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“You never sing these days.”
Barbatos turned around at the voice, streaks of tears evident on his cheeks. His face was a bright red even in the pale moonlight, and the skin around his eyes was puffy.
“Really?” The Anemo Archon sniffs, rubbing at his green-blue eyes. “I don’t think it’s been that long since I last sang a tune.”
The yaksha that approached him folded his arms with a cross expression.
“Barbatos, it’s been a century since then. Can you really not get over it?” Xiao sighed. “Even the Adepti has already moved on.”
“But that doesn’t mean that they no longer think about him, right?”
“That… I do not know. I am not blessed with the skill of understanding others,” He sits next to the crying archon, who leans into his arms. “But I do know that you’re not alright. He used to be like you now, many centuries ago. Always thinking about the past.”
Barbatos gives a sad chuckle, raising a hand to the sky as if he were toasting to the constellations above.
“As he always said - Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember, but where are those… who share the memory? ”