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37 lines
2.8 KiB
Plaintext
37 lines
2.8 KiB
Plaintext
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In the childhood dreams of Mondstadt, there was a certain breed of floaty flower,
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That would grow lushly even amidst the mighty winds, terrible winters and wild whipping ice.
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It was unlike ordinary plants, which would be blown away, roots and all, when struck by the powerful gales.
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Indeed, this "Windblume"'s roots would grow stronger even as the wind grew wilder.
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Today, the rebellion of ordinary mortals against tyranny has long been consigned to festive jests,
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And the shape of that flower has grown faint, melding into the lilting lyre-tunes of histories long gone by.
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"Let me give you this nameless flower, and may the spring-times you never saw mean nothing to you."
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"Pray repay me with hope and a smile, and stand with me to welcome the day when the storms blow no longer."
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In the days when a tyrant gazed down upon the common folk from his tower, those who nursed freedom in their breasts would greet each other thusly.
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Those who sought courage and dreamed of walking upright wove the unknown, using this as their secret sign.
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In those days, a lonely and fragile flower would come into bloom with the wind before slowly blossoming all across the wild mountain ranges.
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So too did rootless and indifferent subjects content to go with the flow become proud, fearless heroes.
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The frowning lord in the tower grew ever lesser in stature, and could no longer disperse the swelling, raging tide.
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"Let me give you this nameless flower, and may she crown us champions, defenders of spring and sky."
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"May the dawn be our spirit and follow us into the winds of true freedom."
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Atop the ruins of the ancient tower, amidst the cheers, songs, and tears of those who had newly won their freedom.
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A red-haired warrior turned his back on the newborn god, hidden like a single raindrop in a tidal wave of humanity.
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He was first among those who passed the secret sign of the Windblume amongst themselves, the one who wove threads of dawn throughout the long night.
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His name has since been lost to time, but his deeds are still remembered in song.
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A thousand years later, another red-haired knight would follow in his footsteps, and bring light to the then-benighted history of the nobility.
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Just as the fate of the Windblume is to bloom under great pressure when the need to arise is most desperate,
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The fate of this clan will likely never change: they shall ever live in the darkness and bring forth the flame of dawn.
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The shape of the Windblume has been lost amidst the flowing winds of time.
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In times of peace, its name has become synonymous with love and gladness.
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But surely, this must have been the desire of those who walked stalwartly through the darkness...
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"The flowers in bloom should represent love, and stand for the coming of spring."
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"No more should they signal for rebellion, nor be the sign for banners to be raised..."
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