Chapter Text
For the first time in months, maybe years, Varka stood beneath the gates of Mondstadt without a sword in his hand. No battlefield smoke. No cries from wounded soldiers. No reports waiting on his desk like hungry wolves. Just home. The city glowed gold beneath the evening sky, lanterns flickering alive one by one as if Mondstadt itself had missed him. People recognized him almost immediately.
“Grand Master!”
“Varka’s back!”
Children nearly bowled into his legs before darting away laughing. Knights saluted him from across the street. Somewhere above, church bells rang softly in the cooling dusk. Varka laughed, deep and warm, rubbing the back of his neck as the attention followed him like an overly affectionate dog.
“Easy now,” he called. “I’ve only been gone a little while.”
A little while. The thought almost made him snort. Nod-Krai had felt endless. War against the Doctor had a way of stretching time into something cruel and crooked. Even now, fragments clung to him like stubborn frost. The bitter metallic scent of ruined laboratories. The crackling madness in Dottore’s laughter. Snow stained dark beneath moonlight. He’d left only yesterday after saying farewell to the Traveler and Paimon near the northern roads. Lauma had clasped his forearm hard enough to bruise. Nefer merely smiled in that quiet knowing way of hers before disappearing into the drifting white horizon.
“Try resting for once,” the Traveler had told him.
Varka had laughed at the time. Now, standing in Mondstadt again, he realized perhaps they had been serious. Which was exactly how he found himself outside Angel's Share with absolutely no intention of dealing with paperwork tonight. Music drifted from inside the tavern. Lively fiddle strings. Tankards clinking together. Familiar chaos. Perfect. The moment he stepped through the doors, warmth swallowed him whole.
“Grand Master!”
Someone cheered immediately.
“By Barbatos, he lives!”
“Get this man a drink!”
Varka barked out a laugh as several patrons nearly dragged him toward the counter. The air smelled of cider, oak barrels, and roasted meat. Home in liquid form. Behind the bar moved a woman he didn’t recognize. She was quick with her hands, gliding between glasses and bottles with practiced ease. Dark hair was pinned loosely with jade-green ornaments, though a few strands had escaped around her face. Her clothes carried hints of Chenyu Vale craftsmanship: embroidered cloud patterns stitched into pale teal fabric that shifted like river water under lanternlight. But it was the wind around her that caught his attention. Soft. Barely visible. Anemo. Not wild like Jean’s disciplined gusts or Sucrose’s crackling experiments. Hers moved lazily around her sleeves like a breeze wandering through bamboo forests. She noticed him staring. Varka, to his own surprise, forgot entirely what someone had just said to him. Her gaze lingered for half a second too long before she looked away again, calm and unreadable. Interesting.
“She’s new,” one of the patrons whispered loudly beside him. “Moved here recently from Chenyu Vale.”
“That so?”
“Mhm. Best bartender Diluc’s hired in months too.”
The woman slid a drink across the counter to another customer with effortless precision. Then she finally approached him. Up close, he noticed she looked younger than he first thought, though not fragile. There was something composed about her. Like still water hiding depth beneath the surface.
“What can I get you?” she asked. Her voice was smooth, quiet.
Varka rested an elbow against the counter. “Depends. What do you recommend for a man who survived a war and would rather not think about it tonight?” One corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“That sounds less like a drink request and more like a cry for help.”
A laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. Nearby patrons stared. Most people reacted to the Grand Master with either awe or exhaustion. This woman had met him with dry humor and a perfectly straight face. Now that was refreshing.
“I like you already,” he declared.
“I hear that often from customers after their third drink.”
“Cruel,” he said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. She finally smiled properly then, and something warm flickered unexpectedly beneath his ribs.
“Dandelion wine,” she decided. “Simple. Familiar. Less likely to make you fight somebody.”
“No promises.” She poured the drink carefully.
As she handed it over, he caught sight of the Anemo Vision resting at her hip. “A fellow wind-bearer,” he noted.
Her expression shifted almost invisibly. “Something like that.”
Not pride. Not excitement. Avoidance. Varka noticed immediately. Years leading knights had sharpened his instincts too well for him to miss discomfort hidden behind calm. Most vision wielders loved discussing their powers. She looked like she wished hers didn’t exist. Before he could ask further, another customer called for her attention.
“Coming,” she replied softly. And just like that, she drifted away again.
Hours later, the tavern had thinned considerably. Music mellowed into quieter melodies. Chairs scraped against wooden floors as the last customers wandered home beneath the stars. Varka remained exactly where he’d started. Mostly because he’d caught himself waiting. Lianhua. That was her name, he’d learned after hearing Charles call for her twice. It suited her. Like flowers floating downriver. She emerged from behind the counter carrying a crate of empty bottles toward the storage room. Varka stood automatically.
“You closing alone?”
She blinked. “I usually do.”
“Not tonight.”
Before she could protest, he effortlessly lifted the crate from her arms. “That’s unnecessary.”
“Probably,” he agreed cheerfully. “Still doing it.”
A faint sigh escaped her, though amusement lingered underneath it. Together they carried the last of the tavern supplies into storage while the lanterns dimmed lower overhead. By the time they finished, Mondstadt outside had gone silver beneath moonlight. Lianhua stepped onto the balcony outside Angel’s Share with visible relief, stretching her arms slightly. Wind curled around her sleeves again. Free. Unthinking. Varka leaned against the railing beside her.
“Long shift?”
“Long week.”
“Long life?” That earned a soft laugh.
“Maybe.”
For a moment neither spoke. The city below hummed gently in the dark. Then Varka glanced sideways at her.
“So,” he said casually, “now that your shift’s over, how about that drink?”
Lianhua looked at him carefully. “You’re still here?”
“I survived Dottore. I can survive waiting for a bartender.”
Something flickered across her face at the mention of the Doctor. Not recognition exactly. Fear. Gone almost instantly. Varka’s smile faded slightly. The wind shifted between them. Not playful anymore. Uneasy. He watched her rest a hand unconsciously near her Vision. A habit born from old danger. Finally she looked away toward the moonlit rooftops of Mondstadt.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “One drink.”