a swirl of Anemo that practically radiates light as the rays of sunlight peek through the clearing clouds to shine down upon him. 

It’s the holiest thing Jean’s ever seen in her life. 

It’s also, undeniably, Venti. If he was still trying to be covert about his status as their Archon, well, she really hopes he’s given up that idea. He certainly won’t be able to keep his anonymity after a stunt like that. 

A hush falls over the gathering crowds as the winds gently set him down on the stone, dissipating in a swish of dust. Barbatos (for that is truly who he is right now, Barbatos in all his glory, rather than the drunken bard, Venti) casts his gaze out over the crowd, letting the silence build before reaching up to lower his white hood. 

“The enemy is no more,” he announces, smiling far more kindly than Jean would normally see from him. Mischievous, yes, but that gentle kindness is usually reserved solely for the little children. To see it now, directed at all of them…  

The gathered crowds begin to murmur, and Barbatos allows them to for a moment more before he speaks again. He isn’t loud, not by any means, but the wind carries his voice regardless, and the people fall silent in moments. 

“The army is vanquished, and Mondstadt is safe once more.” 

Jean glances from Barbatos to the crowd, and back again. They’re unsure of what to do – of how to react. Reverence, or fear? He was a threat on the battlefield, undoubtedly destructive, and more terrifying than anything she’s ever seen in her life, but he used that power in service to the people. Revering him, though… does he want that? In all the time she’s known him, Jean has never once seen Venti seek out reverence or worship. In fact, he usually avoids the Church entirely unless he’s trying to bother Barbara again, claiming it’s ‘good for her’ to have an outlet for all that pent-up irritation. 

Well. If Jean doesn’t lead, then no one is going to do a single thing. That’s how it usually goes, anyways, and why should today be any different? 

She steps forward and the crowd parts before her, a clear path opening up to lead her right to Barbatos himself. He’s standing perched on the edge of the fountain, giving him enough of a vantage to at least see the people’s heads, but even with a leg up, he’s still remarkably short. 

“On behalf of the people of Mondstadt, I thank you, Lord Barbatos.” Jean places a hand over her heart and bows, low enough to show respect but not so low as to grovel. “You have done our nation a great service, and for that–” 

“For that, you should probably stand up straight,” Barbatos interrupts, tone slightly higher than before as he reaches out and nudges her back upright. “There’s really no need to bow. I don’t rule my nation with an iron fist like the other Archons, and I have no intentions of ever doing so. There’s no need to rule over a nation that can already rule itself perfectly fine.” 

Jean blinks for a moment, but then smiles. “Of course. Mondstadt does pride itself on its self-sufficiency, doesn’t it?” 

“Precisely!” Venti chirps. “And I’m quite proud of you all for handling yourselves so well. You all knew exactly what to do in the face of a crisis, even if your plans didn’t end up being necessary in the end.” 

The murmurs of the crowd grow louder at their Archon’s praise, and Jean can see a few of her Knights’ cheeks growing red – Noelle and Amber in particular. Diluc is watching Kaeya from across the crowd and pretending not to, but she can see a dusting of pink on both of their cheeks as well, even if Kaeya’s darker complexion makes it more difficult to see. 

“Well, if you don’t want us to bow to show our thanks,” Jean begins, “then why not a festival in celebration? I believe we could all use a bit of cheer after this past week, and a festival celebrates the entire city, does it not?” 

Venti shoots her a look like he knows exactly what she’s doing, but as she expected, he has no real way to deny it. Already, the thought of a celebration has gotten the people of Mondstadt excited – after all, revelry is one of their favourite pastimes. Besides that, it gives them the opportunity to show their gratitude to Venti in a way that he’ll actually accept – by enjoying themselves and their freedom, just as he’s always wanted. 

Soon enough, the decorations have been scrounged up from somewhere and strung across the tops of the houses, spanning the length of the street and bringing a sense of merriment to the briefly warstruck city. 

Throughout all of it, Jean can see Venti wrapped up in the crowds, surrounded by ever-changing crowds of people, though always flanked by a few familiar faces – Kaeya and Rosaria stick close by, ready to politely (or rudely, in Rosaria’s case) chase off anyone who gets too clingy, while the Adventure Club trails after him to hear every detail of the ‘epic battle’ so they can relay it to everyone in the city before the night is out. Jean is careful to keep an eye on him, just in case she needs to step in and intervene, but it’s never necessary – Venti’s cup is never empty, and the wide grin doesn’t leave his face once. 

It’s only deep into the night, the sky still vaguely lit by the glow of the town and the stars that dot it, that Mondstadt’s well-earned revelries are interrupted. 

The ground begins to rattle underfoot, barely noticeable at first but slowly becoming more and more pronounced until the earth beneath Mondstadt is practically shaking. 

Jean frowns, wondering what could be happening now (one would think that their Archon fending off an invading army would be enough excitement for one day), but before she can even lean over to whisper to Lisa, a dark shape falls from the sky and crashes down right in the center of the town square – ironically, right where Venti had landed earlier in the day. 

“What the fuck is it this time?!” Someone in the crowd yells, and honestly, Jean couldn’t agree more. 

The people surround the object, giving it a wide berth but still providing just enough of a shield that Jean can’t get a good look, and she internally sighs at the irony. With some nudging (and some flat-out shoving), Jean manages to weave her way to the front, only to see what looks like a piled-up snake made of rocks laying on top of the fountain. 

“What the fuck?” Jean mutters, unsure if she should be stepping closer or stepping further back again. Beside her, she hears Lisa, who apparently made it through the crowd with far more ease, echo the sentiment. 

Then the rock snake starts to move, and Jean decides that yes, actually, backwards is the direction she will be going right now. She’s either too drunk for this or not drunk enough, and given that she only had a single sip of the fruity something-or-other Diluc had given her, she’s positive she knows which one it is. 

The rumbling of the ground, which had briefly stopped after the… whatever had fallen from the sky, begins to return as the thing starts to shift, raising itself up from the pile and growing taller and taller, until Jean realises that what she is looking at is, in fact, a legitimate fucking dragon. A real-life, actual dragon, that is not Dvalin, and actually looks rather familiar in a different way, now that she thinks about it. 

“Morax?!” A voice shrieks from behind her, and all of a sudden there’s a white-clad bard popping out of the crowd, stumbling to a halt as he points up at the dragon with an almost accusatory finger. “What the fuck are you doing here?! Weren’t you supposed to be… I don’t know, doing dead things?” 

“I am not doing dead things,” the dragon, apparently Morax, replies affrontedly. “I am here to assist.”  

“...With what?” Someone calls out from the crowd, and the dragon frowns. 

Dragons can frown. Jean is learning so many new things today. 

“The army?” Venti asks, and the dragon nods. “Oh. No need.” 

“...No need.”  

“No need. I dealt with it!” 

“And dare I ask how?”  

“I’d rather you didn’t, actually.” 

“We can tell you!” Bennett yells, waving a hand from out of the crowd. He appears to be sitting on someone’s shoulders – Razor’s, if Jean had to guess, which is surprising given the amount of people here. A moment later, Bennett’s head disappears and is replaced with a loud thud, so presumably his bad luck caught up to him and both he and Razor are now solidly on the ground. 

Luckily, they both appear from out of the crowd looking relatively unscathed, though Fishl is now firmly holding onto both of them by the heads. Bennett, ever the cheerful one, simply grins. 

“If you want to know the story, we can tell you, Mr. Morax Dragon!” Bennett informs him gleefully. “We heard the whoooole thing!” 

Venti grimaces, quickly enough that Jean is pretty sure no one else saw it, but then Morax gives him a flat look that tells her she’s quite incorrect. “I’m sure Morax has… better things to do with his time. He doesn’t need to hear all that.” 

“I disagree,” Morax states. “I must hear all of it. Right now, in fact.”  

And he settles down right there, curled around the fountain, and faces Bennett with an expectant look on his face. Jean doesn’t think she’s ever seen Bennett look this excited. 

He begins telling the story to the dragon with all the grace and wild glee of a fourteen-year-old on a sugar high (which she supposes he is), occasionally aided by small additions or corrections from his friends. A few of the other children slip out of the crowd to hear the tale as well, including a particularly brave Klee, who decides that this dragon is where she’d like to sit. 

And sit she does, right on the dragon’s tail after hauling herself up in the most ungainly way possible. 

Morax, looking a bit startled, simply watches her do it, holding his tail exceptionally still with the obvious intent of not dislodging her. Had she not seen him speaking and moving just a few minutes ago, she could mistake him for a particularly colourful and detailed statue. 

As Bennett describes Venti’s weapon, however, Morax ever-so-slowly turns his head to look at their Archon, wearing an expression that looks almost like judgement. Can a dragon judge an Archon? 

“The Recurve Lyre, Barbatos?” He says slowly, and Venti’s face takes on a rather pinched quality. 

“It was the best option at the time,” Venti mutters. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it? Everything is mostly intact and the army is gone. I don’t see what the issue is.” 

The dragon lets out a long, long, long sigh, and Jean suddenly gets the feeling that this is not the first time the two have had this conversation. “The multiple craters filled with dead bodies would beg to disagree, Barbatos.”  

“I said ‘mostly’, didn’t I? And besides, you weren’t complaining last time.” 

“Last time, we were fighting gods. You were not fighting gods this time.”  

Fighting gods. What kind of dragon would be– 

Oh my fucking stars, that’s Rex Lapis. Jean’s jaw nearly drops out of her face as she stares at the very-much-alive Geo Archon sitting in her fountain and letting the smallest children climb all over him, and it’s only the years of practice at schooling her face that prevents her from making the most unseemly face possible. 

…The Geo Archon’s sitting in her gods-be-damned fountain. Barbara is never going to believe this if Jean doesn’t make sure she sees it with her own eyes. 

“Lisa, watch them for me, will you?” Jean asks, already heading back into the throngs of people. “I have to go make sure Barbara sees the Archon in the fountain.” 

“The what?” 

But she’s already gone, swallowed up by the festivities, and Lisa simply lets out an elegant sigh. 

Venti had a point – the city is intact, everyone is alive (which apparently includes Rex Lapis, the not-so-dead Geo Archon of the neighbouring nation), and this celebration is shaping up to be one of their best in decades. There really isn’t a way for the night to get better – or weirder. 

“If the army is dead,” comes Rex Lapis’s rumbling voice over the crowds, “I suppose I ought to send my soldiers home, then?”  

Ah. There it is. 

“Your what now?” Venti says, and Jean just sighs. Even after a failed siege, two Archon reveals, and half a festival, the work of Acting Grandmaster is, apparently, never done. She’d better go deal with that before somebody nearly causes a diplomatic incident. 

(Jean still isn’t drunk enough for this.)