Capítulo 105: Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking [105]
Apart from the occasional malfunctioning ancient automaton, the feared Legion soldiers were curiously absent.
It was odd—seven centuries of entrapment in ice couldn't have simply melted them away, right?
The only one capable of achieving such a feat, naturally, was none other than Venti.
Though he continued to act carefree and playful, the Trailblazers now regarded him with newfound respect.
When March 7 asked if he was responsible, Venti struck a mysterious pose, his tone conspiratorial.
"Shhh, keep this between us," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I may have... relocated them. Let's just say they're now ice sculptures for Belobog's museums to replicate. Cool, right?"
Despite his lack of airs and graces, Venti had a knack for creating a sense of camaraderie. The playful way he shared "secrets" made the group's bond with him grow stronger by the day.
As a god, as a friend, Venti was much like the gentle breeze—always quietly sweeping away life's dust and offering serenity in its wake.
---
Two days later, the Windblume Festival reached its climax. The flowers chosen by the people as the "Windblume" were diverse and imaginative, each carrying their hopes and faith.
Venti appeared in the skies above the city at the festival's finale, basking in the reverent prayers of thousands. His form shimmered faintly with divine light.
Draped in a white ceremonial cloak, he accepted the chosen Windblume—a single white wildflower presented by Belobog's guardian herself.
The flower radiated a sense of peace and quiet, a stark contrast to Venti's usual carefree demeanor. But perhaps, in moments unseen, he, too, had sung solitary songs of longing.
"—Oh, it's this one, huh? It's come full circle," he mused with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on the flower.
Hearing this, Bronya felt a strange unease.
"Lord Barbatos…"
"Relax," Venti interrupted gently. "No need for formality. Since you've gone to such lengths to find this 'original' Windblume for me, it's time for me to fulfill my promise."
Venti took the Cecilia flower and tucked it behind his ear, a gesture of acknowledgment. The crowd erupted into cheers.
While the Windblume's identity wasn't a test, Venti would have accepted any flower as the "original" Windblume.
To him, the festival wasn't about whether people found the true flower of origin. It was about discovering their own Windblume along the way.
A Windblume could symbolize a free spirit, a heart full of courage, or anything worth celebrating and cherishing.
Every person had the right to define their own Windblume.
This was the true meaning of the festival.
In return for the people's heartfelt offerings, Venti prepared his "thank-you gift."
From his side, he pulled out his lyre, Skyward Harp, an instrument that had accompanied him since his arrival in this world.
Its wooden frame bore the gentle markings of the wind, its strings waiting to weave melodies that felt like heaven's embrace.
Time had slipped by unnoticed, Venti realized.
Did he still remember his original intentions?
Gazing at the expectant crowd, he smiled tenderly and thought to himself:
If you are trapped in a place without wind, I will play the song of the heavens for you.
With that, the Wind God plucked his lyre's strings, and the wind harmonized with him.
The melody—bright, graceful, and pure—spoke of springtime's beauty.
Perhaps one day, there would be songs of summer, autumn, and winter too. But for now, this song belonged to the present.
For now, the only things that mattered were the people immersed in the music and the god who played it.
When the final note faded, silence hung over the crowd.
It wasn't confusion or apathy—it was awe.
The music had been so exquisite that no one wanted it to end.
As the applause finally rose, Venti handed his lyre to Bronya. Her expression was dazed, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the divine instrument.
"Friend," Venti said softly, his tone carrying a playful lilt, "do you remember our promise?"
Bronya's eyes sharpened as she replied firmly, "Of course."
Venti's smile widened. He admired how much she'd grown, shedding the burdens that had once held her down.
Still, part of him couldn't resist a mischievous urge to whisk her away like in a storybook ending.
"Well then," he said, "meet me there tonight."
"...Wait!"
Before Bronya could respond, Venti vanished like a gust of wind, leaving her clutching the lyre.
The crowd erupted with renewed fervor. To them, the instrument wasn't just a tool—it was an artifact bestowed by their god, a symbol of hope for a brighter future under Bronya's leadership.
Bronya raised the lyre high and announced, "This year's Windblume Festival has concluded, and the title of 'Windblume Star' is awarded to—Pela Sergeyevna!"
---
Amidst the crowd, a certain literature-loving girl froze.
Pela had anonymously submitted the Cecilia flower and never expected such recognition.
As she tried to shrink behind the taller people near her, Bronya's keen eyes caught her movement. The protector made her way down the steps, and the crowd parted with curiosity, all eyes on Pela.
Led to the stage, Pela held the lyre with trembling hands. Its smooth texture felt like the poet's touch, gentle and inviting.
"Don't be nervous, Pela," Bronya said warmly. "As the Windblume Star, do you have anything you'd like to say to everyone?"
"Uh…" Pela's thoughts raced.
Should she proclaim, 'Glory to Lord Barbatos!'? Or perhaps humbly say, 'This isn't just my achievement.'
Or—'Barbatos is a fan of Snowfield Adventure Tales! Fellow book lovers, gather around!'
No, no, no! Definitely not that! She was terrible in situations like this!
Finally, she shyly used the lyre to cover her face and muttered, "This time, I won, but next time… next time will be me too!"
"Ha! Already planning to hog future festivals? Bold words, Pela!"
Serval's boisterous laughter led the crowd into a chorus of good-natured banter, promising to compete for the title next year.
Bronya smiled at the scene, both amused and comforted by Pela's determination.
Yet, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a familiar violet-haired figure slipping away quietly.
---
That evening, Bronya found herself in the lower district, where the streets were livelier than ever.
The desolate despair that once defined the area had been replaced with hope, thanks to ongoing reconstruction efforts and partnerships between the Silvermane Guards and the Wildfire organization.
Passing familiar landmarks, Bronya's footsteps eventually brought her to the orphanage at the heart of Rivet Town.
Standing at the foot of the hill, she wasn't surprised to see Seele waiting for her.
"You're not in the administrative hall working late, so what are you doing here?" Seele asked bluntly, her arms crossed.
Bronya hesitated. "...I was just—"
"Let me guess," Seele interrupted. "That bard arranged to meet you here, didn't he?"
Bronya's silence confirmed her suspicion, but before Seele could press further, she added, "Wait… you're here too?"
Seele's scowl deepened. "Don't lump me in with your secret rendezvous. I'm here because the upper district's noise is unbearable, and this is the only place I can clear my head."
Their banter faded as they ascended the hill together, the quiet night stretching out before them.
At the top, on the orphanage swing, Venti sat alone, swaying gently with the breeze.
Spotting them, he leapt off with an easy grin.
"You made it!"
"You've got some nerve," Seele snapped. "What's this about?"
Venti's grin softened. "I wanted to honor my promise... and say goodbye."
His words stilled the air.
"Goodbye?!" Bronya and Seele both exclaimed.
Venti simply smiled. "Come on, don't look so surprised."
"Of course, we're surprised!" Seele said sharply. "Where are you going? And why now?"
Bronya's voice was quieter but no less concerned. "Is this because of the Trailblazers?"
Venti nodded faintly. "That's part of it. But really... I've been yearning to travel for a long time now."
Looking at their worried faces, his tone grew gentle.
"Have I ever told you about my wish?"
---
Oh, hey there, Traveler! 🍃 My friend here is the one bringing these stories to you—quite the talent, wouldn't you agree? If anything feels off, just give them a nudge—they're always happy to make things even better.
Now, don't forget to take a moment to rest! Grab a drink (perhaps something as refreshing as Mondstadt's finest), and let the stories whisk you away.
Oh, and if you're feeling generous, you could check out [patreon.com/WiseTL]. Supporting them is like throwing a coin to your favorite bard—it keeps the magic flowing!
Here's to more adventures and endless inspiration~ 🎵
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