In people's hearts, Durin was a black dragon, a poisonous dragon, an evil dragon—a dragon that brought disaster to the world.
A dragon full of sin.
But until its dying breath, Durin had never deliberately harmed a single life.
At the moment of death, Durin still carried remorse, offering a true blessing to this beautiful world, bringing a little warmth to the bitterly cold snowy mountain.
If one day you venture deep into the snowy mountain and see a terrifying giant heart pulsing with an eerie crimson light, do not be afraid.
For Durin's heart was always kind. It never intentionally hurt anyone.
If one day you need Scarlet Quartz to withstand the cold, do not hesitate. Mine it freely.
That is Durin's blessing to the world.
But when you use the power of Scarlet Quartz to resist the mountain's chill, please say to Durin:
Thank you.
If Durin could hear that thanks, it would surely be very happy.
...
At Wangshu Inn in Liyue Harbor, on stage, Li Mo, his voice now hoarse, finished the story of Durin in one breath.
From Durin's birth to its death, one word ran through it all:
Blessing.
The two dragon-spirits, Durin and Dvalin, were a blessing to Mondstadt—sacred beasts born from the elements to protect the land.
After Rhinedottir captured Durin, she called poison a blessing, forging its body into a weapon of destruction.
After bringing disaster to Mondstadt, Durin, filled with remorse, used the last of its strength to bless this beautiful world.
Having finished the story, Li Mo's throat was dry. He picked up his cup and took a sip of bitter tea.
At that moment, a sigh rose from the audience, as if mourning Durin.
What a magnificent dragon. What a kind dragon.
All because of that damned Rhinedottir, who forcibly transformed it into a poisonous weapon of war, condemning Durin to tragedy.
But though Rhinedottir changed Durin's body, she could not change Durin's heart.
"This is unbearable. That damned storyteller made me cry again—"
"Storyteller, tell me which room you're staying in tonight. I'd like to pay you a visit. Don't worry—I'm bringing neither a sword nor a bomb—"
"By the way, I have a question. Is the Scarlet Quartz in the story real?"
"On that freezing cold mountain, do such magical stones truly exist?"
"Five years ago, I traveled to Dragonspine in Mondstadt. I saw that terrifying giant heart and mined quite a bit of Scarlet Quartz. I never imagined it was all left behind by the black dragon Durin."
"Durin, thank you for your blessing. I received it—"
"Compared to us listeners, Barbatos and Dvalin must be feeling even worse."
The audience murmured quietly, afraid their words might reach Barbatos and Dvalin.
But both Barbatos and Dvalin, as beings who commanded the wind, could hear every word clearly.
Barbatos's expression was somber. He had no time for the audience.
But on the cliff outside Wangshu Inn, Dvalin, having heard the entire story and the audience's murmurs, was devastated.
When it had dug its claws into Durin's chest, how satisfying it had been.
When it had bitten through Durin's neck with its fangs, how mighty it had felt.
But Dvalin had never imagined that Durin, whose chest it had torn open, whose neck it had bitten through, was its brother.
Dvalin broke down.
It flew into the sky, circling Wangshu Inn, roaring, venting its anguish.
Why did it have to be this way?
They were brothers. Why had they been forced to fight?
As Dvalin's Anemo power erupted, a fierce wind swept through Wangshu Inn, nearly tearing it apart.
But then, a familiar harp began to play within the inn, calming all who heard it.
Everyone turned to look at Barbatos in the corner.
It was him.
Cradling his harp, a tear tracing down his cheek, he played softly.
And he said gently, "Dvalin, do not make a fuss."
"Though Durin died, it did not truly perish. Its soul will surely be reincarnated into another world."
"In that world, it will surely be happy."
Though Li Mo had not yet said it, Barbatos knew that the boy's cycle of reincarnation had not ended. The black dragon Durin was but one of countless reincarnations.
Hearing Barbatos's words, Dvalin finally descended from the sky, like an obedient child, and lay once more on the cliff outside the inn, as if lost in thought.
In a corner of the inn, Zhongli saw Barbatos shed a tear and sighed. "If young Venti were still alive, or if the black dragon Durin still lived, they would not want to see you cry like this."
"Besides, as you said, he has not truly perished. He has entered the cycle of reincarnation again."
"And for Durin, to enter that cycle is not a bad thing."
Zhongli's expression remained unchanged, neither joyful nor sorrowful.
From the first story to the fourth, he had found them interesting—perfect pastimes.
But after thousands of years of erosion, his heart had become as steadfast as stone.
To move Zhongli, to make him cry, was no easy feat.
Hearing his words of comfort, Barbatos set down his harp and gently wiped the tear from his eye.
He smiled through his sadness and complained, "These stories have nothing to do with you, so of course you can be hard-hearted."
"When you appear in the storyteller's tales, let's see if you, old man who has lived for thousands of years, can hold back your tears."
Until now, the ruler of Inazuma, the Raiden Shogun, and the ruler of Mondstadt, Barbatos, had both appeared in the storyteller's tales and had been moved to tears by them.
Of the three archons present, only Zhongli remained unmoved.
Hearing this, Zhongli smiled. "Every teahouse in Liyue Harbor tells my stories every day. I've grown tired of them."
"How could I be moved to tears?"