Looking at Moh’s intensely intrigued expression, Anastasia felt a sudden pang of sourness in her heart.
His Majesty had never been this interested in anyone before.
That Anemo Archon—they had only known each other for a day, yet they were already chatting about music, mixing drinks, and cracking jokes together.
Yet after all the years she had spent by his side, she had recently begun to feel that he was drifting farther and farther away.
“Are you still going to leave me behind to keep that appointment?” she asked, a tinge of resentment slipping into her voice that even she hadn’t noticed.
Moh turned to meet her gaze, a trace of helpless resignation flashing across his eyes.
“Oh, Anastasia,” he said.
“Don’t look at me like I’m a heartless scoundrel.”
Anastasia turned her face away, remaining silent.
Moh felt a headache coming on.
Ever since their heart-to-heart talk in her carriage last time, she seemed to have reverted to her clingy childhood self.
He had gone along with the young woman’s wishes and even helped her play a small prank on Barbatos, yet he still hadn’t managed to completely soothe her temper.
The Fairy Grand Dukes were right.
Anastasia possessed an implicit desire for control over the things she cared about—whether it was power, land, or the people she cherished.
If events began to slip beyond a certain threshold of her control, her mindset would grow anxious.
But Anastasia was also a merciful Grand Duchess.
She was always generous to the subjects of her domain.
She “loved” what she loved, and within that “love” lay both gentleness and possessiveness.
Moh sighed softly.
“I haven’t braided your hair in a long time,” he said.
“Come, sit down.”
Anastasia froze for a moment.
Moh had already walked over to the vanity table and picked up the wooden comb that had been used for many years.
It was the comb Anastasia had used when she was little.
Though she had replaced it with countless far more luxurious ones over the years, this one had always been kept.
Toward the child he had raised with his own hands, Moh had always granted every request.
But Anastasia had always been sensible and low-maintenance, never asking for anything difficult.
Yet lately, she had indeed been acting somewhat unusual, easily startled and exhibiting far greater emotional fluctuations than normal.
Anastasia fell silent for a moment before walking over to sit at the vanity.
In the mirror, her long, silvery-white hair draped over her shoulders, its ends tinted with subtle streaks of deep blue.
It was a color scheme similar to Moh’s, even though they shared no blood relation.
Fae nobility, regardless of gender, always maintained a head of beautiful long hair, and Anastasia was no exception.
For her, the most stress-relieving act was letting a maid comb her hair.
But at this moment, it was Moh holding the comb—an act that had long served as a quiet space for father and daughter to talk heart-to-heart.
The comb slid down from the crown of her head, passing through silky strands all the way to the ends.
Moh’s movements were very gentle, very slow.
“What is making you feel so uneasy?” he asked calmly.
“Anastasia, you’ve been quite restless today.”
Anastasia lowered her eyes, gazing at her own reflection in the mirror.
“I worry that one day,” she said, “you will leave this place.”
The hand combing her hair paused for a brief moment before continuing.
“Why would you think that?” Moh asked.
“Because of how you’ve been acting lately,” Anastasia said.
“It’s as though you’re truly preparing to hand Snezhnaya over to me. Whether it was granting me full diplomatic authority for this trip, or officially naming me the crown princess within the royal court a while back… Many Fae are saying that I will make a fine Tsaritsa.”
Moh didn’t interrupt, listening quietly.
“Yet recently, your words always assume a future where you aren’t around.” Anastasia’s voice dropped.
“‘How the Fae should do this or that,’ ‘How Snezhnaya should do this or that…'”
She pressed her lips together.
“You said you once had two homes. One was a distant hometown you could never return to, and the other was a train that galloped across the cosmos. But you have never once referred to Snezhnaya as your home.”
Anastasia watched his reflection in the mirror, but Moh’s expression remained unchanged.
Seeing that this conversation hadn’t touched a painful nerve in her father, she continued.
“You are always looking up at the sky.
Are you missing the Express?
After staying here for a while,” Anastasia’s voice grew tight, “will you ultimately abandon everything here—abandon me—and return to the Express?”
After she finished speaking, she cast her eyes down.
A silence descended over the vanity table, broken only by the faint hustle and bustle of the distant streets outside the window.
Moh looked down at her.
Anastasia sat there, her back straight, yet her shoulders slightly tense.
She kept her eyes lowered, her eyelashes casting long shadows against her cheeks.
Suddenly, he understood.
Where Anastasia’s recent unusual behavior had come from—it wasn’t anything else.
She was simply afraid he would leave.
She was already strong enough, capable enough, fully able to sustain the operation of Snezhnaya.
Yet emotionally, Anastasia still depended on him.
Moh was the sole guardian who had raised her; it had been him from childhood to now.
“Anastasia.”
As he spoke, his hands continued their work, deftly dividing her long hair into three strands and beginning to braid a fishtail plait.
“Home is a somewhat narrow concept.”
His voice was very soft, as if recounting something from a long, forgotten past.
“The hometown I can never return to held my parents, brother, and sister. It was where the person named ‘Moh’ began, and it remains a regret I can never forget. Later, I traveled across the cosmos and ultimately chose the Astral Express as my second home, because its members reminded me so much of my first family. Their beliefs aligned with my morals and worldview.”
His movements in braiding her hair were practiced and skilled, weaving strand by strand in an intricate pattern.
“I’ve told you many stories about my companions on the Express. You should understand that to me, they are deeply important family and friends.”
Anastasia remained silent.
She looked at Moh’s reflection in the mirror, watching the small, gold-and-red ticket clip pinned to his collar.
His entire outfit was bespoke, hand-sewn by Fae tailors from exquisite materials with flawless craftsmanship.
Only this tiny ticket clip clashed somewhat with the overall style of his attire.
Every Nameless on the Express wore this mark on their clothing.
*So, to you, do we still fall short compared to your past family?*
Anastasia tightened her hands resting on her knees.
*Even I…*
“In those families, I bore responsibilities,” Moh’s voice continued.
“But in Snezhnaya, it is different.”
Anastasia clenched her fingertips even tighter.
“The Fae of Snezhnaya trust me, submit to me, and venerate me. That is a relationship between a leader and the led, not family. They sing in their poetry that I am the Father of Frost and Snow, the Master of the Fae. But true family should not have such a vast divide in status and class.”
Reaching the end of the braid, he tied it off with a ribbon.
“But Anastasia,” Moh said, “you ought to know that you are special. I have always regarded you as my junior and my daughter. Not simply because I needed an heir. You were the first person I met in this world, and you were the first to accept me.”
His voice was very quiet.
“In this world, you are the only family I recognize.”
Anastasia’s shoulders trembled slightly.
She didn’t turn around.
Moh continued his work.
Drawing from his memory of the Snow Queen’s hairstyle in a certain animated film, he began coiffing Anastasia’s hair into an updo.
Cryo element condensed at his fingertips, shaping into gorgeous hairpin decorations that he placed one by one into the styled hair.
In the mirror, Anastasia’s reflection gradually transformed, growing regal and elegant.
The apple of the eye of the Lord of the Northern Realm.
“I’ve told you stories of the Express,” Moh said, his tone as casual as discussing the weather.
“The Nameless Trailblaze across the cosmos, visiting countless worlds. Belobog, the Xianzhou, Penacony, Amphoreus… United as one, we resolved so many troubles, defeated so many enemies, overcame so many disasters. In those stories, our life of adventuring together seemed as though it would never end, extending boundlessly into the future… What a wonderful future that was. But I have never told you what happened to the Express crew afterward.”
His voice grew heavy.
“It was not a happy ending.”
Anastasia’s heart constricted, and she turned around to look at Moh.
Moh didn’t look at her.
He kept his eyes lowered, his hands continuing their movement, though at a slower pace.
“The Astral Express became something I could only look back on in memory.
Perhaps this world granted me the extraordinary status of a ‘Descender.’ But to myself, I am nothing more than a pitiable exile who was forced to make an emergency crash-landing here.
It’s hard to imagine that such a beautiful, vibrant planet could exist in this world.
“My ‘Memory’ was permitted entry into this realm by the Heavenly Principles, thanks to the good reputation of the Nameless. Originally, I was an intangible meme. When the artisans of the Golden Realm crafted the Fae from the remains of a leviathan, my memory was cast into one by another Descender, resulting in my current form. I myself have become a gear embedded into destiny by Him.”
Placing the final hairpin, he condensed a mirror of ice and handed it to Anastasia.
“Take a look.”
Anastasia accepted the ice mirror.
The woman in the glass was regal, elegant, and exquisitely poised.
Delicately woven plaits were adorned with artfully arranged snowflakes, every detail radiating care.
Yet Anastasia’s expression was shadowed with deep worry.
“If the day comes when I must leave you, it will never be out of my own free will, Anastasia,” Moh’s voice came from behind her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders.
Anastasia raised her head, looking at his reflection in the mirror—a rare melancholic expression gracing the face of her usually cheerful ruler.
“Yet I already know my ordained fate. It is a ‘death’ I cannot escape.”
Anastasia’s breath hitched for a moment.
“But do not worry,” Moh said, looking into her eyes through the glass.
“I am a memetic lifeform. As long as the ‘Memory’ of me is not extinguished, there will come a day when I return once more.”
“‘Death…'” Anastasia chewed on the word.
She suddenly realized the gravity of the situation—her father had his own anxieties all along.
What she had thought was “he wants to abandon me” turned out to be “he has no choice but to leave.” What she had thought was “he doesn’t view this place as home” turned out to be “he fears he cannot stay.”
Anastasia opened her mouth, wanting to say something.
“But I promise you, after our parting, we will meet again.” Moh’s tone suddenly brightened.
“Alright, let’s not dwell on such heavy matters. Speaking of which, I originally intended to give you a present after we returned—but I’ll hand it over to you in advance now.”
He snapped his fingers.
Before Anastasia’s eyes, a dazzling light flared up.
The colorful radiance coalesced into a solid form in front of her, revealing a little pink creature.
It wore a magnificent little cloak embroidered with golden patterns along the edges.
Its limbs were short, and its body was elongated—resembling a stumpy, rice-stuffed chicken wing of the cat world.
“Mi-mi-mi-mi—mi!” The cute little creature waved its tiny paws, greeting the two of them.
Anastasia froze.
“…What is this?”
“This is a lifeform born on a world called Amphoreus,” Moh said, a hint of pride in his voice.
“They are also fae.” He pointed at the pink puffball.
“Look, it really likes you.”
No sooner had he spoken than the pink little fae floated up and plunged straight into Anastasia’s arms.
Instinctively, Anastasia caught it.
It was soft, warm, and emitted a faint, sweet fragrance.
The little creature nuzzled against her chest, letting out contented “mi-mi” purrs.
Anastasia held it up, propping it by its armpits with both hands, examining it from left to right.
“…Is it like that Cat Cake you gave me when I was little?”
“That Cat Cake modeled after me was a creation of Lady Ruan Mei. She is a remarkable genius,” Moh said.
“As for this little fae, I sculpted it based on my memories, using materials from Teyvat.”
Anastasia blinked.
“Does it have a name?”
“It’s called Hakimi,” Moh said.
“Of course, you can change its name if you want.” He paused, adding, “Oh, right—this little guy really loves things made with honey.”
Anastasia went silent for a moment.
Her father had a habit of assigning bizarrely weird names to cute creations.
“…We’ll just stick with that.”
She looked down at the pink blob in her arms.
Hakimi looked up at her too, its big eyes blinking cutely.
“Mi?”
The smile that had just begun to curve Anastasia’s lips suddenly collapsed as she remembered something.
“Wait,” she said.
“It won’t sing outside my bedroom door all night long, will it?”
She recalled the Cat Cake back home—that thing had a habit of breaking into loud song without warning.
Though it actually sang quite well, the lyrics were just an endless, repetitive loop of phrases.
Moh blinked, also remembering that Cat Cake that shared his physical traits.
A Cat Cake’s personality was molded after the person it mimicked—and unfortunately, during his time on the Express, he had been rather…
absurd.
“Surely not?” he said, his tone hesitant.
“Probably?”
Anastasia stared at him.
Moh gave a quiet cough.
“Even if it sings, it shouldn’t be too loud,” he offered.
“After all, the materials are from Teyvat, so its temperament should be a bit more grounded.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Hakimi burst into song right in Anastasia’s arms.
“Mi-mi-mi-mi—mi-mi-mi—!”
The tune was upbeat and rhythmically sharp.
Moh: “…” Anastasia: “…”
The two looked at each other.
Hakimi sang even more enthusiastically, even dancing and flailing its little arms and legs.
“Mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi—!”
Moh raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose.
*How on earth did even this little thing pick up absurd meme tunes?* “…It probably needs a little more training.”
Anastasia looked down at the pink puffball in her arms, completely immersed in its performance with absolute single-minded devotion.
A soft chuckle escaped her.
“It’s alright. Having a bit of noise around is nice, too.”
Moh looked at her.
Anastasia raised her eyes to meet his gaze.
“You promised me,” she said.
“After parting, we will meet again.”
Moh looked at her, his icy-blue eyes reflecting her and the pink puffball.
“I promise.”
Anastasia nodded.
She looked down at Hakimi in her arms.
The little creature was already tired from singing, snuggling into her chest with contented purrs.
Holding Hakimi, Anastasia stood by the window, with Moh standing behind her.
“Father,” she suddenly spoke up.
“Hmm?”
“Whether it’s me or all of Snezhnaya… we love you, Father.”
Moh said nothing.
He simply reached out and gently patted the top of her head, just as a father would do for his child—just as he had done on the snow-covered plains so many years ago.
Hakimi rolled over in Anastasia’s arms, letting out a satisfied “Mi.”