Work Text:
Venti held onto millions of fragments. Small details he dared not to let fade to time, all of it kept so tightly to his chest, so dear and cherished that it was as equally fulfilling as it was scarring—so deeply engraved in his skin it was now a part of him. Whether he planned to or not, he donned these little details. He stole his face, his form, even his name so that Mondstadt could remember the true identity of their saviour.
Just because his body now rests far in the Earth did not mean that his name needed to die there too. This is what Venti believed.
But he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a burden.
Sometimes he’d walk past a mirror and snap his eyes to the unmistakable ghost standing in it. Other times, he’d search for the safety of his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky in his own face, stripping himself of his cap and his corset, forcing himself to ignore the teal tips of his hair to at least feel that the boy reflected in the glass was there staring back. He tried to smile like him, but couldn’t help but feel that it was empty, too sorrowful and strained each time he tried. No matter how many times he sought to replicate it, he could never truly believe in that smile.
That in itself was both a blessing and a curse.
Venti knows he’ll never be the same boy as him. He knows that he lacks his motivation and his strong eyes. He knows that Venti, the boy who revolted thousands of years ago, was never a careless person, never cheering at tavern counters in drunken hazes. Never in his dreams could he, the Venti now, pretend otherwise. But, he could play the lyre, and he could sing ballads too. He didn’t learn it for nothing after all.
With a gentle strum and a silvery voice, he would sing. Anywhere he could to anyone he knew. To boys and girls on the street, to knights in taverns. He could tell them about the boy that he himself was not and could only hope to be. Oh how he loved when they listened with starry eyes.
Through his ballads laced with love, every fragment he held onto could be stored and shared. Every piece of him could be remembered.
It didn’t matter how long he needed to play as an imposter.
Just as long as they knew his name.