Chapter Text
Hiisi Island was as quiet as ever.
The sun hovered just above the horizon, and the sky, painted in rose and violet, cast a soft glow over Frostmoon Enclave. The people here were devoted to their Moon Goddess, and faith lingered in every breath of the land.
At the entrance of the Enclave, the new Moon Goddess stood still. She hesitated, her delicate brows knitting together, confusion and disbelief written plainly across her face.
For what felt like the thousandth time, she asked herself whether this was real or just another illusion born from longing.
Had her Sandrone, yes, her Sandrone, truly stood before her?
Here. Alive.
Even when she received the bird Lauma had sent to deliver the news, Columbina had not allowed herself to fully believe it. She hadn’t thought about anything except getting here as quickly as possible. Seeing Sandrone again felt like being handed a gift far too precious, one she had never dared to expect. She had been shocked, and overwhelmingly happy.
But when their eyes met, those muted blue eyes that once held quiet certainty now shimmered with fear, hesitation, and something fragile and uncertain.
Columbina did not recognize that look. The emptiness in Sandrone’s gaze made her heart feel as if it had been thrown to the ground once more.
Voices drifted faintly from inside. She listened carefully, straining to make out the sound of Aino, Lauma and Ineffa speaking beyond the doors. The evening wind moved gently through the quiet air. Columbina trembled just slightly. For the first time in her long existence as a goddess, she felt truly cold, not the kind that touched the skin, but the kind that settled deeper, somewhere beneath her ribs.
“Miss Columbina.” The gentle voice pulled her back.
Even without opening her eyes, Columbina could sense the faint curve of Lauma’s smile, soft, patient and careful. It was the kind of smile given to something fragile, as though one wrong word, one breath too loud, might cause the Moon Goddess to break where she stood.
Columbina had already seen her today. She had opened her eyes the moment she arrived.
And yet she closed them again, afraid that what was happening might disappear if she looked too closely.
“Won’t you go inside?” Lauma asked gently. “I believe Miss Sandrone needs you now more than anyone.”
Her hands trembled, not because she doubted, but because hope, once broken, still hurts when it returns.
For the first time in a very long while, the Moon Goddess felt something dangerously human.
“Are you afraid, Miss Columbina?” The question caught her off guard.
“I…” Columbina faltered. She did not understand the unfamiliar feeling twisting inside her chest.
“If Miss Sandrone has changed, or if she no longer remembers you…” Lauma paused letting the possibility settle between them. “If that is the case, would you turn your back on her?”
Columbina opened her eyes. For a moment, the sky above Hiisi Island blurred, resolve struggling against fear.
“Turn my back on her?” she repeated softly, as if testing the thought.
The idea felt foreign on her tongue, almost offensive. And yet it contradicted her own hesitation, the fact that she had not taken a single step forward to stand beside Sandrone. That contradiction stung more sharply than any accusation.
“She gave her life so that I could return,” Columbina said quietly, her fingers curling at her sides.
The memory of holding Sandrone’s motionless body in her arms, cold, unresponsive, terrifyingly still, pressed against her chest with unbearable weight.
If Sandrone had truly forgotten her… if those muted blue eyes no longer recognized her…
Then what was she hesitating for?
“If she has forgotten me,” she continued, her voice steady now though her hands still trembled “then I will simply introduce myself again.”
A pause. “And again.”
Lauma smiled, this time with visible relief and something close to pride for the Moon Goddess to whom she had devoted herself.
That steadiness in Columbina’s voice was not something Lauma heard often. Most days, the Moon Goddess drifted above the world, distant and ethereal, untouched by urgency.
But when it came to Miss Sandrone…
Only one name in this world seemed capable of drawing such gravity from her. Only matters concerning Miss Sandrone could make the Moon Goddess this serious.
“Please, go in,” Lauma said gently. “Aino is already inside. She seems to have noticed something. She is skilled with machinery. If anyone can understand what is happening with Miss Sandrone’s body, it would be her.”
Columbina closed her eyes once more and gave a quiet nod, but when she sensed that Lauma had not moved, she turned her head slightly, though her eyes remained shut, a silent question lingering in the tilt of her expression.
Lauma inclined her head in apology.
“I must attend to matters outside,” she explained softly. “If I leave them on their own, their frustration may deepen.“
Columbina’s brows drew together faintly.
“The Frostmoon Scions…” she murmured, recalling the tension that had lingered in the air.
Lauma straightened subtly, and for the first time, her voice carried the quiet authority of a leader speaking on behalf of her people.
“Miss Columbina, I ask that you not be angry with them,” she said, her gaze steady. “Our home was once invaded by the Fatui... by Miss Sandrone.”
The name hung between them, heavy but unavoidable.
“It is only natural that they would struggle to trust her or to welcome her presence here without resentment,” Lauma continued.
There was no accusation in her tone, only calm, unflinching honesty.
The evening wind stirred faintly between them, carrying the distant murmur of uneasy voices beyond the walls.
“I will calm them,” Lauma said at last. “And I will remind them that the Moon Goddess has chosen her path and of the sacrifice Miss Sandrone made.”
Lauma offered a respectful bow, then quietly took her leave.
Columbina watched Lauma until her figure disappeared, then stepped quietly into the Frostmoon Enclave.
The chamber was dim, lit by candlelight and the pale glow of moonlight spilling along the walls. The air carried a subtle metallic scent, oil, polished brass, and something faintly electrical.
“This body… it’s far too complex. Completely different from Ineffa.”
The quiet muttering of a young voice drifted from beside the bed.
Columbina listened.
Aino stood atop a small wooden stool beside Sandrone’s resting form, one hand braced carefully against the mattress, the other hovering just above the exposed mechanical seams along Sandrone’s arm. Her tools were arranged with meticulous precision on a nearby tray, fine instruments, delicate probes, calibration devices meant for intricate machinery.
Columbina approached in measured silence.
Aino did not look up at once.
“You are here, Miss Columbina.”
The monotone voice came from the foot of the bed. Ineffa stood there, posture straight, eyes glowing faintly as her systems registered the Moon Goddess’s presence.
Aino lifted her head quickly at the sound. The seriousness that had tightened her features dissolved at once.
“Columbina! Come here, quick, over here!”
She waved her small hand eagerly, nearly losing her balance on the stool before steadying herself again. She gestured for Columbina to come closer, her eyes bright with curiosity rather than reverence.
“There’s something you should see.”
Columbina stepped beside her and turned toward Sandrone’s unmoving figure, her eyes still closed.
“Her structure isn’t simply mechanical” Aino continued, her tone sharpening again as she refocused. “There’s intent embedded in the design. The internal architecture adapts and reacts. It’s not just circuitry. It’s layered.”
Her fingers hovered lightly over the faint seam along Sandrone’s collarbone, careful not to disturb the delicate alignment beneath.
“Whoever built her didn’t just assemble parts.”
She glanced briefly at Columbina, then back at Sandrone.
“They tried to build a person.”
It was not entirely new information to Columbina.
As Sandrone’s former colleague, who had worked alongside her, argued with her, and trusted her, Columbina had long known that this body was no ordinary construct. She had even once used the power of Kuuvahki to peer into fragments of Sandrone’s past, tracing the faint echoes left within metal and memory alike.
Sandrone had what she called “maintenance days.”
On those days, she would withdraw from everyone, locking herself away to inspect her own systems with the same meticulous scrutiny she applied to her research. Panels would open with soft mechanical clicks, and delicate tools would be laid out in exact order. She never allowed anyone to assist.
Except once.
There had been a mission that went wrong, violently wrong. Sandrone had returned damaged, one arm misaligned, internal mechanisms overheated and leaking pale fluid that shimmered faintly under the light. That time, she had not refused Columbina.
Columbina remembered kneeling beside her, handing over sterilized instruments in silence. She remembered the faint tremor in Sandrone’s fingers as she adjusted her own internal components, the scent of heated metal mingled with something almost sweet.
Her skin had been astonishingly lifelike, soft, smooth, faintly warm. A pale blush lingered beneath its surface, like diluted rose beneath porcelain. Even along the joints, where fine seams marked the boundary between engineered segments, the craftsmanship was so precise that one could miss it entirely without careful attention.
Within her, fluids circulated in quiet, rhythmic motion. If compared to a human body, one might call it blood. She could be hurt and feel.
It had startled Columbina then, how fragile she seemed, not just a machine but something delicate, like a finely wound clockwork doll, beautiful and precise, yet easy to break.
Even now, standing beside her still form, Columbina felt that same ache.
Such a carefully constructed body. Such a breakable existence.
And yet within it was a will strong enough to choose sacrifice.
Sandrone gave up her life to bring Columbina back home. Columbina did not dare to flatter herself by believing she was someone irreplaceable in Sandrone’s world. She knew better than to turn sacrifice into vanity, but Sandrone had once said, grumpy, almost annoyed, that the idea of “saving the world” was absurd. She was not some reckless idealist chasing glory. Saving the world had never been her motive.
So Columbina allowed herself, just this once, a selfish thought.
If Sandrone had never cared about the world…
If she had dismissed it so easily…
Then perhaps she had not sacrificed herself for the world at all. Perhaps she had done it simply to bring Columbina back.
The thought brought warmth to Columbina’s chest, a fragile, guilty kind of joy, the quiet relief of knowing she mattered to someone who rarely placed value on anything beyond her own research.
She was happy that Sandrone had chosen her, and yet that happiness came with a sharp edge. To choose her so easily, to give up her own life without hesitation, meant Sandrone did not see her own life as equally precious.
Columbina understood that kind of thinking far too well, not valuing one’s own existence, not believing one has a place to return to.
Sandrone had no home beyond the one she built through purpose, and Columbina had once felt much the same.
Perhaps they were not so different. Two beings who could give everything away.
Somewhere deep inside, they had never learned how to belong to themselves, and the thought frightened her more than the idea of being forgotten.
If Sandrone had chosen her over the world… then Columbina would have to make sure that next time, Sandrone chose her again.
Columbina moved closer and gently took Sandrone’s delicate hand in hers.
“Eh?! What’s wrong with the detector? Why is the needle going up that high?!” Aino’s voice cracked with alarm.
On the circular gauge beside the bed, the needle shot sharply to the right, nearly reaching its limit.
Columbina paused and carefully lifted her hand away from Sandrone’s.
The needle slid back to the far left as if nothing had happened.
“That device… does it detect Kuuvahki energy?” she asked, noticing the cables running from the circular instrument into Sandrone’s chest.
“Not exactly,” Aino replied, lifting the device and inspecting it as though suspecting a malfunction. “It measures any form of circulating energy.” Her tone dropped as she continued. “Sandrone’s core is almost out of sustaining energy. I don’t even know what kind of energy she uses, and I can’t just inject something randomly. Whatever energy is inside her, it’s unstable. It looks like it could detonate at any time if the balance shifts.”
For a moment, the prodigy looked like a child standing before a problem she could not solve.
“Did you just say Kuuvahki?” Aino suddenly looked up.
Columbina did not answer with words but reached forward again and clasped Sandrone’s hand.
The needle slammed to the far right, hitting its limit, and Aino froze, staring at the gauge without blinking.
“Aino,” Ineffa said calmly from the foot of the bed, “it appears Kuuvahki energy can function as a substitute.”
“That’s… strange,” Aino murmured. “Nod-Krai is saturated with Kuuvahki. The entire region is surrounded by it, and yet Sandrone’s body can’t absorb it on its own. But when Columbina touches her, the absorption rate increases dramatically, faster and far beyond normal capacity.”
The needle trembled near the maximum line, humming faintly as if straining to contain the surge.
Aino’s voice dropped into quiet realization. “It’s not just the energy.” She looked at Columbina carefully now. “It’s you.”
“What do you mean?” Columbina asked, her voice tight, threaded with anxiety but also something dangerously close to hope.
Aino drew in a breath and steadied herself. “As I said, the sustaining energy inside Sandrone’s core is gradually depleting. If we can’t replenish it, her system will initiate a shutdown, and if that state continues for too long, she may never power on again.”
Columbina’s breath caught sharply in her throat.
“But based on the data we just observed,” Aino continued, “Kuuvahki energy is compatible with her structure. If we continuously introduce Kuuvahki into her system, enough to gradually push out the unstable energy currently sustaining her core, then Kuuvahki could potentially become her primary energy source moving forward.”
Her eyes flicked toward the gauge, still trembling near its upper limit. “It would stabilize her, in theory.”
“In theory?” Columbina repeated quietly.
“I don’t know the exact method yet,” Aino admitted, frustration flickering across her face. “Right now, it’s only a hypothesis.”
Columbina exhaled softly. “A hypothesis is enough. Tell me your theory.”
Even if it was fragile, even if it was unproven, it meant there was still a path forward.
Aino swallowed and nodded.
“Sandrone can’t absorb Kuuvahki from the environment on her own, but she can absorb it when it flows directly from its source.” Her gaze lifted to meet Columbina’s. “That source is you.”
“The method is proximity,” Aino continued carefully. “You need to remain close, physically close. Direct contact seems to accelerate the transfer. I don’t know how long it will take. It depends on how much of the old energy needs to be displaced.” She glanced back at Sandrone’s still form. “But if we can completely push out the unstable energy and replace it with Kuuvahki, she should be able to wake up.”
A brief pause followed.
“She’ll likely be weak at first. Very weak.”
The room suddenly felt very small.
“We have reached a conclusion, and it is time to return. It is nearly past the designated hour for Aino’s sleep schedule.” Ineffa said, her voice calm and precise, clearly reciting a pre-programmed instruction.
“A single late night won’t hurt.” Aino muttered under her breath, crossing her arms before glancing back at Sandrone.
“It’s alright. You two should go back.” Columbina said softly.
Before either of them could respond further, Columbina stepped forward and gently lifted Sandrone into her arms, careful and deliberate, cradling her in a bridal carry as though she were something impossibly precious.
Aino blinked in surprise.
Ineffa’s expression did not change, though her gaze tracked the movement with mechanical attentiveness.
Sandrone’s pale form rested against Columbina’s chest, light and fragile, her head settling naturally against the curve of the Moon Goddess’s shoulder.
Columbina adjusted her slightly.
“Thank you” she said once more, her voice quieter now. “Please tell Lauma I will remain at Silvermoon Hall.”
“Eh, okay. I’ll come back tomorrow to check her energy levels.” Aino replied quickly.
Kuuvahki began to gather, rising like liquid moonlight and spiraling upward in a slow, silent vortex.
Ineffa’s optics flickered faintly. “Energy concentration increasing.” she reported evenly.
Aino stared, wide-eyed.
The light did not explode. It folded inward, and in the next breath Columbina was gone.
Only drifting silver particles remained where she had stood, dissolving into the dim chamber like falling stardust.
The gauge needle trembled once, then steadied.
Aino exhaled slowly. “No matter how many times I see it, I still can’t get used to a god’s power.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Outside, the night deepened.
Somewhere within Silvermoon Hall, upon a bed Columbina herself had shaped from pale stone and moonlight, surrounded by blooming silver flowers that seemed to glow in quiet encouragement.
Sandrone lay quiet against Columbina’s chest, fragile as ever yet warmer now.
Columbina tightened her hold just slightly.
“You don’t get to leave this world so easily,” she murmured.
Not before you learn how to live in it.
“I will be your home.”
The promise settled into the air, quiet, steady and unbreakable.
Kuuvahki pulsed in slow even waves around them, no longer surging and no longer unstable. The silver flowers surrounding the bed shimmered faintly in the moonlit cavern, their petals brushing against soft sheets like a silent blessing.
Columbina allowed her eyes to close at last, still holding Sandrone close, careful and protective.
Beneath the gentle glow of Silvermoon Hall, the Moon Goddess fell asleep holding the one she had promised to be a home for.