Tablecloth Dreams

After accepting Jean's mission, Lumine and Paimon raced to the Temples of the Four Winds, their steps swift despite the day's earlier chaos.

Reading comics cost Mora, and without steady work, their funds would dwindle—spurring them to tackle this task with urgency.

Thanks to the Wind-Wind Fruit's power, Lumine swept through the temples, quelling elemental havoc with gales at her command.

Paimon trailed gleefully, her camera capturing every slash as Lumine dispatched Hillichurls and beasts for her Traveler's Journal.

Back at the Knights' headquarters, their success earned Lumine the title "Honorary Knight" and a hefty pouch of Mora.

"These hundreds of thousands will keep us in comics for days," Lumine said, a grin breaking across her face as she left the building.

Having tasted the Wind-Wind Fruit's might, she craved more tales from Harlan Flint's shelves with growing fervor.

Paimon bobbed in agreement, her mind fixed on the elusive Gourmet Tablecloth Harlan had teased her with.

"By the way, Lumine, you didn't mention that figure we saw in the temple—besides the dragon and crystal," Paimon said, her tone suspicious.

Lumine's eyes darkened briefly. "He didn't feel trustworthy—something off about him."

Paimon pointed downward. "You mean that green-clad guy, like the bard strumming below us now?"

Lumine peered over the ledge, spotting a familiar figure in green, and muttered, "That's… him, isn't it?"

What were the odds they'd stumble across him here, lounging beneath the Anemo Archon's statue?

Paimon's eyes widened, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Let's go check him out!"

Lumine nodded, and they descended to the square, where the bard's harp wove a haunting melody through the air.

Wendy sang of ancient times, his voice a lilting thread that drew a crowd—Lumine and Paimon among them, tossing a few Mora his way.

"You're the Honorary Knight and Mondstadt's hero!" Wendy exclaimed, his smile bright as he recognized them.

Driving off Stormterror had cemented their fame, a deed worthy of bardic praise in his eyes.

Paimon beamed, puffed up with pride. "He called us heroes—hear that, Lumine?"

"I'm Wendy, a bard—three-time champion of Mondstadt's favorite, no less," he said, his gaze lingering on Lumine's wind-touched aura.

"What brings you to me?" he asked, sensing the power she wielded, rivaling even an Anemo Vision's grace.

Paimon chirped, "A bard like you could sing our adventures—make us legends!"

Lumine shot her a playful glare, then explained their encounter with the dragon's corruption in the temple.

Their chat revealed Twalin—Stormterror's true name—and its madness under the Abyss Mages' sway, a tale Wendy knew well.

In a twist of charm, he roped Lumine into a night heist for the Sky Lyre, a plan she couldn't quite refuse.

Before parting, Wendy's curiosity flared. "How did you conjure that cyan dragon against Twalin?"

"It's all thanks to Harlan Flint's comics," Lumine replied, eager to spread word of the shop's wonders.

She detailed the gripping stories and the rewards—like her wind powers—hoping Wendy's songs might draw a crowd to Galehaven Comics.

Only 100,000 Mora for such might felt like a debt she owed Harlan, one she'd repay with promotion.

Wendy's brows shot up, astonishment lighting his face. "A shop in Mondstadt that gifts power through tales?"

As Barbatos, he knew Mondstadt's every corner across a millennium, yet this place eluded his divine memory.

"Harlan Flint—sounds foreign, maybe Liyuean, but he doesn't fit that mold—another outlander, perhaps?" he pondered, chin in hand.

Paimon leaned in, her voice dreamy. "Harlan mentioned a Gourmet Tablecloth—say a dish, and it appears, pure magic!"

Her longing for that prize shone through, a hunger stoked by the promise of endless feasts.

Wendy's head snapped up, eyes gleaming. "A prop like that exists?!"

Visions of boundless cider and delicacies danced in his mind—no more tavern tabs to dodge.

"Where's this shop? I've got to see it!" he urged, his bardic calm giving way to eager delight.

Lumine and Paimon exchanged a glance, nodding. "We'll take you now—nothing else on our slate."

They hoped ushering in a new guest might earn them extra reads from Harlan's strict one-a-day rule.

The trio set off, their steps light as they wound through Mondstadt toward the alley's hidden gem.

At Galehaven Comics, Barbara closed Digimon: First Frontier, her face glowing with the story's aftertaste.

For someone cloistered in the cathedral, its wild adventures opened a window to worlds she'd never dreamed of.

The digital realm's novelty—computers, evolving creatures—captivated her, its vivid panels a feast for her eyes.

Yet the children's farewell to their Digimon tugged at her heart, a poignant split she couldn't shake.

"Good thing it's just a comic—if this were a moving tale, I'd be a sobbing mess," Harlan mused, watching her wistful expression.

The system pinged in his mind, its message poised to reveal Barbara's reward as she set the book aside.

***

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