Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nefer should be asleep. She really should.

Jahoda had helped her into bed hours ago, and Nefer had already felt like death back then. So why is it that she can't sleep now?

Today’s fight had been taxing. Hell, the entire past week had been just that—a hellscape of her own making. And between prying through the memories of a Sinner, getting ambushed within her own memories, and nearly going blind, well—

She really should cut herself some slack. Anyone would have a lot to process.

Except, Nefer doesn't linger on any of those trivialities. No, instead, her mind is alight with something arguably far less important.

It’s stupid, but it stems from a single question—one single, nagging question that had crept in from the recesses of her mind. Innocent enough, easy enough to answer. Hell, Nefer already answered it, days and days ago. The type of question that’s already been marked ‘RESOLVED’ in all capital letters and tucked away into some far-flung filing cabinet, never to be seen again.

Been there, done that. Nefer has never been one to dwell on what is essentially a non-issue, and she's certainly not going to start now—

—is what she'd like to say. But the reality is that the sun is peeking out over the horizon, the sky lightening from a deep navy to the first hints of orange, and Nefer has not seen even a hint of sleep since she'd laid down hours ago after the longest week of her life.

Her bones are weary, the marrow replaced by some kind of seeping, weighted tiredness that makes her feel like she's sinking into the mattress. Thanks to that damned Sinner, Rerir, terrorizing the entirety of Nod-Krai, she'd spent the duration of the conflict on her feet—the same feet which now threaten to fall off from sheer soreness. That's how tired she's become, and it's ridiculous—is this not why Jahoda is employed?

But it is what it is. It's not like Jahoda can rest in her stead, nor can she chew over this stupid, stupid question in Nefer’s place.

And it's not even the inquiry itself that has Nefer losing sleep, but rather everything else—

What more could you have said? A quiet voice that sounds eerily like Jahoda asks. Would you have lied to her? Told her that you didn't know? But that would make you a liar, and Lauma doesn't like liars.

Well, shit. The voice is right.

“How could they still be thinking about Mora when such a catastrophe is imminent?” Lauma had asked weeks ago, her voice painfully soft, and she had been so genuinely, obtrusively confused at the mere notion of human greed, that Nefer had been overcome with the inexplicable, sudden urge to wrap her up, whisk her away to somewhere better, somewhere more worthy.

With everything going on, she'd never had the time to settle on the query. No time to peruse its meanings, or think about what that said about Lauma, herself. Not that she'd wanted to—Lauma is the last person Nefer ever wanted to think about. 

But still. It's not like there's much else to do when your tender eyes are still recovering. It had been Lauma, herself, who had saved her from blindness.

What did Nod-Krai ever do to deserve such a Moonchanter?

Squinting slightly, careful not to open her eyes too wide, Nefer groans as she closes them shut once more. The sky burns orange as she realizes she’s lost the entire night to a series of questions she’s already answered.

“Brilliant,” she mutters to the ceiling. “How will you recover now, Nefer?”

Somewhere outside, the first vendors are opening their stalls, the sound of rain buckets and chatter seeping in through the shutters. Nasha Town keeps moving, indifferent to her sleeplessness—so she forces her mind to empty, pretending the noise is reason enough to stay awake in the darkness.

///

Nefer drifts in and out of sleep over the next few days. As it turns out, she's catching up on far more than just that single sleepless night.

Jahoda tends to her enthusiastically, clearly happy to be in charge for once. Nefer can hardly fault her—the poor girl had been distraught upon finding Nefer with her eyes closed, blood trickling down her cheeks. She follows Lauma's instructions for recovery to the letter, and sure enough, Nefer’s sight gets restored, good as new.

She's back on her feet before she knows it, just in time to attend that victory celebration Grand Master Varka organizes at the Flagship. And surrounded by all the friends she'd begrudgingly made throughout this whole ordeal, well—

She almost feels content. Almost.

Lauma finds her way to Nefer’s side at some point during the festivities.

“I really am glad your eyes have healed, Nefer,” she says, achingly tender. “And I’m glad I was able to be there earlier, when you could open your eyes again. I would've tended to you myself, but—”

“Your people come first,” Nefer cuts in, carelessly shrugging at the way Lauma dips her head. “I know how things are, Lauma. You don't exactly have a claim to be my nurse.”

“You’re right, I don't,” Lauma murmurs, fingers twisting in her lap. “Not anymore, at least.”

“I'm sorry?”

Lauma smiles. “Nothing. I'm just happy to see you back to your normal self.”

“Oh?” Nefer arches a brow. “Am I like this usually?”

And Lauma laughs, not caring for how Nefer pointedly turns her attention to the drink in her hand. “If you have enough energy to trade blows with me, then I'd say that's close enough for me.”

///

(Being blind had been… strange. Even though it wasn’t permanent. 

But it could have been, Nefer frequently reminded herself, during her occasional lucid moments when Jahoda had not let her even leave her bed, let alone open her eyes. You had seen too much, so he had gone for your eyes, and you’re lucky he only slashed them, because he could have gouged them out from their sockets.

Recovery had been its own kind of torment—seeing nothing, feeling too much. Lauma had specifically told her to rest her eyes, that the restoration would take time to settle, but time was never something Nefer handled gracefully. So she lay there in the dark, replaying Lauma’s voice in her head like a stubborn melody.

“I don’t like this outcome,” Lauma had said. Sweet, irrational, exactly what she’d expect from her. Nefer had not been able to see her, but she had heard her—heard the quiver in her voice, the fear as she had pulsed with Dendro healing.“And I don’t want you to lose your sight for good.”

I don’t like this outcome.

I don’t like this outcome.

So, she had changed it. Because of course she would, that damned Moonchanter.

“Oh, Lauma,” Nefer had murmured to herself hours later, lying in bed, the exhaustion about to pull her back under. “I wish I had seen the look on her face.”

It’s almost ironic, really—that the first thing she saw when her vision returned days later was the very expression she’d secretly hoped to see: Lauma’s relief, soft and unguarded, painted in the light of an early morning sun.

“What’s the damage?” Nefer had demanded, not daring to look in a mirror yet.

And Lauma only chuckled, shaking her head. “Absolutely nothing. You’re perfect.”

She’d received a roll of emerald eyes in response. 

“Are you not just trying to compliment your own handywork?”

Unflappable as always, Lauma merely hummed. “Maybe I am. Shouldn’t you know?”

Nefer had scoffed and looked away.)

///

Two days later and Nefer’s escorting Yelan out of the Flagship. Mercifully, she had been granted a full night’s worth of sleep last night, and it’s almost enough to make up for the entire night she’d lost to her own stupid musings. That, and she likes convening with Yelan, thinly veiled threats and all. It goes unspoken, but she finds that they’re cut from the same cloth—far too used to walking that knife’s edge.

She almost looks up to the blue-haired woman—almost. Not that she’ll ever admit it. Yelan would surely never let her live it down.

“Try not to look so relieved to be rid of me,” Yelan teases, tugging her gloves tighter as they step out into the daylight.

“I’d never dream of it,” Never fires back, deadpan.

The air outside the Flagship carries the scent of sea salt and rain, heavy with the promise of another storm. Around them, Nasha Town bustles, alive with noise—the grinding of machinery, merchants calling out prices, children playing along the streets. For once, the chaos almost feels comforting—a normal day in Nasha Town, after all the ruin of the week before.

Yelan adjusts the fur of her jacket, sharp eyes sweeping over the square. “Still, you look better rested,” she says lightly. “I heard about everything that happened recently, with the Sinner and all. Caught a glimpse of you trudging around last night just after I got in—you almost look human again.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The blue-haired woman laughs, a smooth, low sound that turns heads as she makes her way into Nasha Town’s streets. Nefer follows, hands behind her back, and is about to make another remark when movement catches at the edge of her vision—Lauma, and then white hair, glinting like snow in the midday light.

Instinctively, she slows.

“Shenhe,” Yelan calls out, her voice smoothly carrying itself over the din, “I'm done here!”

Nefer blinks in surprise as the white-haired woman in front of Lauma pauses, looking over her shoulder to where Yelan waves lazily. Immediately, a smile blooms across the woman’s face, and she says something to Lauma that Nefer cannot discern before beginning the short walk towards them.

“I didn't know you brought someone,” Nefer comments, unable to help her own curiosity. “Last I checked, you said you worked best alone.”

“Did I? I suppose I must have.”

“What changed?”

Seemingly unbothered by the oddly personal question, Yelan hums, offering a shrug without pretense.

“I suppose I just realized that my boundaries were self-imposed. Sometimes, you meet someone who's simply worth the exception.”

More than walking, Shenhe seems to drift over to Yelan’s side—slots into place like she belongs there, casually entering the blue-haired woman’s space without any regard for reasoning.

Yelan, much to Nefer’s surprise, inclines her head towards her companion, smiling.

“So, darling, how are you liking Nod Krai so far?”

“It's… new.” Clearly chewing on her words, Shenhe tips her head from side to side, crane-like in an odd, beautiful way. “In a good way. This town is a patchwork of parts from every nation. So, new, but also not new.” Then, she pauses almost sheepishly. “That… doesn't make much sense, does it?”

But Yelan laughs, clearly endeared. “On the contrary, it makes perfect sense. Pretty different from Liyue though, huh?”

Nefer sucks in a breath when she catches a glimpse as the lamplight hits Shenhe’s eyes—irisdescent, as if a ray of sunlight had been lovingly captured within glass.

“They’re beautiful, aren't they? Shenhe’s eyes.”

And it's then that Nefer realizes that Lauma had joined them, having followed Shenhe over across the square. Silently, she'd taken her place by Nefer’s right shoulder, the lengths of their arms brushing in that familiar way that Nefer’s been trying so hard to not get used to.

“They are. How lucky,” Nefer says lightly, watching Yelan’s hand brush Shenhe’s arm. And if Lauma is confused by the sentiment, she says nothing. “They wouldn’t suit just anyone.”

And with a round of goodbyes, the two Liyue women drift off together, gentle chatter fading into the din of Nasha Town. Nefer watches them go—Yelan’s self-assured stride, Shenhe’s quiet grace—until the crowd swallows them from view.

Beside her, Lauma shifts, the soft chime of her ornamental headwear lifting over the noise. It’s only then that Nefer truly realizes how close they’re standing, shoulder to shoulder, the air between them charged in that infuriating, familiar way.

Wordlessly, she steps away, creating the distance she needs.

Lauma, naturally, pays no mind.

“Shenhe was telling me what Liyue is like,” she says, falling into step with Nefer easily. “About the tall mountains of the Jueyun Karst, and the adepti that live there.”

“Was she now?” Nefer casually ambles through Nasha Town’s busy streets, cleanly leading Lauma away from the rowdy late afternoon crowds. Reminding herself not to get lost beneath it all, Nefer flashes a lazy smile at the other woman. “Well, what an interesting friend you've made at Limppu's.”

“It certainly was a pleasant surprise.”

“And what about the turnovers?”

“I'm… sorry?” Genuinely caught off guard, Lauma blinks at Nefer in surprise.

Nefer rolls her eyes. “The Fruit Tandem Turnovers, Lauma? The berry-filled ones you used to eat for breakfast. Is that not why you were at Limppu's stall to begin with?”

“Oh! Yes, that's why I was there.” And in a surprisingly endearing motion, Lauma huffs in disappointment. “He was all out for the day, unfortunately.”

“They’ve been selling out faster recently. You have to come before noon if you want to get your hands on any.”

“Duly noted.” The Moonchanter sighs. Then, curiously, “I have to admit, I'm surprised you remembered, Nefer.”

Unimpressed, Nefer merely raises an eyebrow. “My memory isn't that bad, Lauma.”

As if she could ever forget those days when they'd opt for food from Limppu instead of full meals at Speranza. When they'd stroll down Nasha Town side-by-side, pastries in hand talking about anything and everything, planning and scheming. 

(Lauma had always cringed that word—scheming. Even when that had been the most accurate verb at the time. Naturally, that meant Nefer had to go out of her way to use it as often as possible.)

It means nothing. That Nefer remembers the way Lauma’s mouth had bitten into her favorite turnovers, that is. It had meant nothing at the time, and it means nothing now.

Nevertheless, the corner of Lauma's mouth twitches upwards.

“Right.” She sounds far too humored.

Nefer coughs into her fist. “So, what brings you out to Nasha Town? Besides the turnovers, of course.”

“I wanted to properly thank you for your help with, well—everything.” Lauma inclines her head, smiling softly, earnestly. “The Moon Marrow, the Wild Hunt fiasco, everything surrounding Rerir and his memories, your chess set—I owe you a lot, Nefer.”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Nefer licks her lips and looks away.

“I know I can run my mouth, but you really don't owe me anything. You know I only do as I please.”

You're a liar, Nefer. And a really good one, too. It's just too bad that Lauma hates liars.

///

By the time they reach the Curatorium, a light drizzle has begun.

The way Nefer holds open the door for Lauma is like second nature, ushering her inside with a hand at the small of the Moonchanter's back. Mentally, she curses herself—and then she has the better judgement to curse Yelan. Something about the oddly gentle way the blue-haired woman handled Shenhe earlier must've rubbed off on her.

Lauma’s resulting smile is almost shy, and if Nefer could throw herself into the sun, she absolutely would.

Instead, she coughs pointedly, calling out into the shop—“Jahoda? I've returned!”

“Oh, welcome back, Boss!”

The greeting, however, is promptly followed by a yelp of surprise, and Nefer winces as Jahoda's cursing fills the air, followed by the sound of stumbling feet.

A second later, a metal arm rolls through the back curtains, a haggard Jahoda tumbling out soon after.

Nefer sighs. She can feel another incoming headache.

“Do I want to know?”

Lauma, silently, covers the amused upturn of her lips with an elegant hand.

From where she's sprawled in a heap on the ground, Jahoda laughs sheepishly. Her good arm rubs at the back of her neck.

“Sorry, Boss. Ashru accidentally knocked my arm off the table and it rolled out here.”

Ashru, who had slinked into the room unnoticed, opened his mouth to mreeowww loudly.

“And you rolled after it—” Nefer shakes her head. She supposes she should already be used to Jahoda’s eccentricities. And with that, she bends down, gingerly picking up the augmented limb.  “Why was your arm detached to begin with?”

“Ah, about that.” Jahoda laughs nervously. “I might've taken a bit of a tumble on my last commission and accidentally dented the metal plating. Now, my ring and little fingers aren't bending properly.”

Lauma, ever the kind one, helps the girl to her feet, dexterous hands enveloping Jahoda’s good arm and giving the younger girl the tug she needs. Meanwhile, Nefer deposits the arm on a nearby countertop.

“Well, that's certainly not good.” Clicking her tongue, Nefer sighs again, walking over to the nearby window to peer outside. “Maybe if you go now, you can make it to Aino before the rain gets any harder—”

“Miss Lauma?” Jahoda's surprised tone cuts Nefer off unexpectedly.

Still facing the window, Nefer rolls her eyes, amused despite her assistant 's interruption.

This girl. We’ll need to have a talk about guest etiquette.

“Is something wrong, Jahoda?” Lauma asks.

“Miss Lauma,” Jahoda says again hesitantly, and the cadence falters just enough that Nefer feels her own humor fade, looks over her shoulder to see her assistant holding Lauma's hand with her good appendage. “Were you also injured in that fight with Rerir?”

A beat passes, and Lauma's careful laugh comes too late.

“You might be mistaken, Jahoda.”

But Jahoda shakes her head, brow furrowing. “No, that can't be. If that's the case, then why does your skin feel all scraped up?”

Slowly, Nefer turns around.

“Lauma.”

“Nefer.”

Jahoda, wisely, clamps her mouth shut.

Meanwhile, Nefer studies the woman before her with a sort of frost in her veins, her blood running cold.

“Was my employee mistaken?”

Lauma’s response comes slowly, hesitantly. As if she's choosing her words tentatively, afraid the floor beneath her will shatter.

“This isn't why I came here today. I just wanted to—”

“Let me see.”

“...Nefer, just let me—”

“Let me see,” Nefer repeats coolly, extending her own hand face up.

And with the subtlest of sighs, Lauma complies. Unable to meet her gaze, the Moonchanter pointedly looks away as Nefer gingerly grasps her hand, spreads her fingers, and bears witness to the lattice of scars littering her palms.

And then a memory hits, unbidden.

///

(Believe it or not, Nefer has been treated with silver blood twice. Two times more than the average person. Two times more than anyone should ever be treated with Lauma's silver blood.

The second time had been the other day, Lauma’s life force dripping down over her torn, pained eyes.

The first time had been something else altogether.

Sometimes, Nefer still dreams about that night, so long ago now. The cave they'd taken shelter in. Her own shallow breath ringing hollow as Lauma had desperately cradled her body to her chest.

Beyond the cave the wind had whipped, cold rain erasing their tracks. The black market dealers had long given up on finding them, but Nefer had escaped the encounter far from unscathed.

It hurt. Nefer had never hurt like that before, and she never would go on to never again.

But silver blood from her own minor injury dripped down the length of Lauma’s arm, and it had been a shaking hand that the younger Moonchanter eventually held to Nefer’s lips.

“Drink it,” Lauma had whispered. “Please, Nefer. Please.”

“Lauma… I'm so tired…”

“My blood, Nefer. You can sleep, but only after you drink it.”

“Lauma, the tome we—”

“It's right here, little serpent. I stole it back when everything got chaotic. But I'm not losing you over something like this, do you hear me?” 

Nefer can't recall much after that. All she remembers is waking up much later under a cloudless night sky, her lips stained silver and the wound on her stomach gone.

It would be years until Nefer would agree to work alongside Lauma again.)

///

Nefer’s not quite sure what feeling overwhelms her, the sheer emotion that nearly blinds her, the moment she realizes why Lauma’s hands are calloused and scarred with inumerable sharp, precise lines.

First comes a creeping terror, Nefer supposes—the pounding organ in her chest growing dismally cold the moment she unfurls the other woman’s fingers, Lauma’s eyes fluttering shut in resignation.

What follows is a hot, searing kind of anger.

Behind her, Jahoda gasps, eyes widening in horror. 

“That—” The girl stammers, at a loss for words. Her gaze flickers from Lauma's quiet countenance to the steely neutral of Nefer's. Bottom lip trembling, Jahoda tries again. “Miss Lauma, this is—Is it because your blood is silver?”

Oh, that's right. Jahoda hadn't been there when Lauma had healed her eyes—her employee hadn't known where the Moonchanter's healing came from. But regardless, Nefer holds her breath. This… this is more than one cut. Lauma hasn't just been healing me.

“Ah.” Seeming to snap out of her daze, Lauma shoots Jahoda the barest hints of a smile. “You’re a smart girl, Jahoda.”

Words seem to fail Jahoda again, and so despite the clear answer, she falls silent.

Something cracks across the ice, and Nefer clenches her jaw before schooling her expression once again—the epitome of composure.

“Who else knows about this?”

Lauma pointedly looks away. “Just Lumine and Paimon. They…witnessed me heal one of my flock.”

Nefer nods, her hand tightening around Lauma's fingers.

“Jahoda.”

“Yes?” The girl squeaks.

“Take the rest of the day off, will you? And tomorrow, too.”

“Huh?!”

“I have some things to take care of, and you've been working hard all week in the aftermath of everything. You deserve it. Maybe you can even visit Aino and Ineffa, to help you with that arm.”

“Um—” Jahoda once again glances between the two older women before sighing, bobbing her head once in acquiescence. She scoops up her augmented limb with her good arm, then makes some motion like a phantom salute with her other. “Alright… But if you need me, Boss, you know how to reach me!”

“And take Ashru with you.”

“Mrrrreow!” 

The black cat jumps to Jahoda's shoulder.

“Yes, Boss!”

And then she's gone, feline friend in tow.

Once again, Nefer finds herself alone with her temptations.

She drops Lauma's hand, stepping away to create some space.

Alright. What now?

What do you say to the woman who plagues your thoughts against all better judgement? 

“If you’re going to scold me,” Lauma’s voice pierces through the fog, “now would be the time.”

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Nefer chances a wary glance her way.

“Just tell me why.”

“What’s this?” Were she not visibly nervous, Lauma could almost sound amused. “Does the head of the Curatorium of Secrets not know everything about me?”

“Are you really going to squander this chance?” When I've given you so little already?

“Very well.” Carefully, Lauma folds her hands, gentle eyes betraying sharp intellect—her mind used to frequently keep Nefer’s company, after all. “Where do you want me to start?”

Nefer rolls her eyes. “I suppose your stubborn insistence on offering up your silver blood like it's some goddess-given tithe is as good a start as any.”

“My silver blood,” Lauma replies steadily, “is required. As a necessary conduit for our rituals. It's sacred not only for me, but for the Frostmoon Scions as a whole, and as such—” Her gaze flickers up, meets Nefer's schooled expression with a surprising amount of collected calm. “As such, I cannot simply stop offering my blood. My hands have grown used to the sting, and I will not break by offering this part of me like this.”

And Nefer sighs, massing her temples. “I know. I know this already—about the rituals.”

“You do.”

“But that's not what I'm referring to.”

Lauma’s gaze fixes itself elsewhere, off at some far point beyond Nefer. “I only do what I believe is best for my people.”

“Your people need to open their eyes to reality,” Nefer spits back. “What will happen when they bleed you dry? Who will heal their bodies then?”

“And yet,” Lauma says quietly, crossing her arms, “you, too, have benefited from the healing properties in my blood. Twice, even.”

The cave. The storm. The wound in her stomach. Lips stained silver and a cloudless starry sky. Eyes that may have never opened otherwise. Lauma, Lauma, Lauma—

“That's different.” Nefer glares. “I never asked you to heal me. Both times.”

“And I will never give up on anyone until I have exhausted every option,” Lauma replies shortly.

“We had what we came for—we’d retrieved what was stolen.” Nefer hates dwelling on the past. Yet, still. “You should've taken the tome and ran by yourself.”

Any sane person would've left me to bleed out in the rain. Instead, you’d borne my weight and carried me away, struck in the arm and leaving a trail of silver.

It had been lucky—the rain that night. Even years later, Nefer silently thanks the stars for their luck.

But now, in the present, an older, adult Lauma’s eyes gleam, her voice catching with emotion. “No tome is worth a life, Nefer. Certainly not yours. Especially when I have the means to help coursing right through my veins.”

This is where they have always clashed, this battlefield hilariously familiar. Lauma is only as stubborn as Nefer is—which is to say, their arguments often end the same. Unwilling and unable to ever fully back down, and yet Nefer finds herself at this viewpoint time and time again.

“But my eyes were worth the Rächer of Solnari?”

Lauma looks pained. “Now who's being unfair? If I could've stopped Rerir from hurting you at all, Nefer, I would've done it. I would've thrown myself in front of you without hesitation, and you know that.”

And the Moonchanter isn’t wrong. They’ve always been a bit unfair. Nefer maintains her neutrality out of necessity for her business. Lauma continues to give pieces of herself up out of necessity for her people. Nefer lies awake at night wondering where she'd be if she wasn't so selfish. Lauma drifts under the stars, wondering if she’ll ever see the ending of her own tale.

“What do you tell them, then? Do you at least take credit, or is this yet another blessing from the Frost Moon?” Nefer shoots back, only to laugh incredulously at the way Lauma flinches. “Great. Just wonderful.”

“I—” Lauma's jaw works itself, clenching and unclenching. “I've recently stopped.” With the deception.

The words go unspoken.

Nefer snorts. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

But then suddenly the Moonchanter is stepping forward, taking Nefer's hand within her own. Calluses, dry skin, sharp scars—uncovered, clear as day.

“I'm serious, Nefer,” Lauma whispers, her voice wavering slightly—she’s nervous. “I came clean to the Frostmoon Scions. And I—” She swallows, overcome. “This isn't how I was picturing it, it really isn't. But I wanted to come clean to you, too.”

And that makes Nefer pause.

“...About what?”

“The fake sky,” Lauma confesses, quiet yet resolved despite the myriad of emotions that flash through across her face as she tries to gauge Nefer's reaction. So stupidly endearing—this nervous side of Lauma that only comes out when they're alone. And so Nefer gives this to her now, letting her genuine surprise be known with a singular arched brow, and Lauma nearly looks like she could cry in relief.

“The one we discussed with Columbina?”

Lauma nods. “The fake sky around all of Teyvat. I knew about it even before those strategy meetings. I'd… I'd wanted to tell you about it for ages now.”

“How long have you known?”

“For a while, I'd only had suspicions.” She's telling the truth, Nefer can tell by the way she fidgets. “But Lumine eventually confirmed what I had suspected—A fake sky, and a fake moon.”

“How could you tell?” Curious, Nefer steps closer.

“Call it my… affinity.” Lauma sighs, folding her hands. “I could never feel anything from the moon in our sky. It always felt like it was coming from a force beyond—the true Frost Moon, hidden behind that curtain. But I…” She shakes her head once more. “I didn't know how to tell my flock, not without it shattering. I thought we needed to be unified. I didn't want change.”

“And that's why you used your silver blood to heal the Frostmoon Scions,” Nefer surmises. “Because you didn't want your people losing faith.”

Shivering, Lauma nods. “But I was wrong.”

“So this is what you meant by coming clean.”

How long did you hold this on your own?

Hushed, Lauma laughs, holds out her hands and shows her scarred palms once more.

“I've always wanted to bare myself to you,” she admits, and Nefer's gaze burns as she stares at the wounds. “If there was anyone I wanted to confide in, it was you. Even if you would scold me, even if we would clash.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” They're not the words Nefer wants to say. They leave her lips regardless. “Did you not trust me?”

Lauma shrugs, sheepish yet graceful.

“It was never a question of trust, Nefer—even now, I trust you more than anyone. I just… didn't think you'd want to be involved. It's been so tense lately.”

Outside, Nefer faintly registers the patter of rain against metal.

You should have told me. She doesn't say that.

I'm going to steal you away from Nod-Krai, away from all this ugliness. She doesn't say that either.

“At the very least, you should've taken better care of your hands,” is what Nefer eventually settles on. Absently, her right hand reaches for Lauma's wrist, palm-side up, and she sighs in disappointment. “No wonder they aren't healing properly—your skin’s as dry as a Sumeru desert.”

Successfully scolded, Lauma’s pointed ears seem to flatten dejectedly under Nefer's withering gaze.

“I'm sorry, Nefer,” she mumbles, and she sounds so genuinely disappointed in herself that Nefer almost caves right then and there. Were she any weaker willed, she’d take Lauma away from this place in a heartbeat—find some far, tranquil corner of Teyvat populated only by flora and fauna so that Lauma could finally know even a day of true peace.

(It used to be far too easy to pacify Lauma. Incredibly easy, especially when Lauma used to gaze at Nefer like something divine, any discomfort or sadness falling to pieces in the wake of Nefer's lips.

That was years ago. Nefer still wonders what could've possibly been the reason for the sheer awe in the Moonchanter's eyes—back when a younger Lauma would gaze adoringly at a Nefer who had next to nothing.)

And then a thought occurs.

“Lauma?”

“...Yes?”

“Who stole the Moon Marrow?”

And for a long moment, Lauma says nothing.

Then—

“Vilemina,” she whispers.

And that blindingly hot anger returns full force, Nefer sucking in a sharp breath.

Out of all the names, Vilemina.

She tears through her memory, tracks back to all the times she'd seen Lauma in the streets of Nasha Town, Vilemina by her side. Had there been signs? There must have been. Vilemina 's frustration, her insistence on stirring the pot while Lauma had soothed her time and time again. And yet, and yet, and yet.

I should've seen it. Surely, she could've foreseen this somehow—what’s the point of the power of the Ibis King if she can't use it to prevent things like this?

And Lauma—

Lauma has never deserved any of this. Her kindness and trust, constantly taken advantage of.

Turning away, Nefer grits her teeth.

I should've—

“Nefer.” Lauma gently touches her shoulder, and she sounds sad. Tired. Still, she smiles through her weariness—so inherently good, Nefer almost feels sick. “Don't. I know how you get, my little serpent.”

The term of affection drops from her lips with such ease, such a lack of resistance. And despite it all, she sounds almost amused. Lauma still smiles at Nefer like her heart has never been broken, still seeks Nefer as if they'd never fallen apart.

I've really been the only one resisting this. And it makes sense—Nefer knows that if it were up to Lauma, they would go to sleep in the same bed every night. It had never been Lauma's choice to drive the wedge in between them. That had always been Nefer.

“There should've been signs,” Nefer simply says, searing a hole into the ground with her gaze. “This won't happen again.”

“It won't,” Lauma agrees.

“I won't let it.”

And if Lauma is surprised, she gives no indication.

“I know you won't,” Lauma says instead, and she squeezes Nefer's shoulder once before letting go, stepping away. Immediately, Nefer feels the absence resound through her bones. “I… Thank you, Nefer. Truly. You don't know how much your words mean to me.”

Oh, but I do. “It's nothing.”

Lauma shakes her head, chuckling. “No, it's everything. But we can agree to disagree.” Then she glances at the clock on the wall. “I suppose I should get going now, though. It's getting late.”

A flash of panic surges through Nefer's body. She's had years to get used to the sensation of Lauma being the one to walk away, because Lauma always volunteers. It's like she knows, in some tragically ironic way, that Nefer can never walk away from her—hypocrisy to the highest degree. It was Nefer who established the Curatorium’s policy of neutrality. It was Nefer who refused to pick sides.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

“Should you?” Damn you, Nefer, the little voice in her head hisses. You utter coward. Swallow it. Be a little braver.

Lauma tips her head wordlessly, endlessly patient.

“You might as well stay,” Nefer finally says over her shoulder, some half-assed attempt at sounding detached. She walks over to the nearby window just as a crash of thunder clamors over the land, pulls the curtains shut. “Looks like it just started raining.”

///

(They used to speak more, back before the Fatui arrived and ruined everything. Back when no one knew of the Wild Hunt’s attachment to Rerir but was still Nod-Krai’s biggest priority, and at least that was something that everyone could agree on.

It was easier back then to maintain a friendly, surface-level relationship with the Frostmoon Scions without the Fatui breathing down everyone's necks about it. Without the looming threat of some Harbinger trying to snatch back the very Moon Goddess that Lauma loved so dearly.

Nasha Town, after all, adored the gentle Moonchanter. It was Lauma who openly shared their harvest—Lauma, who delivered each provision by hand. Lauma, who could calm even the loudest of riots. Lauma, who healed and soothed and sung.

Lauma, Lauma, always Lauma.

Over half of Nod-Krai was in love with Lauma, Nefer could safely assume.

She had been no different.

It was Lauma, after all, who had reached out with a helping hand when Nefer had nothing. When she'd arrived from her travels with nothing but her wits and her chess set.

And so, they used to speak every single day, could be found in every single inch of Nasha Town together.

Or, perhaps speak wasn't exactly the right word.

Lauma’s lips had been sweet, and her mouth even sweeter. Immediately, Nefer was addicted—drunk on the taste faster than any alcohol. And the very first time they’d parted for air, Lauma had bitten back a quiet whine between her teeth so utterly adorable that Nefer had sealed their mouths together immediately, keen on rectifying her mistake.

She'd learned much from her time at the Akademiya, yet there was still so much more to attain—

Mapping Lauma's body had suddenly surged to the top of the list.

Nefer had been hungry, and so she had eaten.

It was easier, back then. Before her business had skyrocketed her into the spotlight. Before the Fatui had arrived to bang on the Frostmoon Scions' front door. Before Nefer had to be infinitely more careful about who she was seen in public with; infinitely more careful about who was seen exiting the Curatorium.

Stupid. So incredibly stupid.

Sometimes, she still thinks about the heartbroken look on Lauma's face, that morning when Nefer had broken things off for good—torn apart something so important that hadn't even begun to take form.)

///

“Sit.”

Lauma obeys without question, sitting at the edge of Nefer’s favorite couch. Her eyes follow the other woman’s form as Nefer deftly maneuvers to her workspace, casually pushing her pile of reports aside for later.

She pulls out a small tin of salve from a hidden compartment in her desk. It's been sparingly used—it’s not often that the right traders come to Nod-Krai, after all, so Nefer's been careful not to use its contents in haste.

Tonight, however, she throws all caution out the window—

“Give me your hands,” she demands, prying open the lid without so much as a second thought as she situates herself on the other end of the couch.

Once again, Lauma obliges wordlessly, ducking her head like a kicked puppy at the way Nefer clicks her tongue in disapproval.

She could berate Lauma further, she really could. But her stricken expression already speaks volumes, and who does Nefer think she is, anyway? Who is she to scold Nod-Krai’s beloved Moonchanter?

You threw away that right the moment you broke her heart, the voice in her head reminds her.

“Sorry,” Nefer mutters, trusting that Lauma will get it. Avoiding the way the antlered woman's eyes grow wide, she occupies herself by dipping two fingers into the salve before gingerly taking Lauma's hands within her own, spreading the balm liberally.

“Oh,” Lauma eventually says, soft. “That feels really nice.”

Mutely, Nefer nods. Stares at where her fingertips rub against Lauma's palms.

“Where did this salve come from?” Lauma asks, imploring. Nefer could listen to her forever.

But she answers this time, because it's hard to deny Lauma after too long—the Moonchanter’s often had a way of wearing at her defenses.

“Sumeru,” Nefer says, rubs her thumb in a broad circle. Lauma's hands are slightly bigger. She's known this, but she doesn't know what to do with that information. She prattles on instead, refusing to lose her composure. “In the desert, there is little humidity with constant sunlight and unrelenting winds. The people there carry these little tins with them, since your skin can grow dry or crack if you're not careful.”

“Sumeru,” Lauma echoes, smiling slightly. Her eyes flicker, chancing a glance at Nefer's concentrated expression. “That makes sense. I didn't get to witness much of it besides the Akademiya of your memories, but there is a large rainforest, too, correct?”

“Yes. It's vastly different from the desert.”

“I can imagine.”

Slowly, Nefer lets go of the Moonchanter's hands.

“You'd probably like Sumeru—the real one,” she tells her quietly, staring at the way Lauma flexes her newly moisturized palms. She doesn't know what possesses her to keep talking. “You'd definitely love the rainforest. It's lush, and green, with countless animals that could never be found in Nod-Krai. And there's the Akademiya, with more books, more knowledge, than any single person could ever consume in a lifetime.” Although she herself eventually came to despise its gilded walls, she can picture Lauma there vividly, in those lauded hallways, her usual tranquil features overtaken with excitement at the sight of the countless volumes. “Anything you could ever want to know, all at your fingertips—so long as you're willing to reach out and grab it yourself, that is.”

And Lauma smiles, casually entwines their fingers together again like nothing at all—Nefer couldn't refuse her even if she tried, not in this way.

“You rarely talk about your homeland,” Lauma says softly, her gaze catching the way the dying sunlight reflects off Nefer’s dark green orbs. “If it weren't for your memories in the chess set, I would know even less of you.”

Nefer scoffs. “Because I don't think of it as my homeland much, if at all.”

“You said you're desert through and through, correct?”

“I am, unfortunately.”

“Tell me more about it, then?”

“What's there to say?” Nefer barks out a laugh. She cannot imagine Lauma anywhere near the desert, anywhere beyond the Wall of Samiel. “Our desert is called the Great Red Sand, and it is exactly how it sounds—sand, sand, and more sand.”

“Surely there's more to it,” Lauma insists, giggling. “You’re a storyteller—tell me. Surely not everyone from the desert is all bad. There must be someone you miss.”

“There is,” Nefer relents reluctantly, and then she's thinking back to Aaru Village, somehow still standing at the edge of the desert. She thinks of the people there, the ones who had chosen to stay. Because that's what it was—a choice. Countless desert folk choosing to remain in the searing heat, remain baking under the sun. They'd insist that the sand was in their veins, that the desert stirred in their souls, caught on the edges of their ribcages and called to them endlessly.

Nefer had been born different—this, she knows for a fact. She had been born from the sand just like the others, but unlike them, she refused to return to the dunes.

You're destined for something greater than this, someone once told her—a girl around her age. And she'd looked at Nefer in resignation, a weary smile tinged with only the slightest of envy. Greater than Sumeru's borders. You are not destined for the desert.

“I had a close friend,” Nefer eventually says, wistful, almost nostalgic now. “We were both from the desert, but she was born different.” Dissimilar to how I was born different. “Her eyes were two different colors—one as blue as the sea, the other a deep shade of amber. Even in our youth, there were rumors that she could see the future.”

Lauma’s eyes widen, her mouth parting in surprise. “Could she really?”

“Who's to really say?” Nefer chuckles, and she remembers the days under the sun, when they'd dash for shade in the caves outside the village, that amber eye glinting in the darkness. “None of the adults really believed it—the rumors mostly stemmed from fellow children, after all.”

And so Lauma tips her head, ornate antlers twinkling as the rain continues outside.

“Did you believe her?”

“I did.” If she closes her eyes, Nefer can still remember that night under the stars. They'd been so young—far younger than a night watch ever should've been, but they'd been assigned nonetheless, and they'd spent the entire duration talking amongst themselves. “She told me that I was greater than Sumeru’s borders, and I knew at that moment that the rumors were true. I still don't know what she saw that night, but I knew that my feet would eventually bring me out of Sumeru.”

“And now you're here,” Lauma surmises.

“Now I'm here,” Nefer repeats.

“What happened to the other girl?”

“She stayed.” Her heart feels heavy just thinking about it. “She still stays, probably. Her blood keeps her tied with invisible binds to that place. I don't know if she could ever bring herself to leave Aaru Village.”

But I wanted her to leave with me.

Curiously, Lauma squeezes her hand.

“You sound sad.”

Sometimes I think about that girl and wonder if she's lonely. Nefer does not say such a thing out loud. She misses Candace as much as she misses the desert—terribly, silently, and mostly in denial. A more conflicted feeling than her low opinion of Sumeru City.

“When you dream,” she says instead, “where are you, Lauma?”

“Oh, everywhere!” And Lauma laughs, bells chiming, like it's all one big joke—like a far off vision she cannot even begin to fathom. Then, she softens, some kind of longing pouring from deep within; a cup overflown. “I’ve dreamt of your Sumeru, I think. And the Liyue that Yanfei, one of our visitors, told me of. And Mister Varka’s Mondstadt, as well! The snow of Snezhnaya, the waterfalls of Fontaine—Oh, and Lumine was telling me of a glowing forest in Inazuma, too.”

“Chinju Forest,” Nefer says automatically. She's read about it in books.

“Chinju Forest,” Lauma repeats, and when she smiles, her eyes turn to beautiful crescent moons. “I dreamt of it last night! I wonder how much my dreams match up.”

“Will you go and find out?”

Lauma merely hums in consideration. “Perhaps. I certainly would like to. But, I can't imagine myself doing so soon.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, besides how much I have to do given the current state of Nod-Krai?” Lauma offers a shrug, her smile growing sheepish. “Your schedule isn't exactly the most vacant either. That's all.”

Nefer turns to her sharply. She meets Lauma's gaze properly, unwaveringly, for the first time all day. Somewhere in the distance, there is another crash of thunder.

“What does my schedule have to do with anything?”

“What do you think?” Lauma asks levelly in response.

Nefer shakes her head. She's holding her breath. She doesn't know why.

But then Lauma is drawing in close, her eyes gentle yet determined. The distance on the couch is now nonexistent, and her hands are framing Nefer’s face, calloused, and scarred, and while they tremble, they never falter. She brings their foreheads together, steals the air from Nefer’s lungs and they're so close that Nefer can almost taste her in the space between; can almost slither in and live in her skin.

In the decades she's walked Teyvat, Nefer has wanted many things. She's never wanted someone like she's wanted Lauma. She's never deprived herself like she has with Lauma.

But Lauma, for all of her caretaking and nurturing, has never cared for Nefer’s methods.

It's the reason why they'd fallen out in the past. It's the reason why Nefer loves her endlessly in the present.

Lauma caresses her cheek, brushes their lips together tentatively at first, then more self-assured.

And Nefer is suddenly hit with the image of Lauma, silver blood dripping down her forehead, coating her fingertips. All of the life she has ever given up for the sake of others. Her horrible, horrible selflessness, the terrible way she forgives endlessly, all leading to a pool of silver blood that fills and fills and overflows until it's enough to drown in.

She can't let that happen.

She will never let Lauma drown. Not for Nod-Krai, not for anyone.

///

(In hindsight, they’d both been so young. Barely adults in a lawless, unkind land.

Yet, despite it all.

“Tell me about your homeland?” Lauma asked once before.

But Nefer had frowned, youthful and brash and unwilling to remember the very place she'd raced away from, lest any feelings of regret would threaten to sink in.

And Nefer thought about that weary amber eye. Then she’d promptly shoved it to the back of her head, never to surface again.

“If I wanted to talk about it, then would I be here?”

Anyone else would have been affronted, but not Lauma. Never Lauma.

Lauma had smiled, giggled slightly before bumping their shoulders together.

“Fine, then. Don't tell me.” And so she'd gestured to the barren shop around them. A single couch, which they'd both sat on, adorned the backroom with a messy desk in the corner. Otherwise, the shop remained empty, still a secret tucked away in a corner of Nasha Town. “How about you tell me about all of this instead?”

Nefer raised an eyebrow, idly petting a smaller Ashru with one hand, the feline sound asleep—her only remnant of Sumeru besides the eye she adorned and the clothes she donned.

“What more do you want to know?”

“What will you fill it with?”

It was a dangerous question—one that Nefer would've usually never answered. The vision she had of the future was not one that would align with the Frostmoon Scions’ Moonchanter, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. Meanwhile, Nefer had long grown used to the shadows—that’s why she'd chosen this location for her little shop to begin with.

Still, she figured she'd owed it to Lauma, regardless. A final repayment for the fruits and vegetables given freely, for the kind hands leading her through unfamiliar streets, for the soft lips coaxing her through endless nights.

And, so—

“I will fill it with secrets,” Nefer said. “World-shifting secrets.”

Lauma smiled softly. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It will be.”

“But it will give you purpose?”

“It will keep me busy.”

“Am I not enough to occupy your time?” Lauma asked teasingly.

And Nefer rolled her eyes, speaking without thinking.

“You're hardly a chore, Lauma.”

She hadn't had the time to take the words back, hadn't thought about the consequences. But then Ashru was meowing in surprise, and Lauma had brightened like the new moon, and Nefer couldn't have taken it back even if she wanted to.

“Goodness,” Lauma giggled, looking positively tickled “I knew you had a silver tongue, Nefer, but I didn't know to what degree.”

And, flushing, Nefer simply turned away—sometimes, the moon shone a bit too brightly. This was one such moment.

“You’re ridiculous,” she'd muttered, and Lauma had laughed so hard, looked so utterly pleased, that even Ashru began purring.)

///

By some miracle, they make it to the adjacent bedroom.

Nefer’s not quite sure who leads who—she’s too preoccupied with the overwhelming feeling of Lauma’s mouth against her own, the sensation of the taller woman’s hands cradling the back of her head—but suddenly Lauma's back hits the mattress and Nefer hovers over her, breathing heavily, and—

Lauma curiously takes in the room around her, her smile growing imperceptibly.

“I almost didn't recognize this place. You really know how to decorate, don't you?”

Contrary to Aino’s wild imagination, Nefer doesn't actually live at the Curatorium. Ironically, however, converting the hidden side room into a bedroom had been Lauma’s idea, once upon a time—after too many long nights during the Curatorium’s earliest days, the Moonchanter had all but demanded that she make use of the extra space for some much needed rest.

Nefer's lips twitch upward.

“What was it that you said to me?” She pretends to think. “Oh, that's right—You have Mora now, don't you, Nefer? The least you can do is make this place hospitable.”

And so decorate, she had. It hadn't been an overnight process, but the spare room had eventually been filled—furnished like a real bedroom, with a plush mattress that rivaled even her own residence’s; decorated with souvenirs from her traveling days, and even some mementos from Jahoda's bounties.

Even after the distance had been carefully set, Nefer had adorned the dresser with trinkets of Moonfall Silver. Perhaps it was pathetic and a new level of hypocrisy, but the vision of Lauma stepping in her little safe haven had never fully vanished.

Lauma laughs, soft and adoring. “My. I don't remember being that pushy.”

“You've always demanded so much from me.”

“Only because I know you can handle it.”

“I handle it only because my heart grows weak at the sight of your downtrodden expression.” And there's the truth she'd once vowed to bring to the grave. Leaning down, Nefer pecks at her lips. “You're too gentle for Nod-Krai.”

Lauma reaches up, loops her arms around Nefer’s shoulders.

“And you're too pessimistic.”

“You've got me there. I want a gentler reality for you,” Nefer whispers, nipping at Lauma's ear and sighing at the small sounds the action elicits from the other woman's throat. “You… There’s an entire world outside Hisii Island, outside Nod-Krai. Nations that are at peace—at least more than here.”

“Nefer,” Lauma gasps out as Nefer burns kisses down the line of her jaw. “What—What are you saying…?”

Nefer swallows roughly. “Just… Just making you even more aware.”

But then her heart is roaring in her ears as Lauma’s insistent tugging lulls her in like moon to the tide, a calloused hand guiding Nefer to meet her lips, and so she closes her eyes and sighs into Lauma's mouth. Soft velvet, the Moonchanter’s kiss remains—no matter how much Nefer takes, and takes, and takes, Lauma pulls her deeper still.

And when they break for air, she meets eyes underscored by the pink of twilight. Without further fanfare, Lauma pushes herself up, pulling Nefer onto her lap with deceptive ease.

“Will you be there?” Lauma asks. Her hand palms at Nefer’s cheek, pillowing radiance. “If I choose to leave Nod-Krai for somewhere new, will you be waiting for me at my destination?”

Nefer’s mouth parts. Her arms settle around Lauma's shoulders.

“Lauma, I—”

“Because if you are not,” Lauma continues, tracing circles beneath an unmarked eye, “then I do not want it.”

Nefer barks out a laugh, some attempt to hide the strangled noise that threatens to rise in her throat.

“I’m not a good person, Lauma. You saw my memories. You saw what I did, the lies I told—”

“And I lied to my entire flock as their leader,” Lauma interrupts, eyes gleaming. “I’m a liar, too, Nefer. We’re both liars. Shouldn’t we stick together?”

“You stubborn doe, never knowing when to—”

“If you truly wish for me to go to Sumeru,” Lauma whispers, and Nefer cannot look away from her lips, still glistening from their kisses, “then bring me yourself. You wish to sink your claws into Liyue? Then let's go together instead. When my feet hit Inazuma soil and I walk through the glowing trees of Chinju Forest, I want you to be by my side.” And achingly, Lauma’s eyes seem to glow, the pink of twilight to match the shade of sky outside. Nefer could drown in their depths. “Is it really that curious of a thing, that in spite of everything, what I long for the most is to see the world with you?”

Her bottom lip quivering, Nefer swallows thickly.

“Lauma—”

“Nod-Krai will always be my home,” Lauma says softly, her fingers drawing patterns against Nefer’s hip, and she leans in, bumps their noses together. “Hisii Island and the Frostmoon Scions live in my bones, they are my family, and it is my responsibility to lead them. I could never abandon them, never. But I am also my own person, with my own wants and needs.”

“When was the last time you took something you wanted?” Nefer asks, quiet. Her arms are still looped around Lauma's neck, and she rakes her nails soothingly at the antlered woman's scalp.

The corner of Lauma's mouth twitches up. “The other night, when I asked you to fetch me that medicine with great urgency.”

Nefer scoffs. “I meant the last time you were selfish for yourself. Medicine should be an entitlement.” No matter how fed up I tried to sound.

“Oh, but that was for myself!” Lauma laughs. “It was that same night that I revealed the truth about the Frost Moon, and about our false sky. That medicine meant the world to me, Nefer, for it was one of the puzzle pieces that helped set me free. And, besides,” her smile softens imperceptibly—it should be impossible, how endearingly she gazes at Nefer; feather light, the gentle touch of a first snow, “I wanted to see something for myself.”

Closing her eyes, Nefer drops her head to the crook of Lauma's neck, inhales the scent of flower petals after a rain storm.

“What did you want to see?”

“How far you would go for me. Or, more specifically—how far you, as Nefer, would go for me, as Lauma.”

As Nefer, not the head of the Curatorium. As Lauma, not the Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions. A favor between the two of them, as no one but themselves.

“You're cruel,” Nefer tells her, grazing the length of her neck with her canines, gripping at Lauma tighter when the woman beneath her shivers. “Who knew that a Moonchanter could be so cruel?”

“I did not ask you for the medicine as Moonchanter,” Lauma protests weakly.

Nefer draws back, emerald eyes glimmering.

“What were you, then?”

Lauma looks to Nefer like a woman at worship, like she beholds her salvation with her own two eyes. Her hands roam over Nefer's thighs before settling at her waist, pulling the green-haired woman closer.

“Desperate,” she says.

And then her eyes harden, Lauma drawing near such that they gaze into each other's eyes, nose to nose. “It matters not what either of us deserve, Nefer. I am no longer afraid to weather whatever the world throws at me, regardless of how harsh the reality—I will hesitate no longer. I know what I desire, and I have only ever wanted you as you are.”

And in the eye of the storm, Nefer only opts to pull her into a deep, bruising kiss.

///

(The people of Sumeru do not dream—or, rather, many did not dream, and those that did knew better than to speak of them. Nefer had easily been in the latter, growing up in the desert, away from the bustle of Sumeru City and its Akasha System. 

Dreams were a weakness, after all. A sign of immaturity. And in a world where the children of the desert were far too eager to grow up and make something of themselves, Nefer concealed her dreams well. Not even her closest of friends knew of them—although in hindsight, Nefer wonders how different her life would’ve been if she'd ever shared details with her amber-eyed friend.

But she remembers dreaming of a starry night, the dunes of the Great Red Sands sprawling out endlessly in all directions. Overhead, a full moon had shone bright, lighting the way forward as Nefer had walked. Her feet carried her onward despite not knowing the destination, despite not knowing the passage of time.

The land felt endless, and her feet began to hurt. Still, Nefer did not tire. The dream had continued. Never did her spirit grow weary—up one hill, then down over the crest. Over and over and over again.

And then finally, finally—

“I'm hungry,” Nefer said, speaking to no one in particular.

But a voice, musical and gentle, did reply.

“Then eat.”

“And if I wish to swallow the earth?”

“Then the moon will illuminate your way.”

The very next morning, Nefer awoke to circle Nod-Krai on her map in dark black ink—in time, in time, in time.)

///

“You heard me in a dream?” Lauma sounds equal parts amused and touched. “Back when you still lived in Sumeru?”

“Probably. Or, even if it wasn't, what's the harm in believing that it was?”

The hour is late now, and Nefer feels that familiar exhaustion creeping in. Her bones are weary, the marrow replaced by some kind of seeping, weighted tiredness that makes her feel like she's sinking into the mattress.

But her chest feels strangely light, curled up to Lauma like this. The heaviness in her bones is a sated, satisfied one. Lauma's dress is piled somewhere on the floor, her own joining it probably much less ceremoniously. And while she usually cares a good deal more about her wardrobe, Nefer couldn't care less in the moment.

She knows better than to worry about a non-issue.

Lauma laughs softly. “I’d like to believe it was me, too. Visiting you in your dreams, coaxing you towards your new home.”

“That's funny, isn't it?” When Nefer feels the other woman squeeze her shoulders, she sighs in bliss. “In Sumeru, dreams were seen as a weakness. So, I tried to think nothing of it. And yet, I still circled Nod-Krai on my map.”

Even back then, I could never deny you.

Lauma seems to have the same thought, and she beams so bright it rivals the moon itself.

“I'm glad you found your way to me.”

Flushing, Nefer hides her face in the crook of the taller woman's collar bone.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she mutters, shivering.

Lauma laughs, reaches down to pull the covers up.

“Nefer?”

“What is it?”

“Do you ever think about how rain falls in Nod-Krai?” Lauma is warm. The Frost Moon is cold, the outside world is cold, their sky is cold—yet Lauma is warm. Her body pressed against Nefer's own, her skin beneath Nefer’s hands, fingers trailing down Nefer's arms, pillowed against each other. “How the rain does not touch the ground—it draws near to the earth, then flees back up to the sky.”

“What are you going to tell me?” Nefer drawls, tracing idle patterns along the swell of Lauma's hip. “That our rain flees the earth because it longs for the moon?”

Her quip is rewarded by a chiming laugh, adoring and bright—Lauma, utterly musical. The Akademiya scholars would be baffled at her existence, this Nefer knows. It shouldn't be possible for someone as kind, or as forgiving, or as patient, to exist. Not like Lauma.

She is a wonder of Teyvat, her Lauma. As divine as any archon, any goddess, and call it blasphemy, but Nefer would rather worship her endlessly.

“I was simply going to say,” Lauma says with a giggle, “that I have never known a world otherwise. All I've ever known is a world imbued with kuuvahki. “

“And talking animals?” Nefer prods.

“And talking animals,” Lauma agrees.

“Isn't it too noisy?” Nefer draws a finger down the length of one pointed ear, chuckling under her breath at the shudder that dances down Lauma's body. “Nasha Town is already noisy enough from the humans alone. I can't even imagine what it's like when you factor all the animals in.”

“It can be loud,” Lauma relents, chuckling. “Especially when I'm out under the open skies. I love my animal friends, I do, but the constant noise can even get a bit much for me.”

“It's because of the kuuvahki, right? Your sensitivity coupled with the creatures here being submerged with it.”

Lauma nods. “Yes, your grasp is correct.”

“So, in that case,” Nefer drums her fingers across the plain of Lauma's abdomen, “you wouldn't hear them if you were to leave Nod-Krai.”

“Most likely, yes.” Lauma sighs. “I can hardly imagine it. The silence, and a world without kuuvahki. All the places I have never lived. But I know they are out there—that’s what sometimes keeps me up at night.”

“Do you want to see that world?” Nefer asks.

“Will you be there?” Lauma shoots back, repeating her words from earlier.

“I suppose I can see it all with you,” Nefer replies lazily, although her heart swells with a bright type of light as Lauma blinks back tears, a wide smile threatening to leave her breathless. “But I’m very greedy, you see. Very hungry. So, we’ll just have to witness it all, you and I.”

“Then, I'll take all your greed and indulge in it.” Lauma plants a kiss on her forehead, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smile. “You have a hidden empire of your own all across Teyvat, don't you? And what kind of ruler stays hidden away from their subjects?”

“A cowardly one,” Nefer replies, scrunching her nose. “And I refuse to stoop so low. Not anymore.”

“You may need a different approach when it comes to the Nation of Geo, though,” Lauma muses, her hand coming to rest at the small of Nefer's back. “You know? I’ve been speaking with Yanfei as of recent, and I’m sure you've caught wind, but she's a rather talented lawyer. Liyue may not be Fontaine with its court operas, but it's a land of contracts and law nonetheless. And as of right now, you are its antithesis.” Laughing quietly, Lauma’s hand dances up her spine. “I fear you’ve adapted to Nod-Krai’s lawless ways a bit too well, Nefer.”

And Nefer laughs in turn, thinking back to her earlier discussion with Yelan—to the clever woman’s thinly veiled warning. Contacts and associates they are, but even Nefer isn't stupid enough to get on the bad side of one of the most dangerous women prowling around Teyvat.

Warning well-received.

“I'm sure you can guess what choice words Yelan had to say to me earlier,” Nefer says, chuckling.

“Shenhe alluded to as much. She said Yelan was here to deliver advice,” Lauma replies, tutting. Still, she smiles. “It sounds like you have an uphill battle when it comes to carving out a place for yourself in Liyue.”

“And you are more astute than anyone ever gives you credit for.” Nefer cranes her neck up to gaze at Lauma in earnest. It's a shame, really—everyone talks about how devout and gentle and forgiving the Moonchanter is, but far too often fails to acknowledge the quick mind and sheer intelligence beneath it all. “By your own observations, what do you think my odds are?”

Surprised, Lauma blinks owlishly at her. “You really wish to know my thoughts?”

I always want to know your thoughts.

“You know me, Lauma.” And it's true—Nefer doubts there's anyone else in the entire world who knows her as well as Lauma does. “I only ask questions that I want answers to.”

Humming, Lauma inclines her head consideringly. “Truthfully? I don't believe your chances are as low as they may seem. The fact that Yelan, of all people, came to deliver a warning personally means that you are being taken seriously. She gave you advice and denied that it was a warning, which tells us that Liyue doesn't want you as its enemy. I'd say that if you try again with a new, adjusted approach, you might find more success than before.”

Grinning all cat-like, Nefer grabs Lauma's hand, raising it to her lips to press a kiss. There's a strange type of giddiness in her chest now—her Lauma is a genius. A veritable, charitable genius.

“And I'm guessing that you've been thinking about my predicament?”

Lauma flushes prettily. “Perhaps just a little. But we can talk about it later, when we're less sleep deprived.”

Right on cue, Nefer yawns. “Stole the words right out of my mouth. May the Frost Moon bless thee with good sleep, or something like that.”

Outside, the storm has settled, giving way to a calm, quieter night.

Lauma laughs, the sound of twinkling bells and starlight, pulling Nefer closer to herself.

“Let us sleep in the gentle light of the moon.”

“You know something else? You talk about the moon less these days,” Nefer notices through another yawn. She proceeds to shift once more, draping an arm over Lauma's waist, tucking herself into the crook of the taller woman's neck. “At least, less while you're around me.”

Lauma hums, content to nuzzle against Nefer there. “I have met Kuutar herself, and she knows my heart. I know of the false moon in the sky, and the true one beyond it. I know the Nefer in front of me, and you know the Lauma before you. I suppose it's just easier—I don't need to repeat the moon’s blessings when the evidence is right in my arms.”

///

(By the time Nefer drifts asleep, Lauma is counting her blessings.

When she had set off from Hisii Island this morning, she had merely been intent on expressing her gratitude to the Head of the Curatorium. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she ever imagine she could be like this again—lying in Nefer's bed, the woman who had so thoroughly denied her, time and time again, now cradled against her.

She had pushed her luck today. And yet somehow, the gamble had paid off in spades—Lauma can't remember the last time she'd been so overjoyed.

“I'm so selfish,” she whispers, her breath wisping over dark green hair. “Wanting you for myself when I know you want the world.”

When had she fallen in love with Nefer?

It's been so long, Lauma can hardly even remember now. But if she traces back that fragile line, follows the branches back to down the bark, she can find it there, amongst the roots—

The rooftop of a newly acquired Curatorium, the scent of plum wine thick in the air. Nefer, halfway through her fifth glass, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with exhaustion and pride. And when Lauma reached over to take the cup away, Nefer only laughed—low, rough, defiant.

“This is stupid,” she’d said, squinting up at her, like the moon was tilting.

“What’s stupid?” Lauma had asked, amused.

“You,” Nefer had declared, with the conviction of the inebriated. “You’re kind to an infuriating degree. Your patience knows no bounds. You’re the picture of divinity, but to what benefit? You were born and raised in a land with no laws, but somehow, you’re still chained to something.”

“Nefer…”

“Don't look at me like that! I'm sick of your sad eyes! I like it better when you're unapologetic—when you use your words to draw clear lines. Besides,” she’d added, stabbing a finger toward Lauma’s chest, “you're beautiful enough without the tragedy.”

And that had been that.)

///

There's an ambush the next morning.

In the sense that Nefer finds herself cornered by Yelan as the sky is still a light orange, and she's just trying to pick out fresh pastries at Limppu’s stall when the blue-haired woman slinks over, grinning.

“I hope you weren't looking for the turnovers,” Nefer says, not even glancing over her shoulder, “because I'm taking the rest of them.”

She promptly sweeps the remaining berry-filled pastries into her basket.

Yelan immediately laughs, casually sidling up to Nefer, mischief in her eyes.

“Well, don't you look more relaxed?” The blue-haired woman teases with a sly, knowing smile. “Was the storm that kind to you?”

Nefer only rolls her eyes. “It was a lovely excuse to put aside all my work for later, is what it was.”

“Hmm.” Yelan chuckles. “Alright, I suppose I'll believe it. So,” the blue-haired woman makes a show of looking around, “where is she?”

Fighting back the urge to blanche, Nefer gazes at her warily.

“I don't know who you're talking about.”

“On the contrary, I think you know exactly who I'm talking about.” Yelan hums to herself, absently toying with her dice across her knuckles; a fluid, dextrous movement. “I ran into your little assistant last night as she was taking shelter inside the Flagship from the storm. When I asked why she wasn't doing so in the Curatorium, she might've let it slip that you sent her away so you could have some… alone time, so to speak.”

That little…! Nefer, sensing an incoming headache, rubs at her temple in exhaustion.

“Is it safe to say that little Jahoda’s doing some overtime next week?” Yelan teases. She slips a tart into Nefer's basket, and Nefer doesn't even care anymore. “She didn't even get to fix that arm of hers thanks to the storm.”

Nefer sighs. “That’s hardly a punishment, she already works overtime. Hmm…” But then an idea sparks, and Nefer turns to Yelan again. “What do you think has the highest sugar count here?”

“Uh—” Blinking, Yelan glances around momentarily, then points at an array of paczki, the fried doughnuts sitting innocuously at the corner of the stall. “Probably those?”

“Perfect.” Nefer immediately pushes eight of them into her basket. “Alright, let's pay.”

She leaves Limppu a generous amount of Mora, telling the eager man to keep the change. By the time she reconvenes with Yelan, the other woman's eyes are glittering in amusement.

“Are you really not going to throw me a bone?” Hands on her hips, Yelan pouts dramatically. “Not even a single one?”

Nefer crosses her arms, unimpressed. “When you don't tell me a thing about your own relationships? Not a chance.”

“Really?” Stepping closer, Yelan observes her for a moment, curiosity dipped in pools of green. Then, she smiles once more. “Shenhe and I are lovers. Is that what you want to hear?”

Sputtering, Nefer takes a step back. “Wait, seriously?”

“Did you really suspect nothing?”

“No, I mean, I obviously did. I just—” Nefer furrows her brow. “I guess I didn't expect you to admit it so easily.”

“It's not the easiest thing in the world to say,” Yelan relents. “I'm always worried that it'll come back to bite me—if one day, someone will use that affection against me, and Shenhe will get caught in the crossfire.” Then, she shrugs. “But then I remember who Shenhe is, and my worries seem to vanish. We take care of each other. There's no reason to let my fears get in the way of our happiness.”

For once, Nefer doesn’t have a quip at the ready. Yelan’s words hang between them, too sincere to simply swat away.

Love, spoken so plainly—it still feels like a language she isn’t fluent in. Maybe never will be.

But then she thinks about Lauma, still sound asleep in her bed. Lauma, who fought the Rächer of Solnari, who healed Nefer’s eyes with her own silver blood, who can withstand far more than anything their world can possibly throw at her.

And so Nefer opts to hum noncommittally, pretending the noise of the market drowns out the part of her that’s beginning to understand exactly what Yelan means.

“That Moonchanter would go to the Abyss for you,” Yelan adds, nonchalant. “I don’t know what more you could ever ask for.”

Nefer barks out a laugh. “I don't know about that one.”

Except she does. Lauma had made it crystal clear last night—she’d go just about anywhere so long as Nefer was by her side. And likewise, Nefer has never been one to deny Lauma anything—not for long. The very thought of it is both thrilling and terrifying all at once, wrapped up in a nice little package.

Yelan merely tuts. “Just trust me on this one.”

“Well, I suppose you can be right occasionally.” Nefer fishes through the basket, drawing out both the tart Yelan had slipped in and an extra croissant she had deliberately bought. She offers them both to the blue-haired woman. “Sometimes, someone is just worth the exception.”

Yelan hums, happily accepting the pastries. “I'm glad you concur. It's not always simple but… Well, you're a savvy business woman. I believe in your ability to make it work.”

Nefer raises an eyebrow. “On what basis?”

And at that, Yelan lets out a long-suffering sigh coupled by a dramatic eye roll. “Let's just say that as a worker of the Ministry of Civil Affairs, I have a rather unique relationship with certain members of the Qixing. I've seen the lengths powerful people will go to in order to maintain their relationships.” Then, wryly, she adds, “And I've also seen the point at which they stopped caring about expectations.”

Barking out a laugh, Nefer shakes her head, amused.

“I don't know if I can ever toss aside my inhibitions entirely,” she admits. Then she shrugs. “Regardless, they’ll just have to deal with whatever relationship I have with the Moonchanter. There's no one more reliable than the Northern Intelligence Network when it comes to information dealings.”

“It's that confidence that'll open plenty of doors for you.”

And for all her sharpness, Nefer still never knows what to do with that kind of sincere kindness—trust Yelan to toss sincerity into a conversation like a knife and make it seem effortless. Still, Nefer takes the advice, lets it settle in place between the gaps of her ribcage; thinks of Lauma because she’s always thinking of Lauma these days, and allows herself to smile.

“Thank you, Yelan.”

“You’re very welcome. And I must say—those are a lot of pastries.” Yelan says then, craning her neck to curiously peek at her basket’s contents. “Are those really all for you and Lauma?”

“Not a chance.” Nefer smiles wickedly. “I'll be sending Jahoda over to the Clink Clank Krumkake Workshop instead. A certain robot will definitely enjoy seeing Jahoda appear with a basket of sweets and a dented metal arm.”

///

The room is still dim when she returns, curtains drawn tight against the pale morning light. The faint scent of rain lingers, mingling with the sharper sweetness of sugar and coffee.

Lauma stirs beneath the sheets, a sleepy hand reaching instinctively toward Nefer’s side of the bed before settling on the empty space she’d left behind. It’s such a small thing, that searching touch, but it squeezes something warm in Nefer’s chest.

“You’re back,” comes Lauma’s voice, low and hoarse with sleep. Her eyes don’t open right away; she just breathes her words into the blanket, the sound of them curling through the quiet like a sigh.

“You noticed,” Nefer murmurs, amused despite herself. She sets the basket on a nearby table and shrugs off the light coat she’d worn to Limppu’s stall, the faint rustle enough to coax Lauma’s lashes to flutter open.

“You were gone,” Lauma mumbles, half accusation, half relief.

“Briefly,” Nefer says, lips twitching. “And I brought back proof of my goodwill.”

She moves to the window.

“I bought those berry-filled turnovers you like,” Nefer adds over her shoulder as she tugs open the curtains. “And some other pastries—just dig around the paper bag. There's coffee, too, if you think you need some.”

Lauma rises slowly, blinking against the sunlight, her long purple hair spilling over her shoulder in the morning glow. She makes her way over to the table, pulls the paper bag closer, and smiles at the sight of the turnovers.

“You spoil me,” she murmurs, teasing yet earnest. “One day I’ll actually have to repay you for all this.”

Nefer huffs a laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I mean it,” Lauma insists, unwrapping one of the pastries. “You do so much—for me, for everyone. Your clients and friends alike, despite how much you deny it. And here I am, barely out of bed.”

“As if you’re not outside every other day, distributing fresh food to the populace,” Nefer replies, taking a seat beside her. She reaches for the untouched coffee. “You give in all the ways that count.”

“But what about for you, Nefer—”

“I want you just as you are, Lauma,” Nefer interrupts, squeezing Lauma's hand. The Moonchanter's eyes widen imperceptibly, and Nefer chuckles, gazing at her meaningfully. “Only ever as you are—it goes both ways.”

“Oh,” Lauma whispers, her turnover all but forgotten in front of her.

The corners of Nefer's mouth curl in amusement.

“Oh, indeed.”

Lauma laughs under her breath, the sound soft as the morning wind. Nefer leans back in her chair, watching her with an expression halfway between amusement and disbelief. How this small, ridiculous peace had ever found its way into her life, she has absolutely no idea.

Nod-Krai itself is not at peace yet. The Fatui still encroach on their lands, and something stirs in Snezhnaya across the water. There is still much to be done. And yet, and yet, and yet—

“I want to show you Sumeru one day,” Nefer tells her, setting her coffee cup down. “The real Sumeru. Not some tragic, half-baked memory of mine.”

Lauma's eyes twinkle. “Even though you hold less love for it?”

“Yes, even then.”

“Then we will visit. I know I will love it.”

“Even though the desert is nothing but sand and struggle?”

The Moonchanter tilts her head thoughtfully. “The desert gave me you, did it not?”

Despite it all. Despite it all.

Nefer chuckles. “Perhaps.”

“Then I will love the desert.” Lauma smiles, and she is kind and lovely and everything good in the world. “Even if you cannot.”

What did Nod-Krai ever do to deserve such a Moonchanter?

What did Nefer ever do to deserve such a Lauma?

Maybe nothing much at all. Maybe they’ve chosen each other, and that’s okay.

Somewhere outside, the vendors are opening their stalls again, their voices spilling through the open window. The birds are chattering, Lauma laughing softly as she relays to Nefer their morning gossip. Nasha Town keeps moving, same as ever—there is much to be done. And Nefer leans back in her chair, the morning sun warm against her face, and thinks that this noise is reason enough to look forward to the incoming day.

End.