The morning sunlight streaming through the stained glass of the newly renovated church felt different today. If it usually brought a lazy warmth—the kind that invited afternoon naps—today it felt sharp, spotlighting the worn map spread across the wooden table in the center of the room.
The atmosphere inside the old church, now the headquarters of the Barbatos Familia, was quiet, but it wasn't a peaceful silence. It was the calm before the storm. Tension hung in the air, as thick as the dust that had once blanketed this place before Venti's arrival.
Venti stood at the head of the table, his usual playful grin nowhere to be seen. Across from him sat Alfia, arms crossed over her chest, her face as rigid as a marble statue. Beside her sister sat Meteria, her hand absently stroking her belly, which was now visibly swelling. Her pregnancy had entered its fifth month, and the life within grew stronger by the day.
"So," Alfia's voice cut through the silence, cold but concealing deep concern. "You're really going through with this."
"The decision has been made, Miss Silence," Venti answered calmly, his finger tracing the line of the northern mountains on the map. "Aria can't wait any longer. And that dragon... it's getting hungrier."
Meteria looked at Venti with eyes full of genuine anxiety. Her face, which had become much healthier thanks to Venti's time therapy, looked pale again with fear.
"Venti-sama, are you sure you don't need help?" Meteria asked softly. "Alfia might not be fully recovered, but she's still the strongest mage to ever exist. And I... maybe I could help with support magic..."
Venti shook his head slowly, a thin, reassuring smile etched on his lips. He looked at the two women—the small family he had accidentally formed in this world.
"No, Meteria. It is precisely because you two are here that I can go," Venti said. His tone was serious, a far cry from the drunken persona he usually projected. "If you come along, I'll be torn between focusing on the mission and protecting you. The Black Dragon isn't an opponent you can face while babysitting."
Venti straightened up, then picked up a knight chess piece he had found somewhere, placing it onto the map of Orario.
"Listen, this isn't a suicide mission. This is a heist operation. And the best thieves work in the shadows, not with big explosions."
He began to lay out his plan, step by step, as if composing a complex musical score.
"Phase one: Emergency Alibi," Venti raised one finger. "Orario is a city full of eyes and ears. If a new god suddenly disappears, Hermes or Loki will definitely sniff something out."
He looked at Alfia seriously. "You don't need to spread any rumors right now. But, if I'm not back in seven days... spread the story that I went out of town to search for ingredients for a 'legendary wine' that only grows on snowy mountain slopes. That stupid alibi will serve as a smokescreen if the thief is late coming home."
Alfia snorted, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. "A ridiculous alibi. It suits you perfectly."
"Exactly!" Venti chuckled, snapping his fingers. "Because the alibi is stupid and very 'Venti', no one will be suspicious. They'll just think, 'Ah, that Bard is acting up again'."
Venti's face turned serious again as he raised a second finger.
"Phase two: Identity. This is crucial. Venti the Bard will never set foot in the Dragon Valley. If that Black Dragon sees my face and I fail to steal her, he will remember me."
Venti closed his eyes for a moment. The wind inside the church rustled softly, carrying a majestic and alien aura.
"I will use my true form. Not this physical body, but my spiritual form as Barbatos. A figure without a face, just a silhouette of wind and wings of light. That way, even if the Black Dragon survives, he will never connect that entity of light to the petty bard god living in a dilapidated church."
Alfia stared at Venti intently. She knew her god held secrets and immense power, but hearing Venti talk about shedding his human form made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
"And phase three," Venti continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The operation itself."
He pointed to a spot on the map marked with a black skull—the Dragon Valley.
"My target is to sever Aria's connection from the dragon's heart," Venti explained. His hand moved through the air, mimicking a smooth cutting motion. "My plan is to use my Authority of Time to freeze the moment—creating a one-second gap where the dragon is unaware of its own existence. And in that second, I will pull Aria out."
"One second?" Meteria murmured in horror. "Is that enough?"
Venti fell silent for a moment. He didn't answer immediately with his usual confidence. He stared at the map, visualizing a valley of death he had never seen in person.
"Honestly... I don't know," Venti admitted softly. "That is my best assumption. I haven't seen the seal up close. I don't know how deeply Aria is bound, or how reactive the dragon is to magical interference. One second is the optimistic scenario where everything goes perfectly."
Alfia frowned. "So you're betting on uncertainty?"
"Thievery is always about gambling, Alfia," Venti replied, his eyes locking onto hers sharply. "What I know for sure is that the wind can travel miles in the blink of an eye if it wants to. The rest... is improvisation."
Alfia leaned back in her chair, staring at the church ceiling. She tried to find a flaw in the plan, tried to find a reason to forbid him from going. But her sharp combat logic had to admit that the plan was solid—even if the risks were astronomically high.
"You make it sound easy," Alfia commented cynically.
"Because in theory, it is easy," Venti retorted, holding her gaze. "The hard part is... running away if things go south. That dragon has terrifying instincts. If he wakes up before I can escape... well, there might be a confrontation."
Silence enveloped them once more. This time it was heavier. The word "confrontation," spoken so casually, wasn't funny at all to Alfia and Meteria. They knew exactly what that dragon was capable of.
Venti then walked closer to Alfia. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a heavy small leather pouch. He placed it in front of Alfia.
"This is the rest of your savings, plus a little from gambling... ah, I mean, my investment earnings yesterday," Venti said quickly.
"Venti, what is this?" Alfia asked, staring at the pouch without touching it.
"Special preparations," Venti answered, his tone shifting to absolute instruction. "Alfia, your duty is to protect Meteria and the baby. That is your top priority. Not this church, not the Familia name, but their lives."
Venti leaned in, looking straight into Alfia's eyes.
"If I don't return within seven days... do not look for me."
Alfia's breath hitched.
"Don't come to the north. Don't try to be a hero," Venti continued firmly. "Take this money, take Meteria, and go to another city. Change your identities. Live as ordinary humans. Do you understand?"
Alfia's hands trembled. She clenched her fists tightly on the table until her knuckles turned white. This was the feeling she hated most. The helplessness of watching someone walk toward their death.
"You..." Alfia's voice wavered. For the first time since joining the Barbatos Familia, the Silence's cold mask cracked. "Are you serious about the possibility of not coming back?"
Venti's expression softened. The sternness in his face melted into a gentle smile filled with thousands of years of age.
"I have lived a very long time, Alfia. I have seen mountains leveled, oceans frozen, and my best friends fall in wars for freedom," Venti whispered. "I am not afraid of death. Death is just another form of freedom, returning to become the unbound wind."
He touched Alfia's clenched hand, channeling a little warmth.
"I am only afraid... of not trying. I am afraid of letting my own kind suffer forever just because I was too cowardly to take a risk."
Alfia lowered her head, hiding her eyes behind her silver bangs. She didn't answer, but Venti knew she understood. Beneath her harsh exterior, Alfia was a warrior who respected courage.
"Alright," Alfia whispered hoarsely. "Seven days. If the sun rises on the eighth day and you are not here... we will leave."
"Agreed!" Venti exclaimed cheerfully, as if a heavy burden had just been lifted from his shoulders.
.............................................
Night fell faster than usual. After a simple dinner—during which Venti ate more ravenously than usual, praising Alfia's cooking to the skies—he prepared to leave.
No shining armor, no legendary weapons. Venti wore only his usual bard attire, carried Der Frühling on his back, and had a few bottles of wine at his waist ("For liquid courage," he said).
Before stepping out the door, Venti approached Meteria, who was sitting on a bench near the fireplace. The platinum-haired woman looked at him with teary eyes, but she tried to smile.
Venti knelt before Meteria, bringing himself to eye level with her stomach. Hesitantly but gently, he placed his palm on Meteria's swollen belly.
Warm. There was a life pulsing strongly within. A small soul that would one day shake the world.
"Hey, little one," Venti whispered to the belly, his voice soft like a lullaby. "Your cool uncle is going away for a bit. It might be a little dangerous, so don't copy your Uncle, okay?"
Suddenly, movement was felt beneath Venti's palm. A small but firm kick.
Venti's eyes widened in surprise. "Oho! He kicked me!"
Meteria laughed softly, patting Venti's head affectionately. "He heard you, Venti-sama."
"Listen closely, kid," Venti continued, more serious this time. "Be a good child for your mother and your fierce aunt. Uncle promises to come back to see you born. We'll drink... ah, I mean, Uncle will sing a welcome song for you."
Another kick was felt, softer this time, as if in agreement.
Meteria smiled, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "He says you have to keep your promise, Venti-sama. He doesn't want his first Uncle to break a promise."
Venti looked up, gazing at Meteria's hopeful face. "Since when can you translate baby kicks?"
"Mother's intuition," Meteria answered simply, yet with full conviction.
Venti chuckled, then slowly stood up. He dusted off his knees, trying to hide the emotional tremor in his hands. That promise now felt heavier than the sky he had once held up.
"Alright, alright. In that case, Uncle Venti has no choice but to succeed, right?"
Venti looked at Alfia and Meteria in turn. It was late. Exhaustion was clearly visible on their faces after the day's intense strategy discussions.
"Now, sleep," Venti commanded gently. "You need rest. I'll stay up a little longer to check... ah, check the last wine stock before tomorrow."
Alfia eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but her recovering body demanded rest. She nodded briefly.
"Don't stay up too late. We need clear heads tomorrow," Alfia said, helping Meteria stand.
"Of course. Sweet dreams, Miss Silence. Sweet dreams, Mother-to-be," Venti said, waving his hand.
He watched the two women enter their makeshift room at the back of the church. The door clicked shut softly.
Silence returned to envelop the church hall. Venti didn't move from his spot for several minutes, ensuring their breathing had become regular and deep in sleep.
His cheerful smile slowly faded, replaced by a gaze that was calm and calculating. He had no intention of waiting for sunrise. A face-to-face farewell would only weaken his resolve.
He walked slowly toward the table in the center of the room, where a candle was still burning dimly.
"Sorry I had to lie about 'tomorrow'," he whispered to his own shadow on the stone wall. "But a good thief always leaves when no one is looking, right?"