Archive of Our Own

The four of them stand in the middle of the room, staring at each other. No one speaks. The man, an adventurer who sometimes helps out at The Flagship, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket with trembling hands. He’s sweating bullets himself, wracked with nerves, but he hands the handkerchief to the woman beside him—his beloved, a young woman of the Frostmoon Scions who’d caused quite the ruckus on Hiisi Island after she disappeared over a day ago.

Lauma’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. Somewhere behind her, Jahoda shifts uncomfortably.

“I—I didn't mean to leave without saying goodbye,” the young woman explains to Lauma, stumbling over her words. Her eyes keep darting anxiously between the young adventurer and Lauma, and occasionally she even throws a curious glance at Jahoda, who remains mum where she hovers by the door to their tavern room. “I left a note under my pillow for… W—Well, not that I have family here anyway, so it might never have been seen, but..."

She’s afraid that she’s incurred Lauma’s anger. That much is obvious.

Witnessing his beloved’s distress, the young adventurer hurriedly says, “I'll take good care of her! A-and I'll bring her back often to visit her friends! I'm not some irresponsible lout—look, Miss Lauma, I’ve even proposed to her.”

At this, Lauma looks down at their clasped hands, the matching rings on their fingers glinting in the low lights of the room. She furrows her brows, and that’s enough to have the young woman sweating again, seemingly ready to grab her fiancé and make a run for it. Not that she could have anyway, with Lauma and Jahoda standing in their way—though the windows might be a bit of a problem…

“I promise I have only good intentions,” the young adventurer says, swallowing nervously. “It’s just—we didn’t think we had any other choice.”

With a sigh, Lauma finally speaks.

“I know you two have been seeing each other for some time now,” she says, much to the shock of the young woman and her fiancé, “and I’m not here to tell you that you can’t be together, or that you can’t leave. I… am in no place to dictate such a thing.”

The young woman blinks at her, speechless.

“That said,” Lauma continues, “one must have a ceremony to go with an engagement. So please, wait here. Jahoda and I will get things ready.”

Within half an hour, they gather everything needed for the engagement ritual and conduct a complete engagement ceremony that fully adheres to the Frostmoon Scions’ customs in their cramped room, half-packed luggage scattered all about. Lauma plays all of the relevant roles—master of ceremonies, bride's family member, and ecclesiast—while Jahoda serves as witness to the formalization of the engagement.

“One last thing,” Lauma says, once the ceremony is done. “Sir, please leave your name, family name, middle name, as well as your fixed address. I will need to send you our sacramental victuals.”

“I—yes,” the young adventurer mumbles, nodding meekly. “Yes, I’ll do that right away.”

Jahoda pulls him aside, leaving Lauma with the adherent—or former adherent from this night onwards, Lauma supposes. Although still quite baffled by the turn of events, the young woman is far more relaxed now too. Relieved.

“Thank you, Lady Lauma,” she says, smiling up at her shyly. She fidgets with her engagement ring. “I… really am sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you all, or make you worry about me. I understand now that maybe… Maybe leaving the way I did wasn’t the best way to go about it, but Hiisi Island is the only home I’ve ever known, and I suppose I just found it so… hard to say goodbye to it, and to everyone. And I-I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you either—o-or make you angry with my decision to leave.”

Lauma offers her a tired but reassuring smile. “Like I said, it isn’t my place to tell you whether you can or cannot leave. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t conduct the ritual for you. It is the way of the Frostmoon Scions, and so it is something that must be done, regardless of the circumstance.”

The young woman is quiet for a moment, then with a huff of a laugh, she says, “You know, Lady Lauma, you’re quite, ah, stubborn in the most… unexpected ways…”

Lauma tilts her head, curious, but lets the comment pass without remark.

Once all is said and done, Lauma and Jahoda pack up their things, and Lauma gives the young woman and her fiancé one last blessing before she leaves. “Hopefully, we’ll see each other again soon,” she tells the young woman, smiling warmly at her. “Wherever your travels take you, may the moonlight connect us.”

The young woman’s face does something complicated. She works through it, though, the wave of emotion that’s just crashed on her, and nods. Blinks back the tears welling in her eyes.

Lauma’s own heart is heavy.

All of the talk surrounding the young woman eloping doesn’t die down in the days that follow. If anything, it’s only talked about more now.

This wouldn’t be the first time in the long history of the Frostmoon Scions that a member left to marry someone outside of the tribe, not by a long shot, but Lauma supposes that with how much has changed for the Frostmoon Scions in a relatively short period of time, something like this—something as trivial as a young woman making what was, honestly, a rather rash decision out of passion—love—would shake up the entire tribe. She knows for sure that not everyone agrees with her decision to let the young woman go, and least of all with her decision to even bless their union, but she is their Moonchanter, after all, and old habits die hard, so they follow her lead all the same.

Lauma finds herself thinking about the incident too, a lot more than she expected she would. It did make her sad to have to let one of theirs go, but she doesn’t regret doing so. She sincerely wishes the young woman and her husband-to-be the best, and that the young woman in particular finds whatever it is that she can’t find here with the Frostmoon Scions.

It’s the same thing she wishes for everyone who’s left the Frostmoon Scions since she confessed the truth about the moon and the sky—since she shared the burden of that truth with them. She would never, and could never, begrudge those who choose to leave and seek a life outside of the confines of Hiisi Island. She understands the confusion, and the frustration. The helplessness. Understands if, like Vilemina, they can no longer see Hiisi Island as their home.

Change is… difficult. It takes time to take root. And while her people have begun to adapt to their new way of life, they still need something—someone—to anchor them, to serve as a constant, unchanging and unwavering, as the tides of change sweep through the Frostmon Scions. That is what Lauma has been, and always will be.

Still, thinking back to that night and what the young woman had said, it makes her wonder:

Was she being stubborn?

“You’ve always been that way,” Ashru says as Lauma scratches him behind his ear. He makes a low, happy sound. “You didn’t have to go after that girl just to conduct an engagement ritual—yet you did. Jahoda says she didn’t know you could be so scary!”

Lauma huffs, smiling despite herself. “I know I can be stubborn,” she concedes, “but I was simply doing what had to be done. She is—or was—still a member of the Frostmoon Scions. She deserved to have her engagement honored the Frostmoon Scions’ way.”

Ashru purrs, nuzzling his face into Lauma’s palm. “Would it really have mattered?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would it have made a difference to that girl,” Ashru explains, blinking up at her, probing in a way that is so uncannily reminiscent of Nefer, “or was it just important to you?”

A moment of silence passes, then Lauma says, more uncertain than she’d like to admit, “It still matters.”

“What does?”

Lauma jolts in surprise. She turns around and finds Nefer watching her and Ashru with a small but curious smile.

Ashru jumps down from the counter and rushes to Nefer’s side, weaving between her legs, tail flicking happily as he rubs himself against her calves. She bends down to pick him up, expression softening as she pets him. Lauma watches on, fascinated; it’s rare she ever gets to see Nefer like this, even after they’ve grown closer. Something warm settles in her chest, her troubles from only moments ago forgotten.

“Word of advice,” Nefer tells Lauma teasingly as she approaches her, still cradling Ashru in her arms, “maybe don’t get advice from a cat, whatever kind of advice you might be seeking out.”

Lauma smiles. “Ashru is actually quite astute, you know.”

Nefer furrows her brows at that, like she’s suddenly remembered how much it irritates her that she can never follow their conversations. Her expression only sours further when Ashru meows up at her and Lauma laughs softly under her breath. With a huff, Nefer sets Ashru back down on the counter.

“So,” she says, turning back to Lauma, “to what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Moonchanter?”

It’s funny, how Nefer still insists on calling her Miss Moonchanter or Lady Moonchanter even after everything they’ve shared. Lauma just leaves her be, as she always does, and replies, “I came to drop these off,” gesturing to the basket of fresh fruit she brought with her—and then promptly forgot about, once she started chatting and playing with Ashru. “I wanted to give you and Jahoda these as a token of the Frostmoon Scions’ appreciation for helping us find the girl. And, of course—” She produces a pouch full of Mora, offering it to Nefer. “Payment, as we discussed.”

For a long, quiet moment, Nefer just stares at the pouch of Mora. Then, she says, “Keep it.”

“What?” Lauma asks, taken aback.

Nefer just gives her this mildly irritated look. “I said keep it,” she repeats. “It really wasn’t much of a job anyway, and Jahoda practically volunteered herself for it.” She looks more exasperated than irritated when she says that, like she’s long accepted that Jahoda might be a hopeless case after all, but it isn’t going to stop bewildering her anyway.

It’s true that it hadn’t really been too difficult tracking down the young woman and her lover. Nefer had been right—they couldn't have gone far, let alone left Nod-Krai just yet, not when they’d still have to wait for the next ship out and overland travel would have taken even longer. And even if they’d taken their room under false names, Jahoda had little trouble finding them. It had all just been a matter of patience.

Still, they’d discussed everything already, and Lauma had set aside the sum needed to pay for the Curatorium’s services. It really is no bother to Lauma, even if this kind of money isn’t particularly easy to cobble together for the Frostmoon Scions.

“Are you sure?” Lauma presses, outstretched hand hovering awkwardly now between them. She supposes this is the best possible outcome for her, but she isn’t in the habit of abusing other people’s kindness, especially if that person is her friend.

But Nefer just says, “I’m sure,” expression unreadable, and then she turns on her heel and walks away. “Don’t wait for me to actually change my mind, Lauma.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Lauma’s mouth. Her name, Lauma notes, not Miss Moonchanter. “Alright,” she says. “Thank you, Nefer.”

Nefer hums, her back turned to Lauma as she pours tea for the both of them.

They share some of the fruit over tea. Lauma had asked the help of her animal friends to gather the freshest they could find in Hiisi Island, a bounty befitting the favor their friends at the Curatorium had granted them. She’s happy to see that Nefer seems to enjoy it. Ashru bats his eyes at her and meows, Please, just one bite won’t hurt, but Lauma just smiles at him apologetically. She wouldn’t want to upset Nefer by feeding her cat food that she couldn’t be sure is safe for him to eat.

“What are you going to do now about the girl?” Nefer asks. “I know I gave you this one for free, but if you want us to keep tabs on her, I will have to actually charge you this time.”

“There’ll be no need for that,” Lauma reassures Nefer, shaking her head with a small smile. “I’ve already given her my blessing. There’s nothing more that needs to be done.”

Nefer eyes her thoughtfully. “So, that’s it? You did all this just to... give them your blessing?”

There isn’t anything teasing or even accusatory about Nefer’s question, but it makes Lauma just uneasy enough that she can’t help but ask, “Is it… really so strange?”

“Maybe not strange, per se,” Nefer says, biting into a Midsommar Berry, “but you forget who you asked to find this girl.” She smiles wryly at Lauma. “I don’t think you can fault me for wanting to understand why you would go so far as to involve the Curatorium in all of this.”

“I… suppose that’s fair.”

Truth be told, Lauma had never stopped to consider how grave the situation must have appeared if she’d gotten Nefer involved. She’d asked the help of her animal friends too, but asking help from them—as she realizes now—isn’t exactly the same as asking help from Nefer. It must have seemed, then, like Lauma really wanted to find this girl if she was asking Nefer of all people for her assistance.

“That girl,” Lauma says, peering down into her tea, its dark brown liquid surface, “has no family left in Hiisi Island. Her mother died shortly after giving birth, and her father followed after her only a few years ago. I remember at the time that it had been deemed a miracle they ever conceived in the first place, given the mother’s weak constitution. She believed, just as many others did, that it would be impossible for her to ever be with child. She… would come to me often about that, but all I could do was pray for her, even when I knew that there was no one there to hear or answer those prayers.

“Her father was never quite the same again after her mother died. I suppose, for all intents and purposes, that girl raised herself, and looking back on it now, perhaps it isn’t so surprising why she would come to feel… stifled in Hiisi Island. Lonely. She was well-liked, and the elders among our ranks all pitched in to take care of her and help her and her father out wherever and whenever they could, but… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand how she might have come to her decision to leave. I never had any intentions of stopping her, but I wanted to give her a proper send-off, and to leave her with the knowledge that she was and always will be loved by her people. That she will always be one of us, even if she chooses to never return to Hiisi Island. The ritual was one of the only ways I knew how.”

Silence hangs between them. When Lauma finally looks up from her cup of tea, she finds Nefer looking back at her with a strange expression on her face.

“Well,” Nefer says eventually, smiling a little now, “you always have been rather excessive with your kindness.”

And Ashru chimes, cheery, “Stubborn! Stubborn Lauma!”

Lauma can’t help the way she flushes at their teasing.

“I’m sorry,” she tells Nefer, deeply embarrassed now with the gift of hindsight. “It honestly never crossed my mind that asking for your help would be… excessive,” she says, borrowing Nefer’s own term for it. “I just thought it was the best course of action, given the urgency of the matter.”

Nefer cocks a brow at ‘urgency’, but lets it slide.

“I really do appreciate the help you and Jahoda have given,” Lauma goes on, smiling. She finds herself answering Ashru’s question from earlier when she says, “It… meant a lot to me, to be able to do that for her.”

Nefer just says, “I know,” not quite looking at her.

Before Lauma can even begin to ponder what Nefer really means by that, Jahoda bursts into the Curatorium with a surprised, “Oh! Lauma, you’re here!”, before she rushes towards them, mouth watering at all of the fresh fruit. Ashru hisses at her when she nearly trips over him.

Nefer sighs, smiling even as she shakes her head. She makes space for Jahoda and Ashru, and as she looks up, her eyes lock with Lauma’s for a second that stretches on for far longer than that. Those eyes—familiar, grounding. Then, Nefer looks away, and Lauma is left to her thoughts again.

Truthfully, Lauma hasn’t had a lot of time to just sit down and reflect on what all of this—all of the change—means for herself.

Not once has it ever crossed her mind to just… leave. She never wanted to leave before, when the burden of keeping the truth about the false moon was killing her slowly inside, and she doesn’t want to leave now, when she’s finally freed herself from that burden. She can’t imagine a life without the Frostmoon Scions, or even a life outside of Hiisi Island. This is—and they are—her home, her heart. She wouldn’t choose to stay, despite all of the pain she’s had to carry on her own for so long, and she wouldn’t have concealed the truth from them for so long if she didn’t love them as much as she does.

That was something Vilemina never quite understood about her. She was right to say that Lauma had never been given a choice when it came to being appointed Moonchanter, and perhaps it wasn’t fair that they were putting so much of their hopes on a child—but Lauma only ever saw it as an honor. A privilege, because what greater privilege is there than to serve the people she loves most?

The Frostmoon Scions saw Lauma as a miracle—their miracle, proof that their Moon Goddess had not abandoned them—and Lauma took that upon herself with great seriousness and devotion.

Lauma has never doubted her love for her people, or for the responsibility that has been bestowed upon her. Maybe no one will ever understand that, but Lauma doesn’t expect or need anyone to either. That is simply her truth, and all that it is, in the end, is an expression of her own love.

She has, and always will be, their Moonchanter. Unwavering, unchanging.

And yet…

Who is Lauma, outside of all of that? Who is she, if she isn’t their Moonchanter—their miracle? Is she anything, if she isn’t what she’s always been?

Perhaps it isn’t so much that Lauma hasn’t had the time to mull over these kinds of questions, but more so that she just… hasn’t had the reason to start asking. That is, until now.

It’s a little embarrassing to admit that a conversation with a cat is what’s finally pushed her into self-reflection.

A cat—and a runaway girl who, at one point, had also been called a ‘miracle’.

The Spirit Envoy Championship is a welcome distraction from Lauma’s recent… ruminations.

She is excited for the event, though. It’s their biggest, most ambitious Spirit Envoy Championship yet, and the first time they’re inviting participants—and their animal companions, of course—from all over Teyvat to join. 

The weeks leading up to it have been hectic, and that’s without even taking people eloping and sending the Frostmoon Scions into a state of disarray into consideration. But things have started to calm down since, with the Championship swallowing up most conversations now, the nervous anticipation of welcoming visitors from all over Teyvat eclipsing the scandal that had consumed Hiisi Island not too long ago. It’s given them something else to focus on—something brighter, and more hopeful.

The energy all around Lauma is infectious as she walks through the arena. They’d done calculations months in advance, of course, estimating how many participants and spectators they might realistically expect once invitations had begun circulating beyond Nod-Krai, but even then, the turnout has far exceeded all of their expectations. Hiisi Island has never felt so crowded—in a good way, for the most part. Lauma finds herself admiring the various animal companions, most of which she’s only ever read about, and some she’d never even heard of before today.

There haven’t been any major hitches so far either. Registrations the day prior had gone smoothly, despite the overwhelming number of participants they had to deal with and sort through compared to the previous years’ Championships. Arranging the matches for today had taken some time too, but Lauma trusts that Voitto and his staff have done a good job of it. Voitto has always been very reliable like that.

She’s happy to see that their guests seem to really be enjoying themselves too, and that they even seem genuinely interested in learning about Hiisi Island and the Frostmoon Scions. All around the arena, members of the Frostmoon Scions, young and old alike, bustle between booths, selling handmade crafts, charms, woven ornaments, and little carved trinkets modeled after Rimehorn Deer. Other booths have been dedicated to sharing the Frostmoon Scions’ history and customs with curious visitors, and Lauma has already spotted several elders happily monopolizing unsuspecting travelers to explain the significance behind certain rituals and traditions in exhaustive detail.

For a moment, Lauma stops to take it all in.

Seeing how far her people have come, and how much has changed… It fills her with warmth—pride, certainly, and relief too, after all the work that had gone into not only making this year’s Championship happen, but into the Frostmoon Scions themselves. It’s not easy to change people’s minds on something they’ve believed in so ardently for hundreds of years, and for the longest time, Lauma wasn’t sure if they would ever be ready to bear the truth about their faith. Clearly, though, she’d underestimated her people. Now, she almost feels silly for ever worrying.

But beneath that pride is… something else. Something more wistful.

Standing here now, watching Hiisi Island bustle with life in a way it never had before, change stops feeling so abstract. So distant. In a strange way, this is probably the realest it has ever felt to Lauma. She becomes all too aware of the way change seems to sweep around her from every direction, carrying the Frostmoon Scions toward something new, and how uncertain she suddenly feels about her place within it.

Lauma is pulled out of her thoughts by an announcement: the preliminary qualifying round would start in ten minutes.

She weaves her way between participants and spectators alike, searching for a decent spot from which to watch the matches. She doesn’t go unnoticed; the Frostmoon Scion adherents all stop to bow in respect to her, or greet her with a murmur of Lady Lauma, and their guests all gawk at her antler as she passes by, murmuring among themselves. She can’t quite blame them, but it does make her a little uncomfortable. Makes her feel like some rare creature, some curiosity, being paraded around for everyone to stare at.

Relief washes over her when she spots Nefer and Jahoda. She knew Jahoda would be participating, but she hadn’t expected Nefer to actually show up too. They’re surrounded by a group of children chattering excitedly with Jahoda, who Lauma imagines must be regaling them with another tale of adventure or perhaps promising them that she and her Chic Badger will surely win the Championship. But it isn’t just Jahoda—some of them are chattering excitedly with Nefer too.

It hadn’t come as a surprise to Lauma that Jahoda would become quite popular with the children of the Frostmoon Scions, but it does make make her happy to see that any apprehensions the children—and by extension, their parents, and the other adherents at large, really—had towards Nefer because of her reputation have long since disappeared.

Nefer had begun visiting Hiisi Island more and more over the past few months. Not nearly as often as Jahoda, perhaps, but enough that the Frostmoon Scions had slowly grown accustomed to her presence. Enough for them to realize that behind the intimidating exterior is someone capable of more warmth than they might have imagined. Enough for them to perhaps see what Lauma has always seen in Nefer, no matter how hard guarded Nefer was—and, honestly, sometimes still is—about those parts of herself.

“I’m glad to see you here, Nefer,” Lauma says as she approaches them. The children erupt in a chorus of greetings, voices overlapping, and Lauma smiles warmly at each of them. Turning back to Nefer, she tilts her head and, after a moment, remarks, “That’s new.”

The warm, open smile Nefer had put on for the children quickly turns into a frown. Perched on the bridge of her nose is a pair of glasses with dark green, almost black, lenses. They’re reminiscent of the glasses the Lord Sangemah Bay wears.

“Aren’t you the one always fussing over my eyes?” Nefer says sourly.

Lauma chuckles. “I didn’t say they looked bad,” she answers, teasing only ever so slightly. Her gaze lingers on Nefer’s face and says, more softly, “They suit you.”

The corner of Nefer’s mouth twitches. “Well,” she says, smoothing over that little… moment, “I asked Dori where she got hers made, and then she helped me place an order for a pair of my own.”

“I am glad you’re taking the necessary precautions.”

Nefer just huffs in response.

A battle of wills—that’s what Nefer had called their friendship. A little dramatic, but not entirely untrue either. They’ve bickered many times over Nefer’s insistent carelessness with her eyes. She’s still incredibly sensitive to light, and still prone to headaches when she strains her eyes too hard and for too long, and there are even times when, mid-conversation, she’ll pause, squinting as though trying to force the world back into focus and keep it that way through sheer will alone. Lauma knows Nefer hates it when she nags at her, and maybe there’s a part of her deep down that feels… maybe not demeaned, exactly, but perhaps small, being constantly reminded that her eyes aren’t—and never again will be—how they used to be.

Still, Lauma is glad that, at the end of the day, after all of the snark and bickering, Nefer listens to her anyway. She just… has to do things on her own terms, so to speak. That’s all that really matters to Lauma—that, and the fact that at least now, she won’t have to worry about Nefer hurting herself again with how they’ll be under the sun all morning long until the preliminary matches are finished.

With five minutes to go until the first preliminary match starts, the participants and their animal companions are called over to the staging area for a final briefing.

Jahoda doles out high-fives to the children cheering her on, and to Nefer and Lauma, she says, beaming with excitement, “Well, here goes. Wish me luck!”

Lauma smiles warmly. “It would be improper for me to openly favor any one contestant,” she says, “but I certainly wouldn’t object to seeing you claim victory.”

She can feel the way Nefer rolls her eyes at that, behind the tinted lenses of her glasses.

“You’ll be fine,” is all Nefer says to Jahoda, which might come off as dismissive to anyone else who doesn’t know Nefer any better than that. Lauma watches as those three simple words light up something in Jahoda. A fierce sense of pride, perhaps, or a fierce drive to live up to Nefer’s faith in her.

Lauma watches as Jahoda skips off with her Chic Badger, then she turns to Nefer to say, “It was nice of you to take some time to be here for Jahoda. I’m sure it means a lot to her.”

Thinking of it now, she supposes that Jahoda is in large part to thank for the Frostmoon Scions warming up to Nefer. She only ever has nice, if not honestly wonderful, things to say about her boss.

In typical Nefer fashion, though, Nefer just replies, “I can’t say I find glorified cockfighting particularly interesting, but with all these people here from all over Teyvat, this could prove to be a good opportunity for networking.”

Lauma’s knee-jerk instinct is to correct Nefer about her ‘glorified cockfighting’ remark, but bites her tongue. She looks all around her instead, at her people mingling with travelers from every corner of Teyvat. That wistfulness she’d felt earlier creeps up on her again now, but she tamps it down and says, “I suppose you’re right.”

She feels the way Nefer’s eyes linger on her face, but she turns away just as Lauma turns to look at her too.

The preliminary matches begin. Some matches are graceful, almost elegant to watch; others descend into utter chaos within minutes. But regardless of who wins and who loses, there’s something undeniably heartwarming about it all. The Spirit Envoy Championship has always been, at its core, a celebration of the bonds between humans and animals, and nowhere is that more evident now. By the halfway point of the preliminary round, Lauma notices that even Nefer’s watching on with a small smile on her face.

Lauma leans closer so she can be heard over the roaring crowd. “Not so bad for glorified cockfighting after all, isn’t it?” she says, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

Nefer pointedly turns her attention back to the match instead of responding. Lauma laughs softly under her breath, maybe a little too pleased with herself. She stays where she is for the remainder of the matches, close enough to Nefer that their arms brush with every tiny shift of their bodies. Nefer doesn’t seem to object, and Lauma finds herself maybe a little too pleased about that too.

Jahoda wins her match, to Lauma’s delight, and the Traveler and their companion, Aguara, unsurprisingly make for a formidable duo, although it is rather unfortunate that their match ends with their opponent, an Arataki Itto from Inazuma, getting disqualified. After a few more equally as riveting matches, the first day of the Championship comes to a close.

The arena remains lively long after the final match concludes, contestants and spectators alike lingering to exchange stories, celebrate victories, and nurse bruised egos. Lauma and Nefer wait for the crowds to disperse before they make their way towards Jahoda and the Traveler. Jahoda, flushed with excitement after her victory, enthusiastically recounts every moment of her match to the Traveler and Paimon, who congratulate Jahoda and laugh over the more chaotic moments of the preliminary round with her. Lauma congratulates the both of them too, of course, and Nefer indulges Jahoda’s enthusiasm.

“Don’t let your victory today distract you from the fact you’re still on the clock,” she reminds Jahoda, “and Ashru will be expecting you back by now. You know how he gets about his feeding times.”

“Surely you can allow her another hour or two to celebrate,” Lauma wheedles.

Nefer gives her a flat look over the rim of her tinted glasses. “You take up enough of my employee’s time as is, Moonchanter. How do you expect me to run my business like this?”

Jahoda laughs, good-natured. “It’s okay,” she says, evidently pleased at Lauma’s conspiring on her behalf, “I do have some work to catch up on. Wouldn’t want to be worrying about commissions tomorrow during the elimination rounds, would I?” When Nefer cocks a brow at her, she clears her throat, flushing, and says, “A-Alright, today was a lot of fun! See you tomorrow, Traveler, and good luck. I won’t be going easy on you, though, if we get each other! C’mon, Reed—” Her companion Chic Badger happily follows after her.

The Traveler bids them farewell too to look for another friend of theirs who also joined the Championship, leaving Lauma and Nefer all alone with each other again.

“I suppose this means you’ll be heading back to the Curatorium now too?” Lauma says.

Nefer hums.

“I’ll walk with you,” Lauma offers. “I have to get back to the Enclave myself to attend some other matters. Maybe we can grab you something to eat, before you head back. We’ve set up a few food stalls here.”

“Nothing complements competitive animal combat quite like salad, after all,” Nefer replies drily, but she lets Lauma accompany her anyway.

They stop by a stall selling small mushroom hand pies. Nefer insists on paying, but the woman manning the stall refuses, stating, “I can’t charge a friend of Lady Lauma! Please, allow us this much hospitality, at least,” leaving Nefer no choice but to accept a bag of freshly baked pies totally free of charge.

“Let me know how much I owe for the pies,” Nefer tells Lauma when they’re a distance away from the stall. “Your lot are far too comfortable handing things out for free. Do you know how easy it would be for just anyone to walk up and claim to know you personally?”

Lauma arches a brow at her, amused. “And I’d have thought that by now, you’d know better than to insist any form of payment upon me.”

That manages to actually take Nefer by surprise. She scoffs, disbelieving, but she’s smiling all the same. “It seems that a concerning lack of business savvy runs deep among the Frostmoon Scions.”

Lauma just shrugs. “It’s true that entrepreneurship has never been one of our strong suits.”

“If this event is anything to go by, I’d say you’re on the right track, at least. There’s definitely… talent there,” Nefer offers sincerely, before she plucks a pie out of the bag and bites into it. “This is good, though. Definitely worth actually paying for.”

Lauma laughs softly, but even to her own ears it’s unconvincing. Nefer’s words hit her harder than she expected they would. It seems that even in this, the Frostmoon Scions have begun to change already.

“I would offer you Mora for your thoughts,” Nefer says suddenly, and Lauma realizes belatedly that she’s drifted off again, “but as we’ve established, you care very little for that sort of thing.”

Lauma doesn’t say anything right away. She knows that she can talk to Nefer about all of the things that have been troubling her, and if her experience sharing the truth about the false moon with the Traveler and Paimon is anything to go by, she’ll feel all the better for it—but there’s still that small, perhaps even stubborn part of her that insists keeping it all to herself anyway. Old habits die hard, after all.

Still, if her people can change…

“I suppose it’s just been… somewhat overwhelming, lately,” Lauma finally confesses to Nefer. “It’s hard to really see just how much has changed around here when I’m in the thick of it, but… recent events have given me cause to just take a step back and really look at—really see—all that is around me.”

“And what do you see?” Nefer asks.

“What I see,” Lauma answers after a moment of thought, “is the Frostmoon Scions as I have always known them, but also the Frostmoon Scions as… something more. Something new. Something that I… might not even be able to recognize anymore.”

“Change can be difficult,” Nefer offers simply, but not dismissively.

Lauma huffs, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I honestly find it more complicated than difficult.”

She doesn’t regret it, of course. The Frostmoon Scions deserved to know the truth, and she can see that, despite the challenges, her people have proven themselves resilient, and malleable. Adaptable. Many have left, but many others have stayed too, and they’re building something new and something better now because of that difficult truth. She wouldn’t change anything, if she were given the chance to do things over.

But it’s—complicated. More so, lately.

“Do you know why I took Jahoda in?” Nefer asks. Lauma tilts her head curiously, taken aback by the question. “I’ve had many people ask me why I put my faith and my trust in someone like Jahoda. That isn’t to say I particularly care what other people have to say about how I do things, because I’ve always trusted my own judgment above all else. But what they don’t understand is potential.

“She’s a survivor,” Nefer says, her voice softening around the edges and edging on wistfulness, like the lines between herself and Jahoda blurred even just momentarily, “and even though others write her off, what I see is someone who forged her own path and is seeing it through. If that path will be worth seeing through, only time will tell—but the only way to find out is to actually go down that path. You could be told everything that is ever going to happen to you, and warned of every challenge or danger you will face as you go down the path you’ve set for yourself, but that wouldn’t help you any. You still have to take that risk.”

Lauma finds herself thinking about the runaway again.

Even though she told Nefer that they wouldn’t need to keep tabs on her whereabouts, Jahoda told her a few days ago, when she dropped by the Frostmoon Enclave, that the young woman and her lover had left Nod-Krai already. She wonders where they are now, and how they’re faring. Wonders if the young woman ever finds herself looking back—to Nod-Krai, to Hiisi Island, to her people.

“Thank you, Nefer,” Lauma says in the end, smiling warmly now even though she still feels unsettled. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Would you look at that,” Nefer drawls, lips curling into a smile too. Her tinted glasses have slipped down her nose again, just enough for Lauma to catch the somewhat more… affectionate glint in her eyes. “It seems even I have some wisdom to share with the ever sagacious Lady Moonchanter.”

This time, when Lauma laughs, there’s real heart behind it.

“To be honest with you,” she says, suddenly embarrassed of herself, “I’m not really used to… talking to other people about my troubles—or just talking to people in general.”

Nefer cocks a perfectly arched brow at her. “I find that hard to believe.”

Lauma wonders if she’s meant to take that as a compliment, but just sets the thought aside for now and explains, “What I mean is, I’m not really used to talking to another person like this. I know what I must say as Moonchanter, but outside of that… I’ve always had an easier time communicating openly with animals than with other people.”

She’s half-expecting Nefer to say something clever to that, but Nefer just hums.

They walk together in companionable silence the rest of the way to the Enclave, where they part ways for the day. Before she leaves for Nasha Town, though, Nefer lingers a little while longer, pensive, and says, “I know you know you did the right thing, telling your people the truth, even if it put everything they’d built their lives upon into question. I suppose all you can really do now is trust that instinct.”

Stay on the path, Lauma parses.

She just doesn’t know how to express that her anxieties are directed less at her people and more at herself—what all of this could mean for her.

“Thank you again, Nefer,” is all she says in the end. “Take care, and I hope you get to join us again tomorrow.”

Nefer offers a noncommittal hum in response and turns to leave.

Lauma lingers where she stands, watching Nefer’s retreating figure for a while, until she disappears down the pathway back to Nasha Town. Only then does she let herself breathe out a heavy sigh.

Laugh now, dance now, as the newborn Moonchanter weeps, they’d written of Lauma’s birth, For her horns and blood are bathed in moonlight, for beneath the Moon Goddess's gaze shall she sleep. She was a blessing, a sign—a living symbol, from the moment she took her first breath.

So, she was special.

So, she was different.

Even as a child, Lauma was already aware of her place among the Frostmoon Scions. She knew she was a part of them, but also apart from them. Even her own parents treated her less like their daughter and more like something precious they’d been entrusted to watch over—take care of, bathe, feed—which isn’t to say that they didn’t love her, because Lauma knows they did, but it was more like the kind of love she received from the other adherents and less like the kind of love she often observed from the other children’s parents.

It had been easier to pretend there wasn’t a chasm between herself and the rest of the Frostmoon Scions when she was younger. The other children, unlike their parents and the other grownups around them, were far less reverent of Lauma, or at least didn’t quite comprehend yet why everyone else around them seemed to regard her with total, almost excessive respect. The other children would still invite her to play with them, and share snacks with her, and ask her silly questions about why her antlers were so big. But it didn’t take long before they started distancing themselves from Lauma too. Not out of malice, or spite, or even jealousy, but out of that same sense of respect and reverence they’d learned from the grownups around them.

Lauma never resented them for that, the same way she never resented the importance they’d placed on her. She understood why she was revered so, and why they placed all of their hopes on her shoulders. She understood that she could never be like the rest of them—that she would always be something more.

She loved her people… and yet, she couldn’t always find solace in them.

Animals are simpler than people, in that sense. Easier. They don’t expect anything from her beyond gentleness, or food, or for someone to lend an ear to their woes. They don’t expect anything of her. They simply enjoy her company, and in turn, allow Lauma to enjoy theirs without needing to be anything other than herself. She can be honest with them because she doesn’t need to worry about maintaining her image as the Moonchanter—the special one, the blessed one, the perfect one—and they can be honest with her because they feel no need to choose their words so carefully around her, or present themselves as “worthy” of the Moonchanter’s attention and presence.

It isn’t until now, years and years later, that Lauma finds herself wondering if she can ever come to see herself the way the animals see her.

The Spirit Envoy Championship comes to a close without incident—and, more than that, it’s an undeniable success. 

Though Jahoda had unfortunately not made it past the elimination round, the Traveler and their tepetlisaur companion ultimately emerge victorious. There’s excited chatter all around her during the awarding ceremony, and Lauma is happy to hear their guests express their excitement for next year’s Championship, and how the others who, like Jahoda, fortune had not favored quite as much swear they’ll claim victory for sure next time.

Lauma is proud of her people, of course. There’d been much doubt at first over whether opening up the Championship to not just people outside of the Frostmoon Scions but also to people from all over Teyvat was a wise choice. It was easy to organize the event among themselves, but another thing entirely to scale it up the way they did for this year’s. And yet, the Frostmoon Scions have all stepped up to take on the challenge of making this year’s Championship a great and memorable experience for everyone involved, and somehow, despite everyone’s worries, everything had unfolded smoothly, more than anyone could have ever expected.

With that pride, however, is always that faint ache somewhere deep inside her.

Her people are changing—evolving—slowly but surely. Expanding. Becoming something more than they are, or perhaps ever have been. Reasserting their place in this world after spending so long at the fringes that they had seemingly been forgotten by time itself. Showing the world who they are and who they can yet become.

Lauma vowed to Vilemina that she would change the Frostmoon Scions. She understands, and is fully committed to, her role in that. But she finds herself thinking about what it means to become, when all her life, and now most especially, Lauma has always… been.

In this way, she is apart from her people, too.

She’s just returned from the forest when she spots Jahoda speaking to Sarakka. She walks over to them, and says to Jahoda, smiling, “I wasn’t expecting you today, but as always, it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

“I’m just stopping by on my way back to Nasha Town,” Jahoda replies. She turns to Sarakka. “Granny was just telling me about that kid Ossian.”

Ah, Lauma thinks. Ehrnrooth’s younger brother. She’s familiar with her right-hand woman’s woes over him. In fact, she’d been in somewhat of a sour mood earlier; it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think her brother has something to do with that again. Lauma is aware of the boy’s dreams of becoming an adventurer, and how staunchly Ehrnrooth disapproves of it. She didn’t ask Ehrnrooth for the specifics of their fight this time, though, deciding that it might be best to just save that conversation for when Ehrnrooth’s head has cooled down already. Instead, she withdrew to the forest for a while as she often does when she needs time and space to just… think. Breathe.

“The young are looking further and further beyond Hiisi Island these days,” Sarakka sighs. “When I was their age, most of us could hardly imagine a life anywhere else. The world beyond this island felt distant then, almost unreal. But perhaps that is simply the way of things. Even moonlight cannot keep every tide from drifting out to sea.”

There’s something about Sarakka’s speech that makes Lauma think she isn’t just talking about Ossian. That she, like Lauma, is still thinking about the runaway girl.

“Oh, but don’t let me keep you two,” Sarakka says. She smiles warmly at Jahoda before she turns back to Lauma. “Miss Jahoda was looking for you before I kept her here with my ramblings.”

“Aw, don’t say that, Granny!” Jahoda says. “You know I enjoy talking to you.”

Sarakka laughs, fond. “You certainly have Miss Nefer’s charm with us old women.”

Lauma smiles to herself.

She leads Jahoda toward the library, where they can speak more privately. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long,” she says to Jahoda as she sets down a cup of water and a plate of sliced fruit in front of her. The puffins had brought the fruit to her that morning, as thanks for the additional cushions she had made for them.

Lauma watches as Jahoda happily digs into the fruit. “I heard the Expo was quite exciting,” she says. Jahoda almost chokes. She coughs to clear her throat, then takes a swig of water. Lauma laughs softly. “I’m glad everything worked out in the end, at least.”

She’d been too busy with matters here on Hiisi Island to drop by the Expo, even though Jahoda had extended an invitation to her. She only heard about the trouble going on through Lyylikki, one of the adherents stationed in Nasha Town.

“So,” Lauma finally asks, “what is it that you wanted to discuss?”

“I-It’s nothing serious, really,” Jahoda answers. She seems somewhat embarrassed now. “It’s just—Nef’s birthday is coming soon, and I came here to invite you to the celebration. Not that she really likes celebrating it, but we always do something simple—you know, just a really nice meal and whatnot—and it’s usually just the three of us, but I figured, with how much you’ve done for us, and for Nef especially…”

Lauma blinks at her, surprised, and then she starts to feel a little embarrassed too. Not just for assuming that Jahoda is here on business, but also because it dawns on her very quickly that she’s never actually been invited to a birthday party before. Never had a friend before to invite her to one.

“No pressure, of course,” Jahoda swiftly adds when she sees the look on Lauma’s face. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate here, but… I’d be really happy if you could come, and Ashru obviously really likes you, and Nef—” She catches herself, clears her throat awkwardly. Smiles a little sheepishly at Lauma. “Well, you know Nef.”

Lauma’s ears feel warm, all of a sudden.

“I’ll be there,” she promises Jahoda.

Jahoda beams at her.

Lauma has presided over countless birthday ceremonies throughout her life, making birthdays, as most other things are, an extension of Lauma’s duties as Moonchanter. She knows the customary prayers, the rituals. Knows that the customary gift to every Frostmoon Scion adherent who’s come of age is a blessed dagger to symbolize the recipient’s independence and—more importantly—responsibility, because like the dagger, the heart and hand alike may become tools of harm if not tempered by wisdom.

She knows what to do as a Frostmoon Scion. But for someone so used to giving out blessings and well-wishes, she doesn’t know what to do simply as a friend.

Looking back on it now, she realizes that she should have asked Jahoda what kind of gift Nefer would appreciate. If anyone would know, after all, it’s Jahoda. She knows she could still ask her now, but there’s a part of her that’s almost embarrassed to do so, and there’s another bigger, louder part of her that wants to figure this out on her own. Nefer deserves as much.

Not that she’s doing a very good job at it. At first, she’s resolute in piecing together the puzzle herself, trusting that her familiarity with Nefer will surely be enough to help her find the most worthy gift for her. She’s very quickly proven wrong, though, because all of her familiarity with Nefer has only led her to the conclusion that Nefer isn’t really the kind of person who likes receiving gifts, the same way she isn’t the kind of person who does or accepts favors, which naturally only makes it harder to think of any kind of gift at all that Nefer would like.

Having hit a dead end, she turns to her animal friends for their thoughts on the matter. She comes to… Well, ‘regret’ is perhaps too harsh a word for it, but it becomes clear to her that she definitely asked the wrong—not-people for advice. The badgers suggest shovels, the weasels suggest ‘something shiny’, the ibis suggest fish, and the puffins suggest cushions. Lots and lots of cushions.

Just as she starts considering sending one of the ibis over to Nasha Town to ask for Ashru’s opinion, a group of children walk into the library. They stop in their tracks when they see Lauma at her usual corner, surrounded by her congregation of animals.

“Oh,” Lauma says, trying hard not to act like she’d been caught in the middle of something far more scandalous than what’s actually happening now. She puts on a smile to mask how self-conscious she feels. “What brings you here, children?”

“We’re going to make some paper stars,” one of the children, Ina, says, and the boy beside her, Kari, holds up sheets of colorful paper and several scissors, so they all have enough to go around. “What about you, Miss Lauma?”

“I…” Lauma’s eyes pass over the animals gathered around her, the puffins chanting CUSHIONS! CUSHIONS! repeatedly still, and then she looks back up at the children. Decides, then and there, that she might as well exhaust all her options and tells them, “I was asking these animals here what an appropriate birthday gift would be for… a friend.”

The children light up at this. They rush towards Lauma, causing some of the animals to scatter in surprise. “What does your friend like?” one asks, while another, who Lauma recognizes as Rahetar’s daughter, says, “What about pretty stones?”, and the weasels sound their agreement to this, probably thinking the girl means precious stones.

“Oh, well… She—”

“Oh!” Ina, who’s always been quite clever, says. “Is it for Big Sis Nefer?”

The children chatter excitedly among themselves at the mention of Nefer. Lauma laughs sheepishly.

“Yes,” she admits, “it’s for Nefer. Her birthday is in a few days.”

She wonders, though, how they figured it out so easily. Had it really been that obvious? It could have been for Jahoda, for all they knew, but the second she let herself slip, they just thought: Nefer. She wonders what that means about her.

“I wanna give her a gift too,” one of the children says, pouting. The others start chiming in with, “Me too!”

“She always brings us candy when she visits,” one says, while another adds, “And she always tells the best stories!”

“I know!” Kari says. He looks around his group of friends, and then at Lauma, when he suggests, “Why don’t we make these paper stars for her?”

Lauma blinks down at him. “You… want me to make them with you?”

“Yeah!” the kids reply in unison, beaming up at her, and Ina tells her, “Don’t worry, Miss Lauma. We’ll teach you how to make them!”

Lauma looks between the children, their hopeful expressions so open and earnest that refusing them suddenly feels impossible.

“Very well,” she says after a moment, smiling despite herself. “You’ll have to be patient with me, though.”

The children erupt excitedly at this, immediately crowding around her.

She spends the rest of the afternoon huddled with the children, folding a jar’s worth of paper stars. She messed up her first few paper stars, making them so big that, just as the children had warned her, they collapsed inward and were basically unsalvageable. Several paper stars in, though, and she’s gotten the hang of it, producing them at almost the same rate as the far more experienced children. When they run out of paper, Lauma has Ehrnrooth to bring them more.

The jar they’ve chosen is a large one, the kind they typically use for fermenting vegetables. It takes some time to fill it up, but it gradually comes to life as Lauma places her own folded stars with the children’s. She knows how odd it might sound, but in a way, there’s something almost magical about it, and it only motivates Lauma more. She gets so absorbed in her work—cutting up colorful strips of paper, pressing, folding: rinse and repeat—that Sarakka’s sudden arrival barely registers with her at all.

“There you are,” Sarakka says, walking slowly towards them. She addresses Ina and Kari directly when she says, “Your parents have been looking for you.”

“It’s my fault,” Lauma says, speaking up for the children. She smiles bashfully at Sarakka. “I asked them to assist me with… something.”

Sarakka’s gaze drifts over the colorful paper scattered across the table, and then onto the large jar almost filled to the brim now with paper stars. She looks like she’s trying to deduce what exactly it is that Lauma of all people would need the children’s help for. “Oh?”

Before Lauma can answer herself, Kari blurts out, “We’re making a birthday gift for Big Sis Nefer!”

“It’s a surprise,” Ina adds quickly, lowering her voice despite the fact that Nefer is nowhere near the library. “So don’t tell her!”

Sarakka blinks once, and then laughter bubbles out of her, soft and fond. “Is that what this is, then?”

Lauma feels her face grow warm.

“It won’t take much longer,” she promises Sarakka, pushing past her embarrassment. “We’re almost done.”

“Yeah!” Kasha, Rahetar’s daughter, says, nodding. “We only need a little more!”

“Alright,” Sarakka replies, pulling a chair for herself. “Let Granny join in, then. The sooner we finish, the less trouble you lot will be in later.”

Sarakka grabs a handful of cut-up paper and gets to work immediately, her fingers nimble as she folds the paper into shape. Lauma watches her in awe, and in surprise; Sarakka catches her staring, and explains simply, “The children taught me too.” Lauma huffs, lips curling into a smile.

With all hands on deck, it only takes them a few more minutes to completely fill up the jar. Lauma joins the children in admiring their work. Even Sarakka seems satisfied.

“All that’s left is a birthday card!” Ina says. When Sarakka throws a pointed look her way, she flusters and murmurs, “It won’t take long!”

“Fine,” Sarakka sighs, not at all immune to the children’s eyelash-batting. “But after this, you’d best get going already.”

The children all promise they will, and then they fold up one of the last few pieces of paper left untouched by their scissors—green, serendipitously—borrow a pen from Lauma, and write out, Happy Birthday, Big Sis Nefer! They all sign their names beneath the greeting in large, uneven handwriting.

Something tender settles in Lauma’s chest. “I’m sure Nefer will be very happy to receive this,” she says, “Thank you again for helping me today,” and the children leave with big smiles on their faces.

Once the children are gone, Lauma begins gathering the scraps of paper left scattered across the table. When Sarakka joins her, she says automatically, “You needn’t trouble yourself with this.”

Sarakka just gently waves her off. “I insist. It’s no trouble at all.”

So they tidy up together in comfortable silence, stacking the unused sheets of paper into a neat pile and setting aside the scissors that the children forgot to take back with them. Lauma will have to leave instructions with Ehrnrooth, so the children will know where to look for the scissors when they come back for them.

Finally, Lauma reaches for the jar packed with the paper stars they spent the afternoon making. She can’t help but admire it, as childish as it might be for someone her age and with her status, especially, to find simple arts and crafts so… satisfying, or perhaps fulfilling. For it to feel like such an accomplishment. She carefully fastens the lid atop it.

Lauma doesn’t realize she must be making some kind of face until she catches Sarakka watching her with the kind of smile she usually reserves for the children.

“You’ve made the children quite happy, you know,” she says to Lauma. “It isn’t everyday, after all, that they get to teach the Lady Moonchanter something new.”

Lauma laughs sheepishly.

“They’ve done far more for me today than I have for them,” she says, sincere, and before she can stop herself, she finds herself saying, mouth moving faster than her brain can catch up, “I never could have imagined it would be so difficult thinking of a gift for Nefer. Of course, my first thought was to gift her a ceremonial dagger, as is customary among us, and she has certainly proven herself a formidable ally and good friend to the Frostmoon Scions, but I worried it might come across as… impersonal.”

Her words peter out, leaving her in that glaring, awkward silence that usually follows after much—too much, really—has been said. The kind of silence that leaves Lauma feeling exposed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, smiling crookedly. “I realize, hearing myself speak aloud now, that I may have made the matter of gift-giving far more complicated than it needs to be.”

Sarakka just says, tender with reminiscence, “Perhaps, but even as a child, you’ve always approached everything with utmost sincerity. There are many things one might feel self-conscious about, but sincerity should never be one of those things.”

Lauma nods, grateful.

“It’s nice to see you be more forthcoming with your feelings,” Sarakka says. She sounds both relieved and a little sad, like the thought has been weighing on her for far longer than she’s letting on. “I understand how difficult it must have been for you, all these years… How difficult we must have been for you. But as I’ve come to learn in these past few months, we Frostmoon Scions can live just fine on our own. You’ve helped all of us see that.

“You’ve done well, Lauma,” she says, and Lauma has to swallow down the sudden tightness in her throat. “And do forgive an old lady like myself for being so sentimental, but it comes as a comfort to me to watch you worry about such small, mundane matters. More and more lately, I understand how much of a privilege it is to be able to do so.”

“I assure you,” Lauma replies, still so thrown by Sarakka’s kindness, “that finding a gift for someone like Nefer has been no small matter.”

They both laugh softly.

“Thank you, Sarakka,” Lauma says after a moment of thoughtful silence. “Though… there is one thing I must gently object to.”

Sarakka blinks at her, surprised but curious.

“Being Moonchanter,” Lauma explains, “has never been a burden to me. It hasn’t been easy, yes, but through it all I had all of you. You were my strength during my moments of doubt, and weakness. So it may have been difficult at times, but it has also always been a great privilege."

Sarakka exhales softly through her nose. Says, simply, “Then I am glad.”

Lauma joins Sarakka on her walk back to her usual spot in the Enclave. “Thank you again for taking the time to join me and the children today,” she tells her. Then, thinking back to what Sarakka had said earlier, she adds, “I do hope Nefer likes it.”

“I don’t think you need to do much to please Miss Nefer,” Sarakka is quick to say. “She is quite fond of you, after all.”

Lauma clears her throat.

Almost like it never happened, though, Sarakka just goes on to say, “Oh, but do ask Miss Nefer if she can get me more of that medicine she brought over last time. My joints have been especially troublesome lately.”

It’s such an absurd change in topic that Lauma can’t help but laugh. “Sure,” she replies. “I’ll bring it up with her the next time we see each other.”

Lauma reflects on her conversation with Sarakka. She takes her time walking down a path that is both familiar, and now feels like the point where the Frostmoon Scions’ past, present, and future seem to converge. What lies at the end of it is a mystery, but there’s a voice in her ear, one that sounds a lot like a woman from the desert who not only survived but also surpassed her destiny, telling her to stay on the path. It’s worth finding out what waits for her—and who she will be—on the other side.

When she returns to the library, she finds her gaze drifting instinctively towards the jar filled with paper stars.

Such small, ordinary things. And yet, looking at them now, Lauma can’t help but think of hope.

Nefer’s birthday arrives, and she doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see Lauma at the Curatorium’s doorstep, a big smile on her face as she greets her, “Happy birthday, Nefer.”

“You look more excited about it than I am,” Nefer teases, which throws Lauma off for half a second before Nefer shakes her head, smiling, and tells her, “Come on in already. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ashru jumps down from the counter to greet Lauma. She bends down to scratch him behind his ear and under his chin. “Hello, Ashru,” she says, smiling as his eyes flutter happily. “You seem quite excited too.”

“I get a special treat tonight!” Ashru replies, rubbing his face against her palm. “Nefer always gives me a special treat on her birthday.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Lauma says lightly. “It’s Nefer’s birthday, yet you’re the one receiving gifts.”

“That’s because Nefer likes spoiling me,” Ashru says proudly.

Lauma chuckles. “I don’t doubt that.”

Dinner is warm and lively. Jahoda had prepared most of the food herself, and she looks very evidently proud of her hard work, but they’d ordered in some food from Speranza too, like the Crispy Roast that Jahoda digs into wolfishly. On account of Lauma, there are several vegetarian dishes spread across the table too, alongside meatless alternatives to some popular Nod-Krai dishes. At the foot of the table, Ashru enjoys his special treat alongside them.

There’s good food, and good conversation all around.

After the main course, Lauma helps Jahoda set aside the dishes and bring out Nefer’s birthday cake. Nefer looks a little exasperated, if not outright embarrassed, when Jahoda lights the candles and leads everyone—that is, Lauma and Ashru—into a very loud rendition of Happy Birthday, but she’s smiling by the end of it as she blows out the candles. Jahoda immediately cuts into the cake, giving the biggest slice to Nefer, naturally, and then the next one to Lauma.

“Don’t worry,” she tells Lauma, grinning proudly again, “with some help from Lyylikki, Katya was able to make the cake entirely without eggs, so this should be okay for you to eat!”

Lauma is touched by Jahoda’s attentiveness. She accepts the slice of cake gratefully.

“What about me?” Ashru meows up at Jahoda, nudging his head against her leg.

Jahoda doesn’t need Lauma to translate for her though, because she sighs down at Ashru, “You know you can’t have people food!”

“No fair! No fair!” Ashru yowls, before he nips Jahoda lightly on the ankle.

Jahoda almost drops the plate in her hand. “Ow! You little rascal!”

Lauma can’t help but laugh at the exchange. Across the table, Nefer is smiling too when their eyes meet, something warm and fleeting passing silently between them before Jahoda groans, “Ashru, if you bite me again, I swear—”, and the moment dissolves immediately into laughter once more.

As the evening winds down, Lauma finds herself thinking about how different it has been from her usual experiences of birthdays. Not necessarily in a ‘better’ way, but just in an entirely new way—or new to Lauma, at least. And yet, despite the smaller scale of the celebration, she still recognizes the same sense of closeness she has always found in the more ceremonial birthdays she has presided over. Different forms of intimacy, perhaps, but intimacy all the same.

Jahoda begins to clear out the dishes, setting the remainder of the cake aside to enjoy tomorrow.

“Thank you again for tonight,” Lauma says sincerely. “Everything was wonderful.”

Jahoda preens at the praise, and Nefer huffs a laugh.

“Don’t tell me you have to go already,” Jahoda says, stacking another plate atop the others. Somewhere in the background, Lauma hears Ashru yawn.

“At least stay for tea,” Nefer says, almost surprisingly. “I know you don’t drink—which is a shame because Master Diluc Ragnvindr left me a bottle of Dawn Winery’s finest dandelion wine before he returned to Mondstadt—but we recently received some rather exceptional tea from a… friend in Liyue. I think you’d enjoy it.”

Lauma appreciates the invitation, but she says, “I really do have to go, it’s just… I was hoping you’d go with me, Nefer.”

Nefer cocks a brow at her, and Jahoda’s eyes bounce back and forth between them.

“If Jahoda doesn’t mind, of course,” Lauma adds, offering her a small, almost embarrassed smile.

Jahoda looks over at Nefer before she replies, “Yeah, no problem. I’ve gotta clean up anyway.”

Nefer turns to Jahoda, then back to Lauma, and shrugs. “Alright then,” she says as she gets up from her seat, “After all that food, I could use a walk.”

Lauma gets up too, buzzing with excitement all over again.

“I’ll see you two later, then,” Nefer says over her shoulder.

Ashru, now sprawled contentedly across one of the chairs, merely lifts his head long enough to give a sleepy meow in acknowledgment.

“So,” Nefer asks as they step into the grove, “why exactly did you bring me all the way out here?”

The trip to Hiisi Island had been a quiet one. Not because there was nothing to say, but because neither of them seemed especially compelled to fill the silence. It had settled easily between them instead, companionable and warm. Even so, Lauma had noticed Nefer sneaking the occasional glance in her direction throughout the journey, as though she could sense the anticipation steadily building beneath Lauma’s carefully maintained composure.

But now that they’re here, Lauma turns to her with a smile and answers, “To give you your birthday gifts, of course.”

That only seems to leave Nefer more confused.

“Now, please,” Lauma says, and a weasel emerges from the trees. It darts to Lauma’s side, bending its head down so Lauma can pull out the ceremonial dagger from the pouch he carries on its back. Relieved that it all went according to how they discussed, she murmurs, “Thank you,” to the weasel, who chitters happily before darting back into the shadows of the trees.

Lauma unwraps the dagger from the dark cloth it had been bundled in before drawing the blade carefully from its sheath. Nefer instinctively leans closer, admiring the blade as moonlight winks off its polished surface.

“To you,” Lauma says warmly as she presents the dagger to Nefer, “my dear friend, cherished by the moonlight and our tranquil forest, I give this blessed dagger. It is customary among my people for daggers like this to be gifted upon reaching adulthood. Of course, they are purely ceremonial, but you're free to use this for whatever purpose you wish.”

Nefer’s eyes linger on the dagger before they flit back up to Lauma’s face. “I’m quite sure I reached adulthood long ago.”

Lauma laughs. “Of course,” she replies, not at all offended and in fact somewhat more sheepish instead, “but I wanted to give you something of significance to the Frostmoon Scions, and to myself… and I asked you to come here with me so I could do it right.”

Nefer furrows her brows at Lauma, looks around her—the moonlit lake, the giant tree in the middle of it, and then all of the trees surrounding them—and then back at Lauma. This time, there’s understanding in her eyes. Recognition. She’s smiling when she says, “You and your rituals.”

There isn’t anything teasing or judgmental about it. She sounds… fond, even.

“Alright, then,” she tells Lauma. “What do I need to do?”

She takes her shoes off before Lauma leads her into the moonlit lake. The ancient tree at the heart of the lake stands sentinel over them now, witness to the ceremony unfolding now. Beneath the silver glow of the moon overhead, Lauma’s voice carries softly across the grove as she speaks the old prayers of the Frostmoon Scions, steady and practiced from years of repetition. At certain points, she motions for Nefer to repeat after her, and Nefer follows her instructions, murmuring the words back to Lauma, head bowed. The entire grove seems to be holding its breath. Not even the animals make a sound. It isn’t until Lauma utters the final invocation—“Go forth with the moonlight’s blessing”—that the rest of the world comes back to life around them.

Nefer accepts the dagger from Lauma. She holds it in her hands for a moment, as if familiarizing herself with the weight of it, the shape of it, and there’s something… tender, if not wistful, in her expression. Lauma observes her with quiet fascination, before she remembers—

“One more thing,” she says, hoping that her animal friends understand this as her cue for them to bring over her other gift.

It takes a few seconds that almost tip over into being awkward, but she hears the hoofs of a Rimehorn Deer approaching, a bag in its mouth. It steps into the water and then towards them, lowering its head as it offers the bag to Lauma. She takes it from the Rimehorn Deer, pressing a hand gratefully against its neck before it leaves.

“Is this still part of the ceremony?” Nefer asks.

“No,” Lauma answers as she pulls out the jar of paper stars, “but I thought now would be as good a time as any to also give you this.”

She presents the jar to Nefer, who eyes it curiously. “The children… found out it was your birthday,” she explains, opting to leave out the part where she was the reason they found out, “and they wanted to prepare a gift for you as well. I, um, helped out too.”

“I never imagined you’d be so passionate about arts and crafts,” Nefer says jokingly, smiling warmly at the paper stars now.

Lauma laughs softly. “I never imagined I would be either, to be fair.”

A beat, then she says again, tender as the night, “Happy birthday, Nefer.”

They sit together on the grass after, their legs stretched out in front of them to dry in the cold night air. The dagger is laid across Nefer’s lap alongside the birthday card the children had written for her, while Nefer reaches into the jar and holds out a handful of colorful paper stars. “I catch Jahoda making these sometimes when business is slow and we don’t have many customers coming in,” she tells Lauma.

“They’re a lot more structurally complex than they appear,” Lauma replies, and Nefer scoffs.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me, you know,” Nefer tells her after a lull in their conversation.

“I know,” Lauma replies simply, “but I wanted to. Everyone deserves to be celebrated on their birthday.”

Still, now that they’re on the topic of everything Lauma has done, she can’t help but feel a little self-conscious and ask, “It… wasn’t too much, was it?”

“Do you mean the part where you took me out here to hand me a knife, or the part where you made me go for half a swim in the lake?” Nefer replies pointedly, and Lauma laughs despite herself. A beat, then: “No, it wasn’t too much. It was… beautiful, even.”

Lauma is genuinely relieved to hear that. “I’ve been told I can be rather stubborn about these things. You know—rituals.”

Nefer takes a moment to think about that. “There’s no denying you’re stubborn,” she says in the end, “but I think people need things like this. Traditions, rituals—things that remind them they belong somewhere. That they will always have a place, and a people, to call home.” She pauses for a second, brows furrowing slightly as something seems to click into place, and then she shakes her head, smiling in disbelief. Looks directly at Lauma as she repeats her own words back to her: “It still matters.”

Lauma huffs softly, lips curling into a smile too. She turns her gaze upwards, to the moon.

“To be honest,” she tells Nefer, folding her hands over her lap, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about who I am, or who I could possibly be, without all of… this. All around me, everyday, I see my people marching boldly into the future, changing, adapting, growing. I am relieved, of course, but...”

The first words Lauma ever learned were prayers to the Frostmoon. The first gestures, those of their sacred rites. As far back as she can remember, she was revered as the Frostmoon’s Emissary, and the Moon-Tide Maiden. Her whole life had been built around the worship of the Frost Moon, and around her great responsibility to her people.

She brings her gaze back down to earth—to her hands, palm-up now on her lap. The scars littered all over them are as faint and pale as the moonlight now. She hasn’t needed to give anyone her blood in quite some time. The last person she ever had to do that for was Nefer.

“I could never really imagine just… being myself,” Lauma confesses to Nefer. “I suppose that’s why I hold our traditions and beliefs as dearly as I do. Not just for the sake of my people, but for myself too—to keep me anchored to a part of myself that I actually do understand, and that has always made sense to me, even if it isn’t always the easiest or simplest thing either. But just like my people are slowly but surely outgrowing the belief we’d once held as absolute truth for centuries, they might one day outgrow me too.

Lauma says, softer this time, “I don’t think I really know yet who I am, or what will be left of me, when my people no longer need me as their Moonchanter.”

Silence settles between them.

Then, suddenly, Nefer says, “You’re infuriating—”

Lauma’s head snaps up, surprised.

“—and you’re far too generous with your kindness, and you’re far too patient than some people deserve, and sometimes—yes—you do get a little stuck in your own ways, and in your own head,” Nefer continues, unfazed, her expression only softening when she says, “but you love your people, and they clearly love you too, and time and time again you’ve proven that your love for and devotion to them is your greatest strength—the one thing no one can ever take from you. Not even the passage of time, or the entire world changing around us. Your people will always need you not because you’re their Moonchanter, or because you’re special or unique or because you know Columbina on a first name basis, but because you’re Lauma. That’s who you are, and who you always will be—and now, you’ve got all the time in the world too to figure out who else you want to be.”

She looks down at Lauma’s hands, at the fading scars, and says quietly, “You’ve done enough already, Lauma. You've carried enough. There’s nothing left for you to prove to your people… or to yourself.”

Lauma just… lets all of that sink in. She thinks of everything that’s transpired in the past few months, and thinks of how she never could have imagined before that she’d be where she is now, and she thinks of that night in the cramped tavern room, of the fear in the young woman’s eyes, but also the hope. Thinks of how all this time since that night, Lauma’s found herself admiring her for her courage, and for teaching Lauma something incredibly important:

The runaway is, and always will be, one of her people. Lauma is too, no matter how much around her changes, and no matter how her role within their community changes, and no matter how she chooses to shape the rest of her life from this point onward.

She is Lauma of the Frostmoon Scions.

Is, and always will be, theirs.

So, with a soft laugh—not because she finds anything funny in particular, but because she just feels… a little silly, for having such a hard time believing any of that for herself—she says to Nefer, “Yes. I think I’m beginning to understand that now.”

“Good,” Nefer huffs.

They both go quiet again for a while. Then, Nefer says, “Not that I need you getting any more sentimental on me tonight, but… My tribe had its own rituals pertaining to one’s coming of age. For obvious reasons,” and her lips curl wryly here, “I never got to experience them for myself, and I never got to celebrate with the children I grew up with, and I… never got to see the look my father would have had on his face, seeing his little girl all grown up. So… thank you. The ship has sailed, but I appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight all the same.”

“I’m glad I was able to do that for you,” Lauma replies earnestly. She turns her attention back up to the moon for a moment, then asks, “Do you think you’ll ever return to Sumeru?”

“I don’t know,” Nefer answers candidly. Lauma appreciates the honesty in her uncertainty. “There’s nothing for me to return to there, but… I suppose if recent events have taught me anything, it’s that the Sumeru of today is different from the Sumeru that I knew, and that there might be hope after all for the desert.”

Lauma turns to look at Nefer in the hush that follows.

The moonlight washes her in pale silver, and Lauma can’t help but think of how young she looks at that moment. Still the same woman who, somewhere along the way, unexpectedly, has become something more precious to Lauma than a friend, but also the young woman—the girl—who left the deserts of Sumeru behind long ago. Maybe it’s that girl, still buried deep inside the woman sitting beside Lauma now, that the desert is calling to once more.

“If you do decide to go back,” Lauma says in the end, hopeful, “perhaps… we can go together.”

Nefer glances over at Lauma too. “Perhaps,” she agrees, then her eyes drift back up to the moon when she says, “but I’m quite content where I am right now.”

Lauma smiles at her, even if Nefer will only pretend she doesn’t see it, and says, “So am I.”

In that moment, her heart is the lightest it's ever felt.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” Jahoda says as Lauma steps into the Curatorium. She rushes from behind the front desk to Lauma’s side, carrying an envelope. “This should save me a trip to Hiisi Island,” Jahoda goes on to say, thoroughly relieved, before she swiftly adds, “N-not that I wouldn’t go all the way out there just to see you, of course!”

Lauma smiles patiently at her. Eyes flicking to the envelope in Jahoda’s hand, she asks, “And what exactly would you have needed to go to Hiisi Island to see me for?”

“This came in a few minutes ago,” Jahoda answers, turning the object of interest over to Lauma. “A letter for you.”

Lauma glances down at it curiously.

“Anyway, Nef—uh, I mean, Boss Nef—is just getting changed. I’ll go call her for you. You can go ahead and wait in her office.”

Then off Jahoda goes before Lauma can even say anything. She just laughs softly to herself.

In Nefer’s office, Lauma carefully opens the envelope. The letter itself is just one sheet of paper.

Dear Lady Lauma, it reads, It’s been two months now since I left Hiisi Island. My husband and I are currently settled in Natlan, although we do have hopes of continuing our journey into Sumeru soon. It's just that there might be one little thing that could get in the way of that.

I’m writing this letter to let you know that all is well, and that—moreoever—I am with child. I still haven’t wrapped my head around it. It felt like not long ago I was only a child myself, and now, I am to welcome one into the world. I don’t think I could have ever imagined myself becoming a mother… though I suppose I never imagined that I would leave and build a life—a family—outside of Hiisi Island either, and yet, I am writing to you now, from hundreds of miles away, in a room overlooking the cliffs of the Flower-Feather Clan. I heard that you opened the Spirit Envoy Championship to participants outside of Hiisi Island, so perhaps you’ve seen a Qucusaurus or two among the animal companions competing. They’re really quite impressive creatures.

I think of all of you back home everyday. There are times when I get so homesick I just don’t know what to do with myself. Sometimes I even find myself questioning my decision to leave, but rest assured—I don’t regret it. I can’t, when you showed me the kind of kindness I never thought I’d still receive after I left the way I did. I don’t want that to be for nothing.

One day, when the time is right, I hope to bring our child to Hiisi Island, so they may receive the moon’s blessing as I once did. I want them to know the land I call home, and the people I call family. Maybe by then, the others would have forgiven me for leaving. I know I’m not entitled to their affections anymore, but you’ve given me hope that I can return one day, when I’m ready.

Thank you again, Lady Lauma. May the moonlight connect us.

Lauma reads through the letter one more time, and then another time, and then realizes she’s smiling.

It all came out right in the end. She’s glad. She really is.

She folds the letter again and places it back inside the envelope. Just then, Nefer enters her office.

“Ready?” she says as she walks towards her desk. She pulls a drawer open, and then another, obviously searching for something, and when she finds it, she murmurs, there it is. She puts on her tinted glasses, frowns, takes them off to wipe them completely smudge-free, then says, “Better. —What?”

Lauma hadn’t realized she must have been staring.

Nefer huffs, pushing the glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’m not going to risk an entire morning of you nagging my ear off about how I need to be more careful with my eyes, if that's what you're wondering about.”

Lauma just smiles. Nefer can hide behind sarcasm all she wants, but Lauma knows she’s actually starting to like the glasses.

They walk out together. Lauma stops to cast one last glance at Nefer’s office—at the display cabinet behind Nefer’s desk, where a dagger and a jar of paper stars are proudly displayed together, side by side.

“I haven’t got all day, Miss Moonchanter,” Nefer calls.

Lauma laughs under her breath. She follows after Nefer, a lingering warmth in her chest.