The gates of Mondstadt greeted them with golden light and a gentle breeze, as if the city itself recognized the weight of what they had done.
The crew of the Astral Express returned not as strangers, but as protectors. The townsfolk clapped and cheered softly as they passed through, not in celebration—but in gratitude. Word of the Windrise mission had spread quickly.
At the Adventurer's Guild, they were met with warm smiles and proud nods. A plaque bearing their team's names was already being etched—a commendation for bravery and swift response.
"We've never seen anything like what you did," the guild officer said, shaking Noah's hand firmly. "You've more than earned your place among us."
Before long, another figure approached—armor polished, cape trailing with the symbol of the wind. A young woman bearing the sigil of the Knights of Favonius.
"The Grandmaster sends his thanks," she said, bowing slightly. "What you did at Windrise… it has not gone unnoticed. The Knights would welcome your aid in an ongoing investigation, if you're willing."
Noah accepted the letter she offered. "We'll answer when called."
Behind him, Kiana grinned, waving at a few children in the crowd who ran up to greet her. "Did you see me? I spun and sliced like whoosh!" she laughed, twirling in place.
The children giggled. One handed her a small flower crown they'd made while waiting.
Elysia chuckled softly, but her eyes lingered. Kiana's smile was bright—but her hands trembled as she lowered her head to accept the crown.
Lumine stood still, her expression unreadable.
—
Later that afternoon, Elysia approached Noah as he finished a quiet exchange with the guild's quartermaster.
"She's not fine," she said without preamble.
"I know," he replied.
"I felt it. Back there. That… pressure. The energy from her wasn't just power—it was pain."
Noah nodded slowly. "The Force told me the same. But we can't force her to talk. She's still trying to protect us."
"And she'll break herself doing it," Elysia whispered.
Across the square, Kiana was laughing again. Her arms full of bread, a child on each side tugging her sleeve.
—
That evening, Kiana slipped away, wandering the quiet streets alone. The warmth of the day lingered, but her heart felt strangely cold.
The people she passed greeted her kindly. She smiled back, waved, cracked a joke or two. It all felt distant.
She stopped by the Windmill Quarter, looking up at the spinning sails silhouetted against the moon.
Her fingers touched her chest.
"You're trying so hard… but why hide from what you are?"
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't growl. It invited.
Kiana squeezed her eyes shut.
"No. I'm not listening to you."
But when she opened them again, her reflection in a shop window shimmered gold for just a second.
—
They gathered for dinner at the inn. The food was good. The mood was not.
Kiana filled the space with noise—stories, laughter, over-the-top reenactments of her 'epic battle poses.' The others smiled, nodded, even laughed once or twice.
But it didn't feel real.
Elysia met Lumine's gaze across the table. Lumine looked down at her barely touched plate.
Noah watched in silence.
"I'm glad we're all safe," Kiana said brightly. "And the city's safe too."
"Yeah," Elysia replied gently. "For now."
Kiana didn't respond to that.
—
The next morning, the Knights of Favonius delivered their message. A formal request.
Stormterror's Lair had begun stirring. Abyssal energy had been detected near the old ruins. They needed a trusted team.
Noah read the parchment, then looked at the others.
"We'll take it."
Kiana beamed. "Ooooh, dragon ruins? Sounds exciting!"
But Elysia watched her carefully.
"She's slipping," she whispered.
"I know," Noah said.
Lumine simply looked toward the eastern horizon, where stormclouds coiled faintly beyond the mountains.
The wind, again, had changed.
—
Later that night, long after the city had gone still, Noah stood alone atop the highest point of the inn, the stars gleaming cold above him.
The Force tugged at him—not in urgency, but with quiet insistence. A current beneath thought. A breath in the dark.
He closed his eyes and followed.
The wind stirred around him, soft but deliberate. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't alone.
A figure stood nearby, cloaked in green, perched lightly atop the weather vane of the cathedral tower. They were half-shadow, half-moonlight, an outline defined by music that hadn't been played in centuries.
Noah didn't move.
The figure tilted their head slightly, a feathered hat fluttering in the breeze.
Then—softly—a note. A single tone, like the beginning of a song.
The air shimmered with it.
Noah's gaze sharpened, not in suspicion, but in recognition. The Force whispered again.
Guardian. God. Wanderer.
The figure didn't speak. They simply watched. Then, the figure spoke.
"So serious," came the voice—light and sing-song, like wind chimes caught in a playful breeze. "Most people stare or shout. You just listen."
Noah remained still, though his posture shifted. Alert. Aware.
"You aren't just a bard," he said.
The figure chuckled. "And you aren't just a traveler."
The wind rustled the trees far below. The figure stepped forward, still perfectly balanced atop the narrow beam, eyes bright beneath the feathered cap.
"Something ancient walks with you," they said, almost to themselves. "A tree unrooted, yet still bearing stars."
Noah frowned slightly. "You see the Force?"
"I hear it," the bard replied, placing a hand over their chest. "In the heartbeat of the world. In songs never sung. And now…"—they glanced eastward—"…in a storm that remembers a god's broken breath."
"You know about her," Noah said, quiet.
The figure twirled a lyre in one hand. "Many do. But few remember what she used to be."
Silence passed. Then the bard smiled and turned.
"You'll need more than strength to face what's coming, Trailblazer. Especially when the wind turns against itself."
Noah took a step forward. "Who are you really?"
The bard looked back over their shoulder, eyes shimmering with mischief.
"Just a note in the breeze. But if you're lucky, I'll hum your name in my next ballad."
Then, as if carried by the wind itself, they vanished—leaving behind only the sound of fading strings.
Noah stood still for a long while.
Then he looked down toward the city where Kiana slept uneasily beneath a crown of stars.
"Even the gods are watching," he murmured.
And for once, the wind didn't argue.