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The usual meeting between the Seven ended smoothly this time also.
This time, Morax was the one hosting the meeting once again in Liyue, going to the top of a mountain with a great view as usual. They would gather around a large stone table, eating while chatting - sharing stories about their respective nations and reporting to Celestia. At times, the meeting wouldn’t exactly be savory, due to intervention of Heavenly Principles—though it has been happening fairly rarely, which everyone was quite thankful about.
The assembly of Seven then would begin as such: Barbatos would regale about the wind and its songs, the continuous path that people engrave after the revolution. Morax would tell the unyielding will of rocks, thousands of battles and war between gods. Baalzebul–herself–would mostly recap everything she had seen in the eyes of Eternity, along with being a voice of reason for her absent Kagemusha at the moment. Muratan would enthuse in blood-boiling battles. The Tsar of Tundra would pave in a way of love amidst biting coldness. The Just would weigh between fair and unfairness, balancing the scale.
This stillness of peace could also be a prelude to something sinister beneath, so everyone should enjoy the time while it lasts.
Pulling away from Barbatos trying to make everyone drink wine he specifically brought from Mondstadt, Baalzebul finds herself walking down the cliffside. This mountain, as Morax said, was named ‘Hulao’. There was a small pond at the middle level, and he had said for everyone to be wary of Amber stone traps and endangering the animals there.
There, she suddenly caught a wisp of a song.
It was different from the ones Barbatos would sing, as it was mostly humming the tone. And yet, the song itself permeated through the land, as though calling the earth itself. Petals danced, branches followed; the song itself swayed without an ending, like it was alive on its own. Birds started to gather, flying close to a certain tree, when Baalzebul realized who was the voice owner.
Silver long hair entwining with green, like overgrown roots and vines tangling together in harmony. She wore her robe up to conceal her face, but she looked up when birds flocked to greet her, perched on her shoulders, or stayed atop her finger.
Of course, she thought, if anyone could have a moment of beautiful silence like that, being one with the trees and grasses, it should be her.
“Don’t just stand there and join me, Baalzebul,” she chuckled without having to double take to know Baalzebul was there. She tapped her chin, tilting her head in a manner of thinking. “Hmm, or is it Beel that is substituting for you today? It’s sometimes hard to tell the twins apart.”
Being addressed with such clarity made her heart raced just a little faster. The easiness and the familiarity came easily from the gentle god. “Oh, no, no. You’re right on the mark.”
Baalzebul walked closer, though it seemed that the birds were startled that they took a flight away. The Wise patted on a space beside her on the long log, smiling as she put down her veil.
“Isn’t my name a mouthful? Just call me Makoto.”
“Sadly my real name is the mouthful one then,” she chuckled. “Or, you can call me Rukkha, but please don’t tell anyone else about this.”
Rukkhadevata, the good listener and one of the least spoken out of Seven. She would rarely be present because she is protecting the Irminsul Tree, and how she would dote on her people and her friends more than anyone else. It was interesting to see her getting a back-to-back exchange with Morax at times, being the one who can rival the God of Contracts’ memory.
“How can birds be at ease around you? Was that a bird-caller song?”
Rukkhadevata laughed at Makoto’s frankness, “It’s a Rhythm of Great Dreams, though I guess it won’t really mean anything as we’re in Liyue and not Sumeru.”
Makoto blinked, her interest piqued. “Rhythm of … Great Dreams?”
“As the name implies. In simpler terms, it is a gateway to dreamland,” Rukkhadevata sang the beginning of the tone again, her light voice carried through the stone forest. “Want me to teach you, Makoto?”
Her smile was kind, and Makoto found herself unable to say no, despite knowing she wasn’t a singer. She could repeat whatever her drunken oni friend would sing during her stupor, but an actual softer tune?
But then, a hand easily crossed between hers - longer fingers, firm and steady grip.
“No need to be afraid,” she said, her eyes gleaming in a calm green to her dense amethyst. “Repeat after me.”
Ah, if only such a simple moment could never last.