> Muna

>

> Moo−nah

>

> Type: Noun

>

> Meaning: In a world with nine moons, "Muna" refers to both an individual moon and the concept of a month. A "Muna" is the period during which one of the nine moons completes its cycle, approximately 44 days.

A void of impenetrable darkness engulfed Yeso, save for the faint sensation of water sloshing beneath his feet—a muted experience, oddly soundless. It was as though reality had been dialled down to zero. Even the rise and fall of his own chest felt eerily absent from his awareness.

"Am I dreaming?" he wondered, his thoughts swirling in the black ether like fading echoes. It did smell like a dream.

Drawn by an inexplicable yearning, he moved toward a dim flicker of light ahead. It grew brighter as he approached until it unveiled its source: a young girl standing before him. She was not just any girl; she wore the Crown of the Sun. The headpiece was a stunning sculpture of golden stag horns, arcing and intertwining to resemble the rays of the sun. An intricately crafted golden blindfold shielded her eyes, a metallic veil of otherworldly beauty.

He knew that crown. He knew it too well. It was his crown.

Yet, incongruently, her attire was a portrait of deprivation and servitude—rags clinging to her form, sullied with sweat and tinged with blue blood stains. She wore the marks and scars of someone who had been tortured for Fall after Fall. Her hair of shimmering diamond strands mirrored Yeso's own.

"Who are you?" Yeso blurted out, his voice breaking the silence.

As if caught in a spell, the girl repeated his words in perfect unison, "Who are you?"

Intrigued, he cautiously extended his hand, watching her replicate his every move until her hand met his, palm to palm. It felt as though he were pressing against a cold, ethereal mirror.

Driven by an instinct he couldn't comprehend, Yeso ran his fingers through his hair. The girl mimicked his movement, her hand coursing through her own radiant strands with uncanny precision.

"Who are you?" Yeso inquired once more.

"Who are you?" she echoed back, and then she asked, "Am I Yeso?”

With a jolt, Yeso snapped awake, realizing his head had lolled onto Jear's broad shoulder. Blinking away the fog of the dream, Yeso almost raised his hands to rub his eyes, but the tactile memory of thin fabric against his skin reminded him he had blindfolded himself.

Yeso tightened the cool handkerchief against his eyes. He wasn’t blind; he could see through the fabric. It wasn't just a piece of cloth, but it was a necessary safeguard for Noctavia and him.

Hexe’s distance or emotional strain between them could result in debilitating physical symptoms. The blindfold acted as a temporary buffer, disrupting the tangible connection between them and dulling the sensory links that could otherwise wreak havoc on their well-being.

Usually, he would employ this tactic to save them both from the nausea and fatigue that accompanied long separations. But today, as the ship drew closer to Whitestone, Yeso had another motive. He wanted to shield Noctavia from the emotional tempest that might unravel him upon setting foot on the Capitol.

Whitestone wasn't just another mission; it was a place teeming with old wounds, long-buried memories, and unfinished business with Veilla. After all, he had broken the heart of his Dame.

As he sat there on the deck, straightening up, he tried to salvage some dignity by discreetly wiping his mouth on his sleeve while simultaneously brushing it against Jear's robe.

"How was your nap, princess?" Jear's voice oozed with playful sarcasm.

"I had the strangest dream. I think... I was a girl."

The tiefling burst out in uncontrollable laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh, this is priceless! I never saw that coming!" he exclaimed, barely able to contain his amusement. "You, in a dress, would be quite the sight! Honestly, I never imagined you'd even consider it, but it's definitely a hilarious thought. Just imagine the expression on Redfred's face!" Jaer tried to stifle his laughter, placing a hand over his mouth, while Redfred from the other side of the deck observed the scene, one eyebrow raised in bemusement.

"Me neither," Yeso admitted, still somewhat disoriented by the residual images of the dream.

Jear gestured toward Yeso's blindfold. "You think you can take that off now? Do you really think that blindfold will help? We've been sailing for hours."

Yeso turned his head in the direction of Jaer's voice and shrugged.

"And you're sure you want to go through with this? Your Hexe will be furious."

Yeso sighed. "I know. I'll handle her fury when the time comes."

Jear shook his head. "You've got nerves of steel, Commander. I wouldn't dare cross that woman."

"It's for her own good," Yeso repeated more to convince himself than Jaer. “She’ll forgive me.” He stood up and stretched his arms above his head, feeling his vertebrae realign with satisfying pops. "How much longer till we reach the Capitol?"

Jear squinted at the horizon. "Half a day, give or take."

The deck beneath them creaked as the ship surged forward, riding the waves. Yeso took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the briny scent of the sea, punctuated by the tang of salty air.

Jaer pushed off the bench and made his way to the ship's railing, gripping it with both hands. "So, what did you look like in this dream?"

Joining Jaer, Yeso leaned against the railing, letting his weight rest momentarily on Jaer's shoulder. "Small. Petit perhaps. I felt so small, not like myself."

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"Well, you aren't small at all!" Jaer chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. "That's not like you at all. I'd have imagined you as a woman with... well, ample attributes. Yes, let's call it 'attributes.'"

"You're talking about boobs, aren't you, Magi Jaer? Since when do you concern yourself with such... 'attributes?’"

"Just because I don't share my peers' common fixation doesn't mean I can't appreciate their aesthetic qualities. You're tall and fit; if you were a woman, those traits would likely translate into a more... buxom appearance." Jaer burst into laughter again, clearly pleased with his own logic.

But Yeso's expression sobered. "No, I was small in the dream, and I felt hurt and hungry... utterly alone. And... angry... I felt so much hate, so much rage, like never before."

"That doesn't sound like you at all!" Jaer's levity faded, replaced by a more serious demeanour. "That sounds more like a nightmare than a dream."

Yeso sighed, pushing the lingering images to the back of his mind. "It was unsettling, but I shouldn't dwell on it. I need to focus on... whatever task at hand. We're nearing Whitestone, and I need to figure out what I'm going to say when we get there."

"So what's the plan, Commander?" Jaer asked, shifting to a more concerned tone.

"We'll know soon enough," he said, more to himself than to Jaer. "We'll know soon enough."

The tiefling broke the brief silence before it had a chance to settle between them. "Look, as long as we get in, return those accursed spiders, and get out, we should be good. No need for unnecessary complications."

"I thought you'd be excited to take in the sights, Jaja," Yeso said, his words laced with a playful tone.

Jaer shrugged. "I'm not here for a scenic tour. We've got a mission, and that's what matters." Yet even as he said it, Yeso could sense a slight flush creeping into Jaer's already red skin.

"Are you sure you're not interested in some of the... Elven vistas?" Yeso nudged him with a grin.

Jaer rolled his eyes. "Elven or not, I have—"

"Silver hair?" Yeso interjected, cutting him off, the teasing overtaking his voice, "lustrous pale skin, alluring green eyes..."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"And a broomstick permanently lodged in his royal a—"

Jaer cut him off. "Finnegan doesn't have a broomstick up his royal rear, okay? He's... nice."

"Nice?" Yeso raised an eyebrow. "That's the last word I'd use to describe the Elven King!"

"I'm not talking about his personality, you oaf," Jaer said, giving Yeso a sidelong glance.

The Commander chuckled. "Oh, you mean he's that kind of 'nice.' So, on a scale of one to Jaja, how nice are we talking?"

The tiefling smirked. "He's definitely nicer than you."

Yeso feigned a gasp, clutching his chest. "Ah, my Menschen manhood has just been shattered by my best friend for a cocky elf!"

"Does your Hexe complain about your niceness?"

"No, not at all. She never did, and she never will. Because I’m not nice, I’m… very gifted."

"Well, she was always a very modest woman. And I'm not like her. I like more abundant niceness." Jaer shot back, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. “Very gifted... yeah, sure. I have seen you naked… it’s rather modest compared to— You really should check on Finnegan. It is hu—”

"Ouch!" Yeso exaggerated his response, clutching his chest theatrically.

It made the Magi snort. "Stop being so dramatic, Commander!"

Switching to a more earnest tone, "Just be cautious, alright? If Finnegan is at Whitestone, you need to watch your back. And if anyone—"

Jaer didn’t let him finish. "Yeso, I know how to be discreet; I've been doing it my entire life."

"I know you have, but it shouldn't have to be that way. One day, things will change, and you won't have to look over your shoulder. You'll be free to love whomever you choose, no matter the sex and no matter the race… no matter the blood."

Jaer chuckled bitterly. "I'll believe that when I see you transformed into a damsel in distress with no boobs."

"One day," Yeso said softly, placing his hand over Jaer's. "And if that day comes, that 'decent guy' better make you really happy with his niceness. Otherwise, he's going to have to answer to my Hexe."

Jaer winced. "Now, that is a truly terrifying thought."

"I take care of my own," Yeso said, his eyes locking onto Jaer's as if to underscore the point, "I know how to use the weapons I hold, and my Hexe is the scariest I have!"

Jaer nodded, "I know you do, Commander. I know."

"Speaking of which, where did Redfred go? He was there in front of us." Yeso pointed to a specific point in the deck that was now vacant.

Jaer smirked. "Oh, he's probably off somewhere, hatching one of his elaborate plots and hating everything that is not dignifying to be a Menschen!"

Yeso chuckled at Jaer's assessment of Redfred. "Yeah, he has a particular knack for creating political drama."

Jaer's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression amused but still concerned. "When you put it that way, it makes me wonder why he's with us. Especially paired with Muru, who is a sponge of any of his words. I don't like the combination."

Yeso leaned back against the railing, "I've had similar reservations. But we need to present a united front, especially now. Our best play is to keep them close. At least this way, we can keep an eye on them."

Jaer nodded. "So, you're subscribing to the 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer' philosophy?"

"Why not?" Yeso confirmed. "And despite our differences, I have to admit Redfred has a grasp on certain aspects of law and protocol that even I find bewildering. He knows how to navigate bureaucratic mazes, which could come in handy."

Jaer took a deep breath as if digesting what he couldn't deny was true. "I suppose that makes sense. But what about Muru?"

Yeso sighed. "Talk to him when you get a chance. He is just a kid. We can't afford internal strife right now. Muru should see both sides of the coin and understand what's at stake here."

Jaer looked back at Yeso, his eyes serious, "Alright, I'll do it. I trust you know what you are doing, Commander. I just don’t see this kid…"

“What?”

“I think it was a mistake to give Muru the Black Robe. But I trust you.”

Yeso gave Jaer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I usually do, don't I?"

"Says the man with a blindfold on his face because he is about to meet his ex!"

"Don't say it like that!"

"What other way can I say it?"

"Nicely?"

A smirk tugged at the corners of Jaer's mouth. "Nicely? You're asking me, of all people, to put it 'nicely?'"

"Yes, well, one can hope," Yeso retorted, his voice tinged with faux indignation.

Jaer chuckled, his laughter melding with the distant cries of seabirds and the creak of the ship's timbers. "Fine, let's put it this way: You're a man of grand strategies but wearing a blindfold because you're about to encounter... a significant person from your past… you know what I mean."

Yeso sighed, momentarily disarmed by his friend's eloquence with sarcasm. "When you put it that way, Jaja, it sounds almost poetic."

"Only almost?"

"Let's not push it," Yeso warned, grinning despite himself.

Jaer's laughter softened, and he looked at his friend with an expression that trod the line between amusement and earnestness. "All I'm saying is, don't let the past unnerve you. You're not the same man you were, and she's not the same woman. People change."

"Yes, they do," Yeso admitted.

Jaer nodded, his eyes meeting Yeso's blindfolded gaze as he could see straight through it. "For all you know, she might have forgiven you."

Yeso felt the weight of Jaer's words settling in, mixing with his own suspicions. "You're right," he said, not very convinced. "Maybe she has."

"That's the spirit," Jaer said, clapping him lightly on the back, “Is good to admit when one is seriously fucked!”

> Contrary to what many might presume, the commonality between humans and elves isn't a shared prejudice against same-sex unions. Time and again, history has shown us couples of the same sex thriving. It's a revelation that emerges with clarity upon closer examination of love stories, both celebrated and secret. The true crucible of prejudice—be it among elves or humans—is not whom one loves but the purity of one's bloodline. Both races, it seems, harbour a deeply rooted belief in the sanctity of their lineage. An elf or human may choose a partner freely within the confines of their kind, love unrestrained by gender, so long as the partner reflects the expected blood heritage and appearance. It's a poignant reflection on the ancient values that still dictate the boundaries of love and acceptance in our world. Now imagine how the world would react if a High elf with green blood fell in love with a simple Tiefling with blue blood. Different race, different blood and both male—it was never meant to have an happy ending. ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune