Lauma

When night falls, the Frostmoon Scions dwell within a "tower."

At the top of this tower is a seemingly unchanging full moon, and at its base is the soil of Hiisi Island. Its walls are made of white moonlight, allowing any to pass through.

Oh, how gentle the Moon Goddess is. Even if not all should believe in her, even if not all should know of her, she spreads her grace without reserve.

Thus spoke the old priestess of the Frostmoon Scions. As those words hung in the air, the sounds of lowered voices praying could be heard, but Lauma's was not among them.

She gazed at the full moon in silence, her eyes fixed upon it alone, like the most devout of believers.

She was undoubtedly in this tower as well, having grown up and lived here since birth in this spire built by the moon, its light, and the adherents of its deity.

She continued gazing at the full moon in the sky, thinking that perhaps there was truth in the saying, "humans could never build a tower to reach the heavens."

"She descended when late spring's first full moon hung in the sky, trees and flowers grew in response to her first cry."

"Laugh now, dance now, as the newborn Moonchanter weeps—"

"For her horns and blood are bathed in moonlight, for beneath the Moon Goddess's gaze shall she sleep."

...Lauma closed the Frostmoon Scions' journal.

She always found herself unconsciously turning to the page that recorded her birth, trying to feel the joy of the faithful through the yellowed notes.

Just as geniuses often emerge from among common stock, Lauma, an extraordinary being, was born to an ordinary Frostmoon Scion couple. According to records, "her eyes were like the moontide, her antlered crown grew under the moonlight, and her silver blood flowed like the moon's reflection in water" — a "miracle bestowed upon the faithful by the Moon Goddess."

At the fringe of the world, among the "Frostmoon Scions," who had seemingly become forgotten by time itself, Lauma became a beacon of hope, timely yet untimely. The overjoyed followers took her as proof that their Moon Goddess had not abandoned them, and she became a living symbol.

Few are chosen at birth to succeed the title of Moonchanter, and as a Frostmoon Scion herself, Lauma should have rejoiced, regarding this responsibility as a supreme honor.

Just as it was written in the next passage of the journal, yes, the very words Lauma had committed to memory:

"...Sweetly shall she sleep beneath the Moon Goddess's gaze."

"And when the moon slumbers and the sun rises, she shall speak for the supreme Frost Moon Goddess."

If one was born early enough, lived long enough, and one's forbidden memories weren't erased by more transcendent beings, they would surely remember (and such beings do exist in Teyvat) that before the war of funerary flame, the Three Moon Goddesses, who served Nibelung, once coexisted harmoniously with the principles of Celestia for a time.

Of course, if one were to inquire about this matter with Celestia, the high heavens might respond with ambiguity. The Three Moons were once satellites that guarded Teyvat, and the Moon Sisters were executors of the planet's will. Celestia's principles were once quite "tolerant," not necessarily requiring the exclusion of those divergent from itself.

For the Three Moon Goddesses, their sole duty was to maintain the planet's existence and operation. And so the moonlight continued to illuminate the lands of Teyvat. Alas, even they, who kept to themselves, could not remain uninvolved. Inevitably, conflicts between those in power would affect some of those who were subordinate to them.

If any survivors of bygone golden Hyperborea yet endured to the present day, they would surely have many tales to tell, but alas, the Frostmoon Scions do not understand their ancestors' grievances. They can now only pray to the bright moon in vain.

In this, Lauma was relatively fortunate, even amongst blind believers. She did not know anything of the above, but she could nonetheless sense keenly that the full moon in the sky was bright yet lifeless. Rather, the tides that truly moved her heart and caused her antler-crown to grow were somewhere farther away, beyond her reach.

This feeling had troubled her for a long time, and like how one might feel if made to pray to an apple painted on canvas, beseeching it to satisfy their hunger, she was ever restless.

Fortunately, this question was now answered at last. Although the sky had suddenly "become" fake, she had confirmed the authenticity of her senses.

She had never thought ignorance to be a good thing, even if the truth was more unsettling. Life could never be lived entirely as one wished — indeed, life itself was born of contradictions. But at least it need not be tainted by lies and concealment.

Lauma once set some "precepts" for herself. These might seem irrational to others, so for the longest time, she never mentioned them to anyone.

She believed that she must never lie. Silence, too, was an answer in the face of uncertainty, but one must never fabricate facts to fashion peace papered over. This was especially so for a Moonchanter, one whose every word the believers all too easily took for truth. Thus, lying was an unforgivable sin.

But was praying to a false moon in the sky a lie in itself? She could not be sure of that, and this again left her feeling restless.

She resolved that she must never give herself to wrath. The Maiden of the Grove was to be gentle and loving, just as the Frost Moon's goddess was. The lake's light beneath the moon was free of ripples — had the goddess's envoy any right to be angry? The tides of kuuvahki often disturbed her peace of mind, yes, but surely a leader worth their salt must learn to control their emotions.

Yet some emotions did not arise from the tidal motions. She was not given to shouting or crying out in rage, but was giving her foes a thrashing anger? She rubbed her fingers together somewhat nervously. With whom could she consult on this matter?

She told herself that she must not change. Over countless years of evolution, the Frostmoon Scions had drifted far from their golden era. Any fluctuation now could snap this precariously perched branch. This was especially so when the faithful viewed her, one born "special," as their hope. She had to maintain an image befitting a Moonchanter.

Yet she had already revealed the truth about the moon and the sky to everyone. This time, she needed no consultation to know that change had already begun.

At this point, all three precepts now seemed meaningless. Thus, Lauma finally let her guard down, and one night, she confided these unspeakable matters to her animal friends.

As she expected, the little animals warmly welcomed her, and as usual, they all chattered away about life — specifically, her life.

True friends they proved indeed, first affirming her honesty and reliability, then praising her gentle and caring nature, and finally declaring that Lauma had always been this way, and had indeed remained unchanged. (Hearing this made her quite happy, but she then grew increasingly embarrassed... and came to wish she had two extra legs to run away immediately.)

Finally, a little cat who would often play in Nasha Town concluded: "If I, Ashru, had to point out any problems... I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Your issue is that you're too stubborn!"

Lauma once presided over an engagement ceremony.

This ceremony boasted three attendees — a young adventurer who sometimes helped out at The Flagship tavern, a young woman of the Frostmoon Scions who was planning to leave Nod-Krai with him, and the Moonchanter, who had mysteriously appeared in their tavern room.

There the three of them stood, staring at each other. For a time, no one spoke. The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with trembling hands, handing it to the nervous young woman to wipe the sweat from her brow.

Lauma turned out to be the most composed one in this circumstance.

She clearly understood what was happening, but a halting explanation still came spilling from the young woman's lips: "...I—I didn't mean to leave without saying goodbye. I left a note under my pillow for... W—Well, not that I have family here anyway, so it might never have been seen, but..."

The young man also hurried to add on assurances: "I'll take good care of her, and I'll bring her back often to visit her friends! I'm not some irresponsible lout — look, I've even proposed to her..."

Lauma looked at their clasped hands and the matching rings on their fingers with furrowed brows. The young woman started sweating again, seemingly ready to grab her fiancé and make a run for it, but Lauma stood at the doorway, her impressive height (horns included) barring the doorway as well as any steel-wrought portcullis.

Lauma thought for a while before finally speaking, just as the two of them had begun considering leaping out through the window: "Firstly, I know you two have been seeing each other for some time now. Secondly, I never said you could not leave. Thirdly, one must have a ceremony to go with an engagement. So please, wait here. I will get things ready."

"...Huh?"

Within half an hour, she had gathered everything needed for just such an engagement ritual (including somehow obtaining Nocturnal Blossoms that should only bloom at three in the morning), and in the cramped guest room (with half-packed luggage still scattered all about), conducted a complete engagement ceremony that fully adhered to the Frostmoon Scions' customs (with Lauma playing all the relevant roles — master of ceremonies, bride's family member, and ecclesiast).

When all was said and done, the young woman heaved a sigh of relief. "So you were concerned about the ritual, Lady Lauma... I must say, you're quite, ah, stubborn in the most... unexpected ways..."

"Am I being stubborn?" Lauma tilted her head, somewhat confused. "This is something that must be done."

"Ah, yes. And one more thing. Sir, please leave your name, family name, middle name, as well as your fixed address. I will need to send you our sacramental victuals."

Lauma once presided over a funeral.

The deceased was quite the long-lived elder, having spent one hundred and two years in this harsh, cold land. Smiling with wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes, seemingly never changing — thus had Lauma always remembered her.

In the days following her accession to Moonchanter, Lauma had learned much knowledge from this elder. On the final night before the old dame's departure, she had quietly kept vigil at the woman's bedside.

According to the teachings of the Frostmoon Scions, death is not the end, as life is in constant "flux." Friends and family simply return to nature when the time is right, and they shall surely reunite in the future.

To "fall asleep" in peace under the pure moonlight was considered the highest blessing the Moon Goddess could bestow. It should have been just such a night of serenity, the moonlight shining overhead as it had for years unnumbered, the birds and beasts holding silent reverence.

Until the elderly matron softly said: "Lady Moonchanter... the Moon Goddess doesn't really exist, does she?"

This was no question, in truth. From the elder's steady tone, she seemed to have already concluded this to be fact. For one hundred and two years, the Moon Goddess had never once answered her prayers.

Many thoughts crossed Lauma's mind at once. She thought of the giant statue on the Light-Bathed Platform. She thought of that young woman who looked exactly like that statue... She wanted to say: No, ma'am, the Moon Goddess truly exists, just not in the way everyone had imagined.

The Moon Goddess appears to just be a "person" like you, and she has spent these one hundred and two years living through lonely, cold nights, just as you have.

"It's alright. You need not answer." As Lauma hesitated, the elder gently shook her head. "Whether the Moon Goddess is unwilling to appear or simply doesn't exist, the passage of time remains unaffected."

"We Frostmoon Scions can live just fine on our own, can't we?" The elder held Lauma's hand ever so gently, as though she was the one who needed comfort, "So unfurrow your brow and smile, Lady Moonchanter. You have done very well."

"There's no need to grieve over anyone's absence... 'Death may bring forth anger, but anger too is in vain.'"

Lauma could not help but smile, even as she held the old woman's hand in turn.

So she waited, waiting for the painless and peaceful slumber to carry the elder back to the warm sea of life, where at its center, three full moons must surely be reflected.

Lauma learned how to fold paper stars from the young children of the Frostmoon Scions, who had learned it from outside Hiisi Island in turn.

The children were particularly enthusiastic about teaching something to the powerful Moonchanter. They took the initiative to cut out colorful strips of paper and even brought out some large glass jars.

"The lady in town told us not to get greedy and make the stars too big, or they'll collapse inward super easy, 'cuz there's nothing in the middle," a little girl said with a grin. "Especially that lady with the metal arm. She flattens those stars without even trying!"

Lauma listened with exceptional attentiveness, working both quickly and well. She placed her own folded stars together with the children's in the same jar, and suddenly that dull glass container came alive with activity.

Given her current status and age, it might seem childish for her to be absorbed with such small arts and crafts. But then again, none had called her too mature when she read voluminously as a child, either.

And so, she huddled peacefully with the children in the corner of the room, folding three whole jars' worth of paper stars.

Lauma was very thankful for the existence of Moon Wheels and was delighted to have one, but in truth, it troubled her quite a bit that she couldn't remember how she had obtained hers.

Grandma Sarakka said that her Moon Wheel had fallen out of her swaddling clothes. Although her parents' memories were a bit hazy on the matter, being overwhelmed by the arrival of their newborn at the time, they confirmed this account.

If she were to tell others about her troubles, they would surely be confused. Wasn't having a Moon Wheel since birth a good thing? What was there to worry about, anyway?

It seemed that besides herself, no one found anything wrong with one appearing next to a baby. "A miracle happening to a Moonchanter... Isn't that just normal?"

Lauma found herself at a loss for words. How natural and human it was to want to know the origins of something, yet despite searching through the entire library's records, she could not find a satisfactory answer.

She never let go of this question, so much so that when she later met the Moon Maiden, she couldn't help but ask about this.

Kuutar's response was exceedingly simple: "Oh?"

...Therefore, the closest explanation must still come from Hyperborea. The history of the golden realm was long indeed, and could even be traced back to the era when three moons rose in the skies. They learned to use the lunar tides to power their magics, but were in turn affected by those same ebbs and flows, and some of them thus had horned crowns akin to deer antlers grow from their heads.

However, had Moon Wheels even existed in the world back then?

Lauma frowned in contemplation, and indeed must have accidentally started talking to herself, prompting a passing child to ask loudly: "Lady Lauma, did your horns grow so long because you have a Moon Wheel?"

Her frown only deepened: "Well... I suppose... I'm sorry, I don't know."

Disappointing children was something she wished never to do if she could help it, but surprisingly, the little one did not seem discouraged by not getting an answer to his question.

"Oh!" He said, as if sudden realization had dawned. "Could you have gotten the Moon Wheel because you have the longest horns?"

Oh, how Lauma wanted to accept this answer from the bottom of her heart at that moment. How clever it was, this cycle of cause and effect that shuttled from front to back, then back to front, which seemed to explain (or rather, gloss over) so many questions.

Then she immediately stopped herself from falling into the trap of lies.

Perhaps this, then, was the purpose of the Moon Wheel — a symbol, to her, of vigilance, restraint, and responsibility.

So she held that puzzling Moon Wheel in her palm, silently reciting the three precepts in her heart once more.