If it were only a disturbance in time, she wouldn't care.
But she could vaguely feel that it was somehow connected to her.
She didn't know how—just like over a year ago, when she first met Lin En. Back then, an overwhelming intuition had told her to approach him, to trust him.
So although she had tracked him down by following the traces of dissipating lunar power, she had never regarded him as some kind of "thief" like the future Reriel.
Instead, she approached him in confusion, spoke with him, stayed by his side for a few days, helped a little here and there—and in the end, they became friends.
It was from that moment on that some of her perspectives began to change.
As for where that intuition came from… she still didn't know.
Perhaps she would only understand in the future.
But that didn't stop her from continuing to trust it.
She didn't feel any strong sense of belonging to the Fatui. Since this matter involved herself—her "home"—then it was personal.
Why should she tell anyone?
Especially when she had sensed the aura of the true moon—twice.
It had appeared in Teyvat, despite being sealed beyond the false sky.
Though both instances lasted only a brief moment, she could never mistake that feeling—
That sense of being accepted, something Teyvat itself rejected her for.
Her heart had pounded.
For the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to feel moved.
Even when she met him a year ago, her heartbeat had only quickened slightly.
Thinking of him now, she drifted into a daze.
Back then, he had said many things she didn't take seriously.
She only remembered them because of that instinct to trust him.
Yet over the past year, some of those things had gradually proven true.
She had even come to understand something—
That she did have friends.
He had said before that true friends were no different from family.
Sandrone… was indeed very good to her.
Ah, right.
When she first met him, he seemed to be murmuring a name.
What was it again?
Yes—
Columbina Hyperselenia.
Was that how he wanted to call her?
The moon seemed to like that name.
But… she didn't have a name.
When he realized she had heard it, he had seemed a little annoyed.
Later, though, he told her that the name referred to her—and that if she ever felt it was right, she could use it as her own.
But when would it feel right?
Maybe she could ask him next time they met.
And this time, with the moon descending…
It somehow felt related to him.
But she couldn't figure out how.
It couldn't possibly be because of the lunar power he absorbed back then, could it?
…Still, it bothered her.
If Sandrone couldn't find any clues, she could ask him together next time.
Sandrone froze.
In over four hundred years of acquaintance, she had never seen Columbina like this.
Even when lost in thought, that solemn expression hadn't faded in the slightest.
She frowned.
"The aura of the moon?"
"That's all you can say? Something so vague?"
The Maiden looked troubled—
Like a client trying to explain to a designer what kind of "colorful black" they wanted.
"Yeah… you're used to precise, rigorous language, like Fontaine's mechanical theories. But I don't understand those."
Then, suddenly, she thought of a solution.
After all, the client always finds a way.
"Oh! I'll give you a strand of moonlight. It'll let you temporarily sense the moon's aura. Give me your hand."
Sandrone instinctively reached out.
The moment their hands touched, a soft glow flickered.
She felt a gentle, drifting, sand-like power seep into her body.
"Wait—hold on, I didn't agree to this yet!"
She jolted, quickly pulling her hand back—though it was already too late.
"You still haven't answered me—why should I help you?"
The Maiden tilted her head slightly, looking a bit disappointed.
"You won't help?"
Sandrone clicked her tongue.
"Aren't you all about exchanges? If you want my help, what are you offering in return?"
A trace of confusion appeared in the Maiden's eyes.
"Aren't we friends?"
"If friends need help, they can just ask. Friends don't need to calculate things like that."
"…Huh?"
Sandrone froze.
Was that really something this airheaded little dove could say?
But the Maiden wasn't finished.
"What's wrong? Aren't you my good friend, Sandrone?"
"If you ever need my help, just say so. Friends don't talk about cost or price…"
"…Is something wrong with that?"
Sandrone's expression suddenly went still.
She lowered her head, her voice just as calm as her face.
"…No. Nothing wrong with that."
"So I just go there and see what your power reacts to, right? Fine. I'll do it."
"Leave the map. Once I finish my work, I'll file a report and go check it out."
"You should head back. I've still got things to do."
The Maiden's lips curved slightly upward.
Even beneath her blindfold, the arc of her eyes lifted—her mood clearly bright.
"Then… good night, Sandrone."
She left.
After she was gone, Sandrone—who had been holding that calm expression—suddenly covered her face and slumped onto the desk.
It took a while before she straightened up again.
A faint redness still lingered on her face.
That unexpected, straightforward sincerity from the Maiden…
Had completely caught her off guard.
It wasn't shyness.
Not social anxiety.
And definitely not anything romantic.
It was just that—
The impression she had carried for so many years was too deeply ingrained.
This sudden change had nearly made her system crash.
A classic case of…
"historical leftovers."