Bygone - II

“If the moon still existed,” the old man says, his voice calm and measured, “it would have been an Amavasya two nights ago.”

I frown, my mind racing. Amavasya—the night of the new moon. He’s already explained it, but the words don’t quite sit right. For a second, his statement doesn’t make sense. The moon, that symbol of ancient stories and cycles, is gone. Has been for ages. The sky is now just an empty canvas, a dark void where light once lived.

Then, like a bolt of clarity, it hits me. Two nights ago. That’s when I saw it—the lightning. A flash so sudden and bright, it briefly illuminated the night, cutting through the darkness like a thin crack in the air. I hadn’t known what it was then, only that it was something I couldn’t explain, a sharp flash that felt out of place, as if the world had shifted for a moment.

My heart skips a beat as the pieces fall into place. I turn to the old man, my voice trembling slightly, and ask, “So… the things that happened—they’re connected to the moon?” I try to steady myself, to make sense of this new layer of truth he’s revealing. “But the moon’s been gone for ages. How’s that possible?”

The old man’s lips quirk into a faint smile, though it isn’t a reassuring one. It’s the smile of someone who has seen the world unravel and has learned to see beyond the surface. “It’s not the moon itself,” he clarifies, his tone deliberate, as though he’s teaching a child to understand the delicate complexities of the universe. “The events aren’t directly tied to it. They’re connected to the two nights I mentioned—Amavasya and Purnima. Even without the moon, those nights still carry their significance.”

I blink, my brow furrowing in disbelief. It feels like I’m missing something crucial, something fundamental. “But how can that be?” I press, my frustration growing with every passing second. “The moon is gone—destroyed. If it doesn’t exist, how can events associated with it still happen? That doesn’t make any sense!” The words feel like a plea for understanding, an attempt to grasp at something far beyond my current reality.

He stops walking and turns fully toward me, his eyes no longer twinkling with amusement. Instead, there’s a depth to his gaze, an intensity that almost feels… too much. As if he can see through me, as if my questions are not just simple inquiries but a challenge to everything he knows.

“Child,” he says, his voice dropping lower, becoming more commanding, “there’s much more to this world—and the universe—than your mind can comprehend. The moon may be gone, but its influence, its legacy, is not so easily erased. You see only what is in front of you. But reality…” He gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass something vast and unfathomable. “Reality is not so simple.”

I feel a shiver run through me. The weight of his words settles on my shoulders like a heavy cloak, wrapping around me, constricting me. The universe isn’t just what I see with my eyes. It’s more—infinitely more. But how am I supposed to understand that? How am I supposed to even begin to grasp the immensity of something that isn’t confined to what I know?

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Before I can respond, a frustrated question escapes my lips. “What kind of phenomena?” I blurt, my voice sharp now, my frustration spilling over. “What am I supposed to be looking for? You can’t just keep telling me that something strange is happening without giving me more to go on!”

He chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it—just an almost condescending calmness. “You can find out for yourself, if you want to,” he says cryptically, his words like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into place. “After all, something strange is happening very close to you already.”

I clench my fists at my sides, anger flaring inside me. “Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “You keep beating around the bush, dropping hints, and I’m just supposed to figure it all out by myself?” I pace in a small circle, the restlessness in me growing by the second. How can he be so calm when everything inside me is screaming for answers?

The old man raises an eyebrow, his face remaining impossibly composed. He smiles, as if amused by my outburst, and yet there’s a glimmer of something else in his expression. Perhaps he finds my impatience… entertaining? “I’ve already told you too much,” he says, his voice light but firm. “You’re an impatient one, aren’t you? Always in a rush. If I handed you all the answers now, what would you even do with them?”

I open my mouth to retort, but he raises his hand in a quiet gesture to stop me. “Relax, girl,” he says, his voice gentle but carrying the weight of unspoken authority. “You’ll get there. And besides…” He leans in slightly, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievousness, “I thought you enjoyed a good mystery.”

I scowl at him, my teeth gritted, trying not to let his teasing get under my skin. “Stop playing with me,” I mutter, but he only smiles wider, shaking his head as if I’m an amusing riddle he has yet to solve.

He sighs in mock exasperation. “Fine,” he says after a beat, clearly enjoying the power he has over my frustration. “Since you’re not going to let it go, I’ll just say this: I won’t give you any more answers. It’s not my place to hand you everything you need. But…” He pauses, watching my face carefully. “You’re clever. You’ll figure it out. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you will.”

I cross my arms, my irritation simmering beneath the surface, but his words, more than anything else, strike something deep within me. A flicker of determination sparks in my chest.

“Fine,” I mutter, more to myself than to him, my voice low but firm. “Since you’re not going to tell me anything useful, I’ll find out everything on my own. I’ll figure it out, with or without your help.”

He grins, his expression shifting from that of a knowing observer to something more approving. “Good,” he says, his voice laced with satisfaction. “That’s the spirit. Let’s see how far you get.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the fire of challenge ignite within me. His cryptic riddles, his maddening smirks—they only fuel my resolve. I have no idea what the old man is hinting at, but I can’t shake the feeling that everything—the lightning, the strange events, the words he’s said—are connected in a way that I haven’t even begun to understand.

“I’ll uncover the damned phenomenon,” I murmur, more to myself than to him, my voice steady now with a quiet promise. The world around me feels different—charged with potential. This isn’t just a passing curiosity. This is a mystery that has taken root deep inside me.

“I’ll solve the mystery of the lightning flash and the footprint,” I vow, my voice gaining strength with each word. “No matter what it takes.”

The old man doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I can almost hear the silent approval in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turns and begins to walk away, his movements as slow and deliberate as ever.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing. There’s something more happening here. Something connected to the moon, to the strange flashes of lightning, to the mysteries I haven’t even begun to uncover. I will solve it. I have to.

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