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Chapter Text

A howling wind swept through the snow-laden peaks of Snezhnaya as a black and crimson carriage came to a smooth stop before the grand steps of the Zapolyarny Palace. There was a chill in the air, yet it was unnervingly and unexpectedly calm for a place as fortified and closely guarded as the seat of the Cryo Archon’s power.

There were no Fatui Harbingers, agents nor guards on sight.

Only the Tsaritsa stood at the top of the steps, serene as the snow around her.

Mavuika, the Pyro Archon of Natlan, stepped down from the carriage, her crimson cloak brushing the frost with each stride. She looked up and met the Tsaritsa's gaze. True, her gaze was icy and ethereal, but there was more warmth and cordiality to it than stories suggested.

“Welcome to Zapolyarny,” the Tsaritsa greeted softly, “and thank you for accepting my invitation and at such short notice too.” She smiled at Mavuika, “I hope you find Snezhnaya and its sights to your liking.”

“Yes, thank you,” Mavuika replied with a faint smile, “I was just curious, because you don’t usually entertain guests. At least not at this really personal and intimate level.”

“Nor do I make tea for them myself.” She turned gracefully with a light chuckle, “Come. We’ll talk somewhere it’s warm.”

The drawing room was silent but inviting. The fire’s crackling was extremely comforting for Mavuika, especially for someone like her who is unaccustomed to snowfall and blizzards. Inside, two ornate chairs faced each other across a small table where a delicate tea set was already waiting. The steam from the tea curled lazily upward and the room smelled faintly of snow blossoms and cinnamon.

The Tsaritsa gestured for her to sit on one of the chairs and she sat on the other.

She poured a cup, her hands gentle and practiced, “Do you take milk and sugar with your tea?”

“Yes, please,” Mavuika replied, accepting the cup. “Thank you.”

A few silent sips passed between them, then the Tsaritsa turned to her, “How is Natlan faring? Right now, after the war with the Abyss?”

Mavuika set her cup down, “We are healing, albeit slowly I must admit,” she replied, “but I know the hurt brought forth by instances like war do take time to heal. My people are not invincible, but they are proud and resilient. Everything seems to be ashes right now, but I am confident that our fire will burn again.”

The Tsaritsa nodded with a hint of approval, “You’ve led them well, Mavuika.”

“How about you?”, Mavuika asked, “How are you handling the affairs here in Snezhnaya?”

“I manage,” she said with a calm smile, but her eyes flickered, “I always have.”

A heavy silence descended again, but then, the Tsaritsa's fingers tapped against her porcelain cup, “Mavuika, dear, may I ask something more personal?”

Mavuika blinked. Personal?  “Of course.”

The Cryo Archon looked directly into her eyes, “How long have you and my Harbinger Capitano been in love?”

Mavuika stiffened slightly, surprised at the question. Good thing she managed not to spray tea all over, “uh, I…”

“You don’t have to explain,” the Tsaritsa said kindly, lightly laughing at the sight of Mavuika tensing up at the question, “I already know the nature of your relationship with one of my Harbingers.”

Mavuika’s voice dropped to a whisper, her face the color of her hair, “Okay, so Thrain and I…”

The Tsaritsa smiled. Her aura at the moment was not cold or royal, just human .

“Calm down,” She said with a light laugh, “I just wanted to tell you that I support it. I support both of you .”

The Pyro Archon looked away, cheeks slightly flushed. So this is how it feels to be sweaty in a place that is drenched knee-deep in snow all year around, “oh okay…Thank you.”

The Tsaritsa sighed then, her pale lashes fluttering closed, then she focused her gaze on the fireplace before them, “You’re lucky, Mavuika.”

“Lucky?” she echoed, confused.

The Tsaritsa turned to her, soft and radiant but cordial, “I once loved like you do. Deeply and fearlessly.”

She raised a trembling hand to her own chest, “A long time ago… I gave my heart to someone. Like Capitano, he was also a cursed man from Khaenri’ah, and he was a brilliant, complicated soul.”

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since the Cataclysm ended and the nation of Snezhnaya was still reeling from its fallout. Snow blanketed the courtyard of Zapolyarny Palace in an endless white shroud, as if the nation’s sky itself was mourning what it had lost. 

Two guards hauled a half-conscious man between them, his head low, face hidden beneath a scorched hood. His skin glowed faintly with the curse of Khaenri'ah. The twisting, elegant markings like veins of starlight etched in misery.

They are dragging him to their archon.

“State your name,” one of the head guards at the throne room’s entrance barked at the captive..

The prisoner did not answer. His body shivered, not from cold but from exhaustion. He had been walking for days before the Snezhnayan patrols caught him. His blood streaked the side of his face from a cut on his brow.

Suddenly, the grand majestic doors for the throne room opened with a groan, ushering a frigid wind into the chamber.

And there she sat upon her crystalline throne. The Cryo Archon. The Tsaritsa.

Her pale gaze fell on him, sharp and unnerving, but instead of disgust there was calculation. Curiosity.

“This man…” she said, rising to her feet, voice like snowfall, “he is no ordinary refugee, it seems.”

“He said he hailed from that fallen kingdom of Khaenri’ah,” said one of the guards with disdain, “He bears the curse. Shall we throw him in the cells, Your Majesty?”

“No,” she said immediately, anxious but excited, “Leave us.”

There was hesitation but no one defied her. The guards bowed and withdrew, leaving the man alone with the archon of love and frost.

He did not bow. He merely lifted his face, silver star-shaped eyes meeting hers without flinching.

“A survivor of the underground kingdom…” she murmured, “Pray, what is your name?”

He lingered for a few seconds before muttering his name, “Pierro”

“Pierro…” She repeated his name in a whisper, feeling that weird want of muttering his name over and over like a chant, “...what a beautiful name.”

He did not reply.

“How many are left like you?” she asked.

“Few,” he replied hoarsely. “And those who haven’t gone mad are fewer still.”

“I see…” she trailed, “And what was your post in Khaenri’ah?”

“I was a Royal Mage, your majesty.”

She circled him, studying him like a puzzle. His robes are tattered beyond repair, but she can still see the symbols and the motifs. He is undoubtedly Khaenri’ahn and of noble birth.

“Your people burned everything on our soil,” she said, her voice low almost taunting, “And yet, you chose to come here.”

“I didn’t choose,” he rasped, his voice laced with venom. His star-shaped pupils boring into hers with deep-seated bitterness, “I fled, I survived, and this is where I ended up.”

She looked at him from head to toe, apparently intrigued by this specimen from a godless nation, “You speak as though survival is a curse.”

He gave a hollow laugh and stared ahead, determined not to look anymore in those intense icy eyes of hers, “Is it not?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then stepped closer. She is so close her breath frosted on his skin.

“I find myself curious about you,” she said, her eyes scanning the entirety of his face, “A man like you? Someone who was once high in a kingdom that defied the heavens and is now reduced to crawling through the snow like a wounded beast?” She smiled, still scanning his face up close, “Won’t you say that a specimen like that is truly interesting to keep?”

He turned and met her gaze, hard. “Even beasts can still bite.”

Something flickered in her. Amusement, most likely.

“No, I don’t have any plans to imprison you,” she said, finally taking a step back and casually turning around, “I think it’ll be better for me to have you serve me. Here in court.”

His expression twisted. Clearly she’s trying to make a toy out of him, “Why? Are you planning to keep me as a trophy? Like a relic of a lost nation that you can ogle at when you’re bored?”

“No,” she said simply, smiling softly but knowingly, “I just want to unravel your life and your mind.”

Chapter Text

Weeks passed since he was appointed as Zalpoyarny Palace’s Court Mage. Yes, the very same position he once held in the Khaenri’ahn court.

As expected, the nobles and the other courtiers  whispered among themselves. They feared and despised him all at the same time, but he didn’t care. He’s been through so much ringer since the Cataclysm started and ended, that their murmurs and scoffs are nothing but specks of dust off his shoulder in comparison..

Besides, he kept to the shadows. Most of the time, he was in the palace library and the observatory.

And of course, mostly because of her insistence, her side.

One night, during one of her late night walks across the palace, the Tsaritsa found him in the library, focused on an ancient map of Teyvat’s heavens. He’s transcribing what he’s reading on a parchment whilst muttering Khaenri’ahn phrases under his breath.

He’s translating the map in his native language. Interesting.

“Do you believe they’re still listening or watching?” she asked, suddenly stepping beside him.

He wasn’t startled. He didn’t even look up. It's as if he already knew she was there watching, “I don’t believe in anything. I just remember the patterns and use them for calculations.”

She suddenly pulled herself up on the table to sit, her feet dangling playfully. It was so laid back and casual, a stark difference from her rigid self whenever she was sitting on her throne.

She looked away, a small smile on her face, “You sound tired.”

“I am.” He finally looked at her, exasperated. “Especially tired of existing without a purpose or even a small meaning.”

She shrugged, “Hmm…I think you can find one here,” she said.

He scoffed and stopped his work, “What do you want from me, truly?”

She tilted her head towards him, still smiling, “I want to understand what it means to lose everything and how it feels. I want to know how someone like you can still be so determined and tenacious in life when everything that has happened happened.” She’s smiling at him but there was no meanness or ill-intent behind it. 

Pierro’s voice cracked and resumed working on his transcriptions, “Because I was too much of a coward to die with them.” He replied, “That’s it, there’s no need to overcomplicate it.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she sat there on his work table, watching him quietly. The chill of her presence he found strangely comforting.

Chapter Text

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months.

Their trust, loyalty and bond for each other grew with each passing day.

All of which were fortified and strengthened by their late afternoon walks in the snow-deep palace gardens and their late night meetings in the library, among others.

Then one day, when there was a snowstorm outside as per usual in Snezhnaya and it was quiet inside the palace, Pierro stood before her throne again. This time, not as an awkward captive outsider-turned-employee but as a confidant.

“I noticed that you’ve been keeping your distance lately,” she remarked, “is there a problem?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “I just don’t want to presume anything.”

“You’ve been distancing away,” she said in a low voice, “but, at the same time, you’ve been looking at me like I was something more than a god,” she said quietly. “That… unsettles me, I must admit.”

Pierro’s voice was soft, “I don’t worship gods, but I respect and admire you.”

She stood from her throne and walked towards him.

“Why?” she asked. “When I offered you practically nothing: No promises, no grand incentives,” she stopped in front of him and gestured around the throne room, “Just…this: meandering around with no meaning, as you’ve said.”

“You offered me a place and a sense of belonging,” he said, “that’s more than what the world has given me since the fall of my nation.”

Silence. Then her hand lifted, hesitating just inches from his cheek.

“Curious. You’re burning inside,” she whispered, “but it’s that type of warmth . My ideal. ”

“I can’t afford to go cold.” He replied slowly, not breaking eye contact with her.

She nodded slowly, lowering her hand. “Interesting… as the archon of love, I’m familiar with the feeling of all sorts and kinds of this warmth .” She trailed for a little bit, “But this particular one…however, this one is new to me.”

Chapter Text

The palace felt warmer than usual in the following days.

Not in the temperature, of course, Snezhnaya was still buried in snow and the cold still seeped through stone and bone alike. Instead, this warmth is something intangible. A presence. A spark.

Ever since their intense conversation in the throne room, Pierro’s been standing at the Tsaritsa’s side more often now. The other courtiers had long stopped whispering their baseless theories amongst themselves. Her trust in him was evident and his loyalty to her undeniable.

He was no longer the broken Khaenri’ahn refugee who had stumbled through the palace doors. She, on the other hand, was still divine, radiant and regal, but the people around them couldn't help but notice something.

She laughs and smiles whenever she’s with him, genuinely. He makes her happy.

And it makes her glow even more.

For the first time in a long time, Snezhnaya is truly feeling their archon’s ideal.

***

One evening, they lingered in her private sitting room long after the entire palace had gone to bed. Books and scrolls containing depictions of ancient Teyvat and Khaenri’ah lay forgotten on the table between them. A lamp flickered low, casting shadows on the opulent walls of her quarters.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, smiling, not looking up from her glass of wine.

“I think, after having served this long in your court, I’m allowed the privilege,” Pierro replied, his voice lower than usual, but there is a playful lilt to it,“and I can’t help it, you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since the war.”

She laughed softly, “I love how you say that like it’s not such a tragic fact.”

He stepped closer, slowly. “I can profess it in so many ways,” he whispered, so close to her temple she shivered, “because it’s true.”

She turned and met his gaze. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you saying this to me?” She stared at his star-shaped pupils, her own eyes darting back and forth as if hoping that she’ll see the underlying truth within them, “Why me?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he reached out and gently brushed a strand of silver-blonde hair from her cheek. Her breath caught and her heart thumped wildly.

Love has been her nation’s Ideal. She saw her people go through different highs and lows and trials and tribulations for the sake of it.

She knows how to help bless and bestow it to mortals under her realm and rule.

She knows the concept and the theory, but she hasn't been involved in its crossroads.

Until now.

All those times they’ve spent together in the palace gardens. Those times at the library. Those times at the observatory. Those times in the throne room.

Now it all fell into place for her.

So this is how it feels to feel that warmth . The warmth of falling in love.

She was suddenly stirred from her stupor, “You make me want to live again,” he whispered.

She stood there, staring directly at his starry eyes. Without a word, she let her robe fall loosely from her shoulders, the soft shift of fabric revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone.

He stared at the sight before him, hunger and longing flashing across his face.

“Then show me you mean it.” She whispered with baited breath.

He blinked at her, trying not to get overwhelmed, “Are you sure?”

“I am, Pierro,” she said, stepping nearer to him, cradling his face, curse marks and all, “This is the surest I’ve been since I ascended to godhood.”

Then, letting their hearts tug them, their mouths met.

It was not tentative or shy but filled with years of grief and desperation behind it. Her hands found the collar of his robe, pulling him closer. He kissed her like a drowning man discovering he could breathe again.

He broke the kiss but only for a moment, breathless, “If we start this, I won’t be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to,” she whispered, kissing him again as they dragged and tugged each other towards her bed chamber.

As soon as the door closed behind them, all of their inhibitions and hesitations melted away. Their kiss was getting more desperate and it's overloading their senses. Pierro’s hands slid across the silk of her nightgown, tracing the shape of her waist as though trying to memorize every curve.

“You don’t have any idea how much I’ve always fantasized about this moment,” he said against her skin, “but I respect you so much, I hated myself for it.”

She pulled him on top of her, fingers in his hair. “Then show me your fantasy.”

Clothes fell away and in no time, their bodies are now in a feverish tangle, both aching for something more than just release. They were aching for something real. They were aching for something that told them that they were still alive.

“Look at me,” she said, touching his face, voice breaking as he entered her, “I want to see you.”

He did. And in that moment, they were not an archon beholden to Celestia and a cursed Khaenri’ahn man. They were just two people. Flawed, grieving, hungry souls who are filling the hollowness inside each other with something burning and beautiful.

Their cries echoed against the frost-laced walls. Their heat chasing away centuries of cold.

***

Pierro lay beside her, her head tucked against his chest. She traced the glowing blue scars of the curse along his shoulder with slow, absent fingers.

“Do you regret it?” she asked softly.

He turned to face her. “Not at all.” He hesitated, nervous to ask, “...do you?”

She shook her head. “I just thought I was beyond this. Beyond wanting this, but it turns out I am not.” She sighed and smiled, “I mean I’m the archon of love, but this…this is the first time I’ve experienced this type of love for myself.” She chuckled, “I never thought that it would be such a strong feeling.”

“I am glad you feel the same way” he said, brushing his lips against her temple. He knows he is understating the fact that his own heart is bursting at the seams at this very moment, “You are my happiness, always remember that.”

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “So this is how it feels, huh. I always hear other women say lines like ‘ He makes me feel like a woman’ ”, she giggled lightly, “Now I know what they meant.” 

She leaned on her elbow to face him,  “Right now I’m not just a ruler. I’m not just a god. I am a woman who is alive .”

Pierro smiled as he brushed her hair behind her ear, “And you, my darling, are my salvation.” He whispered as he kissed her on the forehead.

Outside, the snow fell softly. Inside, the warmth lingered, not from the fire, but from the two hearts tangled together beneath the furs and silks.

Chapter Text

It began not with fire, but with silence.

A messenger descended from the heavens.

Celestia had heard. 

Whispers among the palace courtiers turned to tremors. The skies of Snezhnaya darkened, but no swirling lights graced them this time. Meanwhile, in the middle of the throne room, the Tsaritsa knelt before an envoy of Celestia. With her head bowed, she looked as if she’s not a goddess herself but a mere mortal subject.

However, she did not tremble. No fear etched across her body.

Pierro watched from the shadowed edge of the chamber, tense. His jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"May I please know the purpose of this unexpected visit?" The Tsaritsa said calmly, still staring directly at the floor, though her voice wavered just slightly.

A glowing orb of light pulsed infront of her. From it, a voice, cold and final, echoed across the marble.

"You have defiled your position. The Archon of Love, consorting with a cursed outlander of Khaenri’ah. He is an enemy of the Heavens!"

She rose to her feet, her expression sharp. She knew that what she wanted to say next may become her utmost undoing, but she also knew she had to say it now or never. She had to defend it to the bitter end, “I have served you without fail for centuries. I have upheld every decree the Primordial One orders and carried out every divine will. Why can I not be granted this one thing?!” she hesitated but continued in a whisper, “...and isn’t love all about acceptance?”

The heavenly light answered curtly,

"Love, in defiance of the Divine Order, is not your right. You were chosen to shepherd it, not twist it.”

“I haven’t twisted it!” she cried, “I’ve done nothing but love this world, this nation, my people and…” she glanced at his direction, looking at him longingly, “...and him .” Then she turned back to the heavenly light, “What is so wrong with that?”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She turned again, meeting Pierro’s gaze.

He started toward her, “Don’t beg them,” he whispered audibly, “You owe them nothing!”

But she raised a hand, halting him from coming near her.

"The Archon of Love, because of your crimes against the natural order and your treacherous liaison with a cursed enemy of the Primordial One and Celestia, we hereby strip you of your ability to execute your ideal: You will never be allowed to love again. You will languish in the memory of it but will never be able to hold it.”

And the heavenly edict continued, “This is your punishment.”

And just like that, the light struck her.

She collapsed and the light vanished. Outside, the skies of Snezhnaya cleared once again.

Pierro ran to her side in a breath, cradling her in his arms, “Stay with me, my darling. Stay with me— please. ”

She opened her eyes slowly.

And everything changed.

The glow in her expression was gone, replaced with something hollow and distant.

“...Pierro?”

“I’m here.”

She blinked slowly, her brow furrowing in confusion, “Why do I remember your name, but not the warmth ?”

His throat tightened at the dawning realization. He embraced her tighter and closed his eyes. Tears fell on his cheeks as he whispered against her temple, “Because they took it from you.”

Chapter Text

Weeks passed. The silence and distance between them grew.

She no longer laughed. No longer touched his hand in passing. No longer visited the gardens where they once walked in the snow like lovers lost in a dream.

Barbatos sent a letter. She didn’t open it. She doesn’t want her fellow archons’ pity right now.

The people noticed that her smile was gone. Her warmth became protocol. Any ounce of kindness from her was delivered in perfect, mechanical execution.

She ruled.

But she did not live.

***

One early evening, while he was working with her through piles and piles of star charts in the library and in comfortable silence, she asked,

“Why do you stay?” her eyes scanning and reviewing a scroll. She’s speaking to him without looking at him.

Pierro stood beside her, hands clasped behind his back, “Your majesty, I am still here because I…” He trailed for a bit, losing his controlled and professional facade, a broken heart trying to resurface.

She was quiet for a long time. She immediately knew what he meant to say, “I cannot return that.”

“I know.”

She looked up and finally met his gaze, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t have to want it,” he muttered bitterly, “Celestia already made sure you did.”

She faltered, the cold aloof mask cracking for a heartbeat, “I remember what it felt like to love you, Pierro. I remember thinking my world could be beautiful again, especially after that wretched Cataclysmic war,”she bowed and leaned her head into her hands, a picture of distress that hurt Pierro like a thousand knife cuts, “I remember how your hands trembled when you kissed me the first time. I remember how my heart bursts at the seams everytime we walk alone in the gardens…” She sighed and closed her eyes trying her best not to let the tears fall, “You deserve so much more than this.”

He stepped closer and knelt beside her arm chair. He took her arm and held it tight, “Then fight it. Come back to me.”

She looked at his pleading eyes. She slowly shook her head and whispered back to him, “I tried. I failed.”

***

Several days later.

The majestic doors of the throne room opened.

“Your Majesty?” Pierro entered and bowed in reverence, slower than usual.

He had become more distant. He still served her every beck and call, yes, but his broken heart dictated that in order to hold on to whatever leftover fragments of love they had, he needed to keep it together professionally. At least for now.

She sat upon her throne, as cold and radiant as ever. She looked down upon him. She remembers and longs for the warmth that envelops her at the mere sight of him.

And its absence still kills her.

“I want revenge,” she said, her voice clear and hard, “Not for power. Not for ambition.”

He blinked at her and frowned, “Then for what?”

She stood and closed the short distance between them.

“For what they stole. My ideal was love , Pierro. That’s what I was chosen for. What I embodied. And now I cannot feel the very thing I once was. ”

His breath caught.

“I want my ideal back,” she said. “I want the warmth again. I want to feel the snow in your hair and the way your voice used to make my chest ache. I want to love my people, not out of duty, but from the soul again. And I want you. ”

He stepped toward her slowly, “Your majesty, I know this is overstepping my boundaries” his breath hitched and he whispered,“ but please, say the last part again.”

“I want you.”

The mask of cold aloofness cracked. Tears began to well on his starry eyes, “You don’t know how much it kills me to feel that you’re thousands of miles away…” he trailed slowly, trying his best not to break, “even if I can touch you.” His voice broke.

“That’s because I am,” she whispered. She cradled his face and he leaned on her hand, eyes closed. Oh how he misses her warmth, “but if I bring Celestia down… if I burn them for what they’ve done… maybe I can come back home to you.” Her voice breaking trying to hold back the tears.

He stared at her, trembling, then dropped to one knee and bowed.

“Then let me lead the charge,” he said. “Let me tear down the heavens for you if need be. I lost everything once and I’m not gonna let them do it again.” He then whispered, “I will not lose you .”

She knelt down in front of him, reached and touched his shoulder.

A queen. 

A broken goddess. 

A frozen heart.

“Perhaps we are no longer lovers,” she said with a faint smile, trying to hold back her tears,  “but we are bound, you and I.”

“Then I’ll be your blade,” he said, still bowed, “until you remember how to hold me close again.”

Chapter Text

The room was silent after her words, but one particular sentence was still ringing in Pierro’s head.

“I want to bring Celestia down.”

The echoes hung in the air like breath on winter glass, fragile and full of meaning.

Pierro stood up, but he felt frozen. Not from the cold, but from the storm building behind his ribs.

“You… you really want to fight Celestia for this?” he asked, voice low, raw with disbelief.

Her steady gaze held his, “It’s the only thing I want.”

And just like that, he laughed, a laugh that was a broken, breathless sound that’s a mixture of half-joy and half-sorrow. He stepped forward, eyes glinting with something sharp.

“You don’t know what you’ve given me,” he whispered. “You don’t feel any love for me anymore, but this? This is hope. You’ve given me a reason to keep breathing.”

The Tsaritsa looked at him, saying nothing, but there was something in her expression: a flicker of pain, or maybe memory.

Pierro placed a hand over his heart. “I was a fool to ever think the gods would let us be happy. However, if I must be a fool, then let me choose what kind.”

She tilted her head, smiling faintly, “What do you mean?”

He stepped back and smiled bitterly, “I want a new name. One that suits the man I’ve become.”

Then, he whispered with flourish,

“The Jester.”

She blinked, surprised. “Why that?”

“Because a jester is a fool,” he said. “And I am nothing if not a fool in love. A fool who only ever wanted to make his queen smile and laugh again.”

The Tsaritsa's expression didn’t soften, but she looked at him for a long time, as if memorizing the man and his gestures and mannerisms in front of her.

“Then let this court be your stage, Jester.” She replied, her expression neutral.

He knelt down again, pressing a fist to the frozen floor, he whispered, “I will not let you down.”

***

Later that night, in the candle-lit quiet of her private chambers.

They stood before a great frostbound map of Teyvat. On the map, seven symbols marked all of the Archons’ thrones.

“We need the Gnoses,” she said, her eyes running around the map, scanning. “All of them.”

Pierro’s eyes gleamed, “To unseat Celestia’s authority?”

“Yes,” she said with fervency and a hardened voice, “and to melt this cursed heart of mine,” she said, “To reclaim my ideal. To love again, but this time, not under their rules, but mine. ”

He stepped closer to her, “Then I will move heaven and earth for you.” She turned around to meet his eyes, he held her hand and whispered, “I will tear down kings. I will charm monsters. I will forge an army of blades and broken things. I’ll make a nation out of grief and loyalty.”

He kissed her forehead and leaned his against hers. He whispered in a softer voice, “I’ll give you the world you deserve.”

She closed her eyes.

“I won’t ask for your heart again,” he added, “not until it’s yours to give, but until then, let my love for you be your weapon. Let me be the shadow behind your frozen throne.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t send him away, either. They just stood there, foreheads touching, eyes closed, hands holding each other in the blanketed quiet of that snowy night.

***

It began with whispers, frostbitten contracts and crimson seals.

Pierro gathered those like himself: the scarred, the powerful, and those willing to sin for a higher cause.

Hence, the Fatui Organization was born.

They would be harbingers of change. Of defiance.

The court changed little by little. Zapolyarny Palace became colder and sharper.

Changes were abound but her people were protected more than ever before.

Because even if the Tsaritsa no longer loved them, she still cared . And that, Pierro believed, meant her heart was still reachable, buried underneath the ice.

Chapter Text

“Are you…” Mavuika hesitated to ask, “...referring to Pierro?” Her voice was low.

The Tsaritsa nodded in confirmation, smiling faintly. She looked down on her lap, not wanting to make any eye contact.

“I loved him. Truly . And he….”he gave me the stars in return. Unfortunately, Celestia condemned our love…and they took it from me .”

Mavuika stared at her. Horror etched on her face, “That’s… cruel.”

“It is,” the Tsaritsa whispered. “And he knows. He knows , but he won’t say anything. He stays loyal and dutiful, yet I know we are both dying inside.”

Tears finally slipped down her cheeks. Her hands reached out, shaking, and Mavuika took them.

“That’s why I want you to seize the moment,” the Tsaritsa begged. “Love Capitano with everything . Even the annoying parts: the silence, the waiting, the scars, the small moments.”

Her voice broke entirely.

“ Hold him tight. Never let him go.”

“I won’t,” Mavuika said, barely above a whisper.

The Tsaritsa quickly wiped a tear rolling down her cheek, her voice trembling like thin ice. “Appreciate every second, because…you still can,” she looked away, eyes glassy with tears being held back, “Unlike me... I can’t even smile at Pierro the way I used to. And he…he pretends not to care, but I know. I know it breaks him.”

A silence fell between them. Mavuika swallowed, then asked, “Is that why you’re collecting the Gnoses?”

The Tsaritsa slowly nodded.

“I want to stop Celestia, because if they can take this away from me , they can take anything away from anyone . No one would be safe. Not you, not Capitano, not even the people .”

“And you want me to help you…”

“I want your fire,” the Tsaritsa said, her voice steely now. “I want to burn down the false heaven that punished me for loving someone just because they think I shouldn’t have.”

She looked into Mavuika’s eyes with pleading, tear-washed intensity.

“Please help me. Please help me go back to him.”

Mavuika was silent for a moment. Then she nodded, smiling.

“I will.”

The Tsaritsa let out a breath, then wrapped her arms around Mavuika in a rare, desperate embrace. Her cold skin trembled against the Pyro Archon’s warmth.

Then came a soft knock at the door.

The Tsaritsa pulled away slowly, smoothing her face back to a composed mask.

“Come in.”

Pierro stepped into the room, his posture regal and unreadable. His single star-shaped cerulean eye swept the room briefly, landing on Mavuika, then on his queen.

“Your majesty, the quarters for Lady Mavuika’s stay are now ready,” he said, head bowed in submission. Then he turned to Mavuika, “Lady Mavuika, should you require anything, please do not hesitate to request it.”

“Thank you,” Mavuika said kindly.

He turned again to his queen and nodded once at her, “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Pierro. You may go now.” She smiled at him.

He bowed, “Yes, my lady.” And just like that, he was gone.

The Tsaritsa’s face crumbled as the door closed behind him. A choked sob gave way as hundreds of years of longing and melancholy finally broke through her.

Mavuika reached over, gently patting her shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay.” Mavuika whispered.

The Tsaritsa leaned into her, broken and unguarded for the first time in centuries. And in that warm sitting room on a secluded wing of the frost-wrapped palace, flame and frost sat together—not as rivals, not even as Archons.

But as women. As hearts. As survivors.