The Silvermoon Hall rested in its eternal twilight, a vast shell of pale stone and moonlight curves, half temple, half dream. Luminous blue flowers carpeted the ground like a quiet sea, their glow reflecting softly against the great spiral structure at the heart of the hall. From its hollow center drifted a gentle radiance, slow and steady, like the breathing of a sleeping star. Columbina sat near that light, motionless, hands folded within the pale fabric of her sleeves. Her eyes were closed, as they always were yet the world unfolded before her with perfect clarity.
She perceived the slow sway of hanging lunar vines above, each leaf brushing the air with a whisper too faint for mortal ears. She felt the drifting paths of her Kuuhenki familiars as lines of warmth moving through the chamber, their small white forms bobbing like living constellations. She sensed the subtle rhythm of the hall itself—the ancient magic layered into the stone, the soft echo of tides far beyond Hiisi Island’s shores.
And, more familiarly, she sensed them.
Columbina’s expression did not change, but a delicate shift passed through her awareness as Luonnotar glided ahead of tú, its light purer and gentler than the others. This Kuuhenki had been born from her own soul, shaped from her power. Its presence brushed against her senses like a remembered heartbeat. “Hello there, tú,” she murmured, voice low and distant, as soft as moon dust settling on water. She did not turn her head, nor open her eyes. She did not need to. tú’s steps traced themselves across her perception, their familiarity as distinct as a melody she had learned by heart. Their presence was no longer foreign to this sanctuary, no longer a disruption sharp enough to stir her defenses.
Still, she remained seated. The Kuuhenki gathered loosely around her, drifting in slow orbits, their glow reflecting faintly against the silver threads in her garments. Some lingered near tú, recognizing them as one who had walked these halls before, one who carried no intent to wound the fragile quiet their goddess clung to.
“You walk lightly today,” Columbina said after a pause. “Something nice happened today? Luonnotar worries when you are gone too long,” she added, tone indifferent on the surface, though her familiar pulsed faintly brighter at the mention. “After all, Luonnotar considers you family like I do.” She gives a serene smile, forever grateful for the amount of work tú and their friends have done to make Nod-Krai her home.
