Chapter 3

First Blood

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Childhood amnesia.

They say that people typically forget everything before the age of three or four. But that rule never applied to me. My earliest memory goes back to the very moment of my birth.

I don’t remember much from it, just fleeting impressions — but the image of my mother’s emerald eyes remains crystal clear. She cradled me gently, her expression serene and filled with warmth, as if she were made of kindness itself. What stands out the most is her hair — it was white, not from age. Perhaps she had dyed it, or maybe it was the result of a genetic anomaly, a condition called oculocutaneous albinism. Whatever the cause, it gave her an ethereal beauty. In my newborn mind, she appeared angelic, a vision of purity and love.

Yet that moment would be both my first and last memory of her. She died shortly after bringing me into this world. I recall the weight of her absence even then, not as an infant could comprehend loss, but as a void, a sudden stillness. My father held the both of us — her lifeless body in his arms and me, still breathing — while tears streamed down his face, falling gently onto my own. Each drop felt like it carried the sorrow of a lifetime condensed into a single heartbeat.

The next memory I can summon comes from preschool. There, I made my very first friend — a boy of my exact height, though I can no longer remember how or why we became so inseparable. From the moment we met, we were drawn together, as if by some invisible thread. Once, during a trip to the beach with my father, I stumbled upon him purely by chance. It was a coincidence so perfect it felt fated. We spent the day playing in the sand, lost in the carefree joy of children, and he even invited me to his second birthday party later that week.

But these moments are all I can recall from those months — a scattered collection of warmth and loss, etched deeply but irregularly, like stars in a night sky. And then there is that memory, which brought to an end that life.

It was long past my bedtime, and I had already drifted into sleep for over two hours when he came. I sensed him before I saw him — silent, but trembling with urgency. His eyes, burning a vivid, unnatural red, like twin embers. Though his footsteps were cautious, almost soundless, they carried a weight of desperation that hung heavily in the air, a kind of restless fear that made the night itself feel suddenly fragile.

Then, he scooped me up from bed, holding me tightly in his arms, my head resting against his shoulder. His breathing was quick and shallow, his body tense, as if every second could give rise to some unseen threat. Without hesitation, he ran down the stairs.

He fumbled with the car door, yanked it open, and placed me in the passenger seat before sliding in behind the wheel. His hands trembled as they gripped the key, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He twisted the ignition — once, twice, over and over again — but the car remained lifeless. No sputter, no flicker of hope — just oppressive silence, as if the very essence of the machine had been drained away. It sat there, inert and unyielding, like a corpse refusing to stir.

Frustration building beneath the surface, but then he forced himself to stop. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly, deeply, and let the air out in a controlled exhale, as though steadying himself for one final attempt. His hand clenched around the key, this time with iron determination, as if sheer will alone could force back life into the dead machine.

With a sharp twist of the wrist, the key turned one last time — and, against all odds, the engine roared to life.

The sudden roar of the engine shattered the oppressive silence, filling the night with a thunderous hum. He exhaled sharply, relief momentarily washing over him, though the tension never fully left his body. Without wasting a second, he slammed the car into gear, the tires screeching against the floor as we lurched forward, plunging into the darkness beyond.

No sooner had we left the garage than the sounds began. At first, they were distant — faint wails carried by the wind, distorted and warped, as though rising from the depths of a nightmare. But soon they swelled, crashing over us like waves. It was the sound of human anguish — thousands, maybe more — voices twisted in desperation, pleading for help, screaming in terror.

And then I saw it: the monolithic skyscrapers, those gleaming testaments to human progress, crumbling like sandcastles. One by one, they toppled, metal and glass colliding with the ground in rubble avalanches, sending colossal clouds of dust and debris rolling through the streets. The earth itself trembled violently beneath us, the asphalt cracking like brittle bones. It felt as if the tectonic plates under the city were at war, grinding mercilessly against one another, shaking the foundations of everything that stood above.

To this day, I’ve never known if what I witnessed that night was real — or some grotesque hallucination born of fear and confusion. Whenever I tried to ask my father about it, his expression would harden, and he’d deflect the question, as though even mentioning it was off-limits. I had my own theories — maybe it was a natural disaster: a high-magnitude earthquake, a tsunami, a meteor tearing through the sky, or a hurricane of apocalyptic proportions. Or perhaps it was something man-made: the first volley in a war, with bombs toppling buildings and snuffing out lives like flickering candles.

As we hurtled through the city, my father had to swerve constantly, narrowly avoiding obstacles that seemed to rise out of nowhere. I couldn’t tell what they were — shadowy figures darting through the streets, maybe panicked people running for their lives. Yet, strangely, every car we passed stood motionless, as though paralyzed in place. It was as if time had frozen for everyone except us.

The deeper we drove into the city, the more surreal everything became. Shadows twisted in the corners of my vision — people, or maybe something else, darting just out of sight. Each turn felt like a plunge into the unknown, and every second stretched long and thin.

I looked up, hoping for some reassurance, but his eyes were locked on the road. His face was a mask of concentration, jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might shatter. He muttered to himself, words I couldn’t catch, like he was trying to convince himself that we would make it.

Suddenly, the road ahead fractured, a massive crack splitting the asphalt like a scar. My father cursed under his. The tires shrieked in protest, but the car obeyed, narrowly missing the jagged chasm. For a brief moment, we were airborne, the car leaping off before slamming back down with a bone-rattling jolt.

Ahead of us, the road began to slope upward, leading to the outskirts of the city. Beyond the rise lay the highway — a thin lifeline stretching into the wilderness beyond. If we could just make it to that open road, we might outrun whatever nightmare was consuming the city behind us.

And then, finally, we left. The city that had once been our home — now a smoldering ruin of shattered steel and dust — faded behind us, swallowed by the night. But even when it disappeared from sight, my father didn’t slow down. He only eased off when we neared the outskirts of a smaller, quieter city — one untouched by the chaos we’d fled.

We parked just outside the city limits, where no one would notice us. From there, we ventured on foot. I followed in silence, clutching his sleeve, as we moved like ghosts through the unfamiliar streets, avoiding crowds, staying in the margins. We never stayed anywhere long. One city after the other, a constant shift from highways to motels, from unfamiliar faces to strange alleys. No city felt like a destination, they were all fleeting places to pass through, like dots on a map with no end in sight.

Even as a child, I could tell something was wrong. I felt in my father’s hurried steps, in the way he scanned our surroundings with wary eyes, and in the heavy, unspoken tension that hung between us like a curtain we both feared to part.

After days — or maybe weeks — of drifting from place to place, the questions began to build inside of me, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. One night, as we sat parked in an abandoned gas station, my small voice finally broke the silence.

“Where are we going?” — Already knowing deep down the answer wouldn’t make a difference. He didn’t look at me right away. His eyes stayed on the windshield, where raindrops slid down in crooked paths. Finally, a long and weary breath.

“On a trip, my princess.” — It was a lie, fragile and thin, spoken more for my comfort than his own. But at that age, I didn’t know how to tell the difference. I still believed — the way children believed in fairy tales.

The nagging thought that had sat heavy in my chest since we left finally surfacing.

“Remember my friend from kindergarten… Could we bring him with us?”

He looked away.

“Unfortunately, no.”

The words careful, as though speaking them hurt.

“Maybe… Maybe we can call him on your birthday, my princess.”

The hollow promise felt like a pebble tossed into the ocean, lost before it even touched the surface. I stared at him for a long moment, my chest tight with unspoken confusion and sadness, before asking the only question he truly didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Then… Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

This time, he didn’t answer right away. For a moment I thought he wouldn’t respond at all. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel, his eyes distant, as if he were looking at something far beyond the windshield — something only he could see.

He spoke as if he were confessing a secret not just to me, but to himself.

“I should be honest with you.” — He paused, choosing his words carefully.

“I don’t quite know yet.”

He continued slowly, as if he was only just realizing the truth of his own words.

“There… Something I need to find. A nagging sensation in the back of my mind — a thread I have to follow, or a piece of the puzzle that’s missing. I don’t know what it is yet… But I think that’s where I need to go.”

That haunted look lingered in his red diamond eyes, the look of someone chasing after something just beyond reach. But even then, I did nothing. I only followed him, day after day, across countless miles and nameless cities, a silent companion for whatever remained unknown to him.

Until, finally, we stopped. It was a secluded forest, vast and thick, tucked so far from civilization it felt like we’d left the world behind entirely. My father didn’t tell me where we were or why he’d chosen this place, only that we’d be living here from now on.

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Over the following weeks, he threw himself into work with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Day and night, he toiled relentlessly, hammering, sawing, and shaping the forest itself into something new. He was building a home, though to call it a “home” seemed almost too small a word for the mansion that rose steadily from the earth. Its towering walls and grand rooms were more than I could have imagined, an enormous structure somehow pulled from the ground by my father’s sheer will.

But it was more than that — his speed and strength bordered on inhuman. No ordinary person could have worked alone to build something so large, so intricate, and with such impossible speed. I watched in awe and in something else — an unease I couldn’t yet name. It felt as though I were watching someone possessed, a man who had drawn strength from somewhere beyond the world of humanity. And all of it was for me.

Yet, it all felt strange. Mysterious, even. During the construction, he often left the house, returning with things I’d never seen before: luxurious furniture, rare materials, intricate machinery — all brought back in a really huge truck. He never explained where they came from or how he acquired them without money. And then there was the food, which he hunted himself. Deer, boar, sometimes even bigger animals.

As my first birthday approached, I could sense his resolve intensify. He grew quieter, more focused, as if his very life depended on completing the house by then. And, as if against all odds, he finished one week early. But instead of resting, he immediately began assembling machines I didn’t yet understand — solar panels to capture the sun’s energy, refrigerators, freezers, washing machines, and a heating system to warm the vast, empty rooms of our new home. My father, I realized, was not just a determined man. He was a genius. Somehow, he had managed to construct an entire haven in the middle of a forest, powered by technology he designed himself.

And then, at last, the day I’d been waiting for arrived — my birthday. I had clung to a promise my father made me during those first days of our journey, a promise he had probably forgotten but that I had cherished as though it were a precious talisman. He had told me my friend was coming to my first birthday. Over and over, I had reminded him, asking if he would invite him, if my friend knew where to find us. I wanted to believe, with a child’s fierce and unyielding hope, that I would see him again.

But as the day stretched on, my heart began to sink. The forest around our home remained silent, the path untouched by any visitors. Even when the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the ground, I kept waiting, clutching at that fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would appear.

I can’t quite explain what I felt then — it was as if the emptiness swallowed me whole. Something cold and hollow expanded inside my chest, a strange, painful numbness that dulled even the ache of disappointment. Part of me had known all along he wouldn’t come, that he couldn’t. Whatever had happened to our home, whatever nightmare we had escaped from, I sensed now that my friend hadn’t survived. I didn’t need to be told, I simply knew, as though the knowledge had been growing in the corners of my mind, waiting for this exact moment to reveal itself.

I wanted my father to say something, to soothe the pain or give me some reason to believe otherwise. But he stayed silent, watching me with an expression like he couldn’t understand me. He had been hoping I wouldn’t realize it yet. And in that silence, it dawned on me that perhaps we’d been both been lying to ourselves, clinging to the illusion that some part of our old life might still be intact. But now, that illusion has shattered, leaving only the raw, aching truth in its place.

My father finally broke the silence, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking at me with a rare tenderness.

“I see you need friends. There is a town nearby, with a school. I’m sure you’ll be able to make new friends there. When you get older, I’ll enroll you.”

I stared at him, his words barely registering through the thick haze of disappointment and loss. The idea of new friends, of meeting others and letting them into the space my friend once occupied, felt impossible. It was like trying to imagine colors I’d never seen, things that never existed. A school? A town? They seemed so distant, unreachable concepts now, mere shadows against the towering trees of our secluded world.

“I also have something to tell you.” — he added, his voice taking on a tone I hadn’t heard before. There was something final, almost urgent, in the way he spoke, as though he were confessing something he could no longer keep hidden.

“To guarantee our future, I will start to work in another city.”

I blinked, trying to understand, but the words seemed to slip through my grasp, like sand slipping through my fingers.

“What…?” — I managed, my voice trembling.

It was all too much — the isolation, the loss, the uncertainty that had followed us through every dark road and silent city. My friend was gone, the life we’d once known was gone, and now my father was telling me something else would change. It was like standing in the middle of a vast, unfamiliar ocean, with no land in sight, no bearings to cling to, only the endless waves pulling me further and further from everything I’d ever known.

“That is why you were so eager to build this house? To leave me?!”

The moment stretched, thick and silent. My father’s face was unreadable, his gaze flickering with something I couldn’t quite name.

“No, my princess. I built this house to keep you safe.

This place… It’s meant to be a sanctuary for you.”

I couldn’t understand how his words could possibly make sense. How could an empty house in the middle of nowhere feel like anything close to safety? My thoughts churned, each question too big for words, tangled in my chest as I tried to understand.

“I’m leaving because I have to.

But you… You need a life beyond this forest. You’ll go to school. You’ll make friends. And when I come back, I want you to tell me all about it.”

I stared at him.

“When will you come back?”

The question lingered between us. His expression softened.

“I will come visit you often, every week or so, however, if there is need of it, it might take longer to return.”

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The thought of him leaving… In the weeks we’d spent here, hidden from the outside world, the forest had become my entire world — a vast, quiet place filled with black dust and skeletal trees. It felt endless, stretching far beyond what I could see. And yet, standing in this house my father had built, surrounded by walls he fortified with his own hands, I felt more alone than I ever had before.

The following days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next as he made his final preparations. He was constantly working on the house, adjusting this and repairing that, ensuring that every inch of it was secured. He even installed a complex air filtration system, designed to keep the black dust from seeping in, it was toxic to breathe large quantities of it.

At night, he would sit beside me, explaining in simple terms how the machinery worked, or how the heaters would keep the rooms warm through the frigid temperature outside. His face was calm, almost detached, as if he were just explaining another part of the project.

He felt distant and cold. Maybe it was how I began viewing him after what he had said yesterday, or maybe he truly had changed overnight. It seemed as though he wanted me to grow less dependent on his presence. As if my attachment was a burden.

I knew he cared for me. After all he had built this house, our new home, just for us. But I couldn’t help but feel abandoned, like he was giving up. Like he’d rather leave and pretend he never had a daughter.

I didn’t say a single word the day he left, just sat in silence and stared out the window as he drove away, disappearing into the darkness. For the rest of the day, I stayed in my room, refusing to leave, not wanting to acknowledge the emptiness around me. It was the beginning of a solitude that would become as familiar as my own shadow.

He did visit me every weekend, but each time, it was the same — a brief greeting, a polite conversation, and a hurried goodbye. Sometimes, I wondered if he even wanted to see me at all. Each time, I wished he would stay longer, or talk about the things that were really important, but he never did.

However, after a few months, his presence in my life would only decrease further. Once, he didn’t appear the entirety of a weekend, and when he finally did, he was only able to give excuses for himself, that it wouldn’t happen again.

Then, two months later, the visits suddenly stopped. At first, I tried to ignore it, hoping it was temporary. Maybe there was some problem arising at work, but as the days stretched into weeks… I should be more selfish and accept that he might not want my presence in his life anymore, but a part of me can only worry — What if something had happened to him?

When the frozen food began to empty, he appeared, as if nothing had ever happened. He was carrying a large cardboard box and placed it on the table. He took a deep breath and opened the box, revealing a large amount of canned goods and other food items.

“I’m sorry, but I still have a lot of work to do.” — He apologized.

“I will return every month to bring you food.”

His eyes met mine, and he looked away. In the past, I might’ve wanted us to leave this forest. Now, however, I wish he would stay, that we could go back to the way things were before. But even as the thoughts entered my head, I knew that was impossible. Our old life was gone, and even this new life was already slipping away.

I watched as he put the boxes on the ground, and went back into the car. Without looking at me, he turned the key and drove away. As the dust from his departure settled, an eerie silence draped over the forest. I waited by the window long after he’d disappeared from view, hoping against all reason that he might turn around, that his taillights would flicker back through the trees, offering one last glimpse of his reassuring presence. But, of course, he didn’t.

The days became a blur, the quiet broken only by the ticking of the clock in the hallway. Every tick seemed to echo like a heartbeat, reminding me that time continued to pass, despite the stillness that hung in the air.

Then… During the beginning of each month, he visited me. Bringing the monthly provisions. However, around two years after we moved to the forest, I would wait for him by the door, for him to arrive… However, there was no knock on the door, only a buzzing sound coming from outside. When I opened the door, there were the monthly provisions, brought by a flying drone.

I stared at it. The whir of its mechanical wings buzzed in my ears, feeling alien against the dead forest. It hovered a moment longer before retracting its robotic arm, releasing the package at my feet. The red light on its face blinked once, and then, without so much as a farewell hum, it vanished into the gray sky above the trees.

I dragged the package inside. This was different. Until now, even if he visited less frequently, my father still visited. But the drone — cold, unfeeling — was a silent declaration. It felt final, as though he’d been replaced by machinery, as though I was now a task he’d delegated to a device, to check off a list.

The following months were identical, each one punctuated only by the drone’s arrival. The forest fell into a rhythm of its own, one that grew tighter, darker, with each delivery. By then, I’d begun to wander the hallways like a ghost, speaking to no one, sometimes barely even to myself.

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The day of my five-year birthday.

My father, however, always made sure to attend each birthday party. Always bringing a different gift, always bringing a chocolate cake. Always spending the entirety of the day with me. Even so, it was empty, because I knew I would only see him again next year.

But that day was different. He brought me to a town, the same nearby town he had spoken about before. Its name was Procyon. The town stood in stark contrast to the sprawling darkness of the forest. From a distance, it seemed like a place frozen in time, untouched by the urgency of the world outside. My father held my hand as we walked along the cobblestone streets, as though he was guiding me through a strange dream.

The town seemed well-maintained, yet there was a distinct air of stillness, as though life in Procyon was perpetually subdued, muffled by an invisible veil.

[Curiosity]

As we walked, I felt the eyes of the townspeople on us, their gazes lingering a moment too long before shifting away. My father’s expression remained composed, indifferent even, as he led me to the church up the hill, standing tall over the plaza in front of it. The place was somehow isolated from the rest of the town, like a temple where no sinner would be able to find.

Inside the grand church, the air was cool and thick, filled with the faint smell of incense and the echo of whispered prayers. The tall, arched ceilings loomed over us, casting shadows that seemed to shift and dance in the dim light filtering through stained glass windows. My father led me through the main hall, our footsteps absorbed by the heavy stone floor.

A figure awaited us there — a tall man dressed in dark robes, his face half-hidden in shadow. He acknowledged my father with a respectful nod, though his gaze lingered on me with [Curiosity].

Hmm? I just felt something, like a feeling bubbling up inside of me.

“Elewp.” — My father returned the nod, and held my shoulder, grounding me in the moment.

“This is Bishop Haldrin. He oversees the people here and will ensure your place in the town’s school.”

I glanced up at the old man, my young mind struggling to understand what exactly was happening. The bishop’s face softened as he studied me, though his eyes remained sharp, as if he were assessing a piece of machinery, or something foreign and untrustworthy.

“She’s special, isn’t she?” — He said, his words calm yet laced with a strange undertone.

“It is the first foreigner I’ve put my eyes on five years.”

“She is no different from any other child.”

He replied curtly, a trace of warning in his tone.

The bishop merely nodded, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

“Of course. She will have a place here. We value loyalty and faith among our community.” He paused, eyes glinting as they settled on me once more.

“In time, the town will grow familiar to you, Miss Shikimi, and perhaps you’ll come to see Procyon as your own.”

He then turned to my father.

“I suppose there are still matters we need to discuss with more privacy, isn’t that right, Mister Shikimi?”

“Yes. Let’s talk privately.” — He looked down at me.

“I will be back shortly, don’t wander around, I will be back soon.

The two walked away, their sound slowly disappearing into the dim recesses of the church. Left alone, I glanced around, taking in the towering columns, the grand chandeliers that hung from high ceilings, and the faint hum of voices murmuring in prayer nearby. Everything about the place felt heavy and ancient, filled with a strange energy that seemed to seep into my skin.

I wandered a few steps, drawn to the stained-glass windows that lined one side of the hall. Each panel depicted scenes I couldn’t fully understand — people entering through a forest, animals as black as night, and a looming figure above them all, light outstretched as if to both protect and command. The colors were rich and vibrant, casting patches of red, blue and green light across the floor, like reflections of jewels.

As I walked, following the panels, before I knew it, I was already standing in front of the church’s entrance. There, I could look down on a good part of the city, mainly the isolated plaza down the stairs.

My father told me to stay here, but I couldn’t obey his orders. Even parent-children relationships are based on mutual trust, and I didn’t trust him anymore, not after the amount of lies he spewed. Maybe it was already time to be rebellious, to disobey for the sake of disobeying.

Thinking about it now, ever since we moved out of our hometown, we passed through many different cities, staying in any of those cities would have been better than in a forest filled with god-knows-what. This town is so ancient it doesn’t even look like it came from the twenty-first century!

As I stepped away from the church’s shadow, the open air filled my lungs. Somehow, the air here was purer than the one back home. Well, I hate pure air anyway… The plaza stretched out below me, houses made out of stone, during my time the houses were made from wood, what a waste of rocks. Talking about wasting rocks, isn’t that a wolf statue? Why…?

The town was so quiet it felt surreal, a place preserved in stillness, as though time itself had slowed to a near halt. Beneath the silence, a faint of life lingered, a gentle thrum muted just before my arrival. That’s when I saw her.

“How…?”

Human hair spans many shades — black, brown, the rare blond, and even rarer red. Sometimes, in unique cases, it can be even white, or more commonly, dyed into colors beyond nature’s palette. But this wasn’t dye. I felt it in the way she moved and in the light that framed her — a sense that her striking color was natural, something she’d been born with.

Playing in the plaza among the other children, her green hair gleamed like a forest canopy at sunrise. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds, her golden robe adding an air of purity. She was as enchanting as a doll, and as radiant as a goddess. I found myself frozen, rooted in place, captivated by her otherworldly presence.

[Interest]

As if sensing my gaze, she turned, her eyes meeting mine, and with a warm, easy smile, she raised her hand and waved, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

(She is walking towards me, what do I do??? What do I do???)

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My mind stuttered, caught between the amazement of her vibrant appearance and the warmth of her smile. I hesitated, feeling both exposed and visible.

As I stood there, she broke away from the group of children and began walking toward me, her steps light and graceful, almost floating. The other children seemed to notice but didn’t follow, as though they respected some unspoken boundary that only she could cross. It was strange. Despite being the same age as me, she carried an air of authority, like a leader whose presence needed no announcement.

“Hello.” — She said softly, her voice as warm as her expression.

“Come with me.”

Before I could even react, the human being with no sense of personal space grabbed me by the hand. Then, she dragged me around the plaza, towards a basket that rested on a wooden bench.

“What type of sweet do you like?” — glancing at me with a sparkle in her eyes.

“Uhhh… Ice cream?

“Hmm… I suppose I don’t know what that is.” — She mused, as though it was the strangest answer she’d heard.

What do you think about a Procyon Special Sweet? Considering you’re not from Procyon.”

“How do you know I’m not from this town?”

“Let me tell you a secret.” — She said with a little shrug, her mischief akin to a goblin’s — “Everyone knows who Aera is, but Aera has a really bad memory.”

“Who Aera is?”

“Me.”

“Oh.”

“But Aera never forgets anything beautiful. So, I definitely never met you before.”

She looked at me with a playful grin that somehow put me at ease. I felt the warmth in her gaze, genuine and unguarded, and realized I was smiling back without even trying.

(Wait a second she called me beautiful???)

I ate the sweet she gave me. It had the taste of apples mixed in with honey. Her expecting eyes were glittering as if she needed confirmation that I liked it, like a puppy.

“Hmm… It is tasty.” — the words came out too low, mixed with the red in my face.

“So, let’s explore! There are so many things in Procyon I think you’d love.” — She pointed down the stairs, leading out of the plaza, where the sun cast dappled light through the leafy canopy of trees.

“Want to see the weekend market?”

Without waiting for an answer, she pulled me along, leading the way through winding staircases and sunlit streets. The town was alive with the hum of quiet activity. We passed vendors selling everything from handmade trinkets to freshly baked bread, filling the air with rich, enticing aromas. Aera moved gracefully through the crowd, exchanging nods and brief greetings with townsfolk who all seemed to know her by name.

She guided me through the city as if she had done this a thousand times, her small hand firm in mine. The world around us blurred slightly, overwhelmed by the vividness of her presence. Each step she took seemed to weave through the town with purpose, from the look in the faces of everyone around her, Aera was the heart and hope of that town.

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As the hours slipped by, the sky deepened into twilight, casting soft shadows over the town. We sat by the sturdy trunk of a tree on the outskirts of town, wrapped in the quiet that settles when day yields to night. The air was cool, and everything felt gentle, softened by the dim light and the comfort of a ghost story.

“We were playing in the plaza, when out of nowhere, this creature appeared from the woods. It had skin as dark as the forest soil, and horns twisting out from its head like gnarled branches. The other children? Oh, they were terrified.”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a mock whisper — “But I, as the Saintess, had to protect my people. So, I stepped forward, right up to the beast.”

My eyes widened — “But that is dangerous! You should have run away!”

Aera grinned, a flicker of amusement dancing in her words — “I sensed something off about it, something that didn’t quite add up. So, I did the only sensible thing a priestess would do — I dashed away and came back with a huge bucket of water!” — She paused dramatically — “And then I dumped the entire thing over the monster’s head!”

I burst into laughter “Oh, then it is weak to water!”

“As soon as the water hit, the mud washed away, and those tree branches just tumbled off. Turns out.” — she said, rolling her eyes with a grin — “It was my brother, trying his best to scare me!”

We both laughed, the sound carrying lightly into the quiet. I hadn’t realized until then how much I’d missed moments like this — easy, joyful, where laughter comes without a second thought. As the sky deepened into a rich indigo, I couldn’t help but be curious.

“Why did you pull me along like that?” — I asked, glancing at her — “You didn’t even know me, why did you want to show me the town?”

Aera tilted her head, a soft smile on her lips — “As the Saintess, it’s my job to lift the mood of everyone in Procyon” — she replied — “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little interested to meet someone from outside.

But then… When I saw the look in your eyes, I just wanted to make this day something special for you.”

“Oh…”

“I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I don’t need to. I don’t need any reason to care about anyone.”

She gave a small shrug, her expression open and genuine.

“I just believe no one deserves to be weighed down by sadness. My wish is simple: that everyone can carry a smile with them, no matter what I need to do.”

My father had searched the entire town for me, and when he finally saw I had made a friend, his relief was unmistakable. The bishop seemed a bit uneasy about the Saintess spending time with a foreigner, but Aera quickly put his concerns to rest, assuring him it was no trouble at all.

That evening, after we returned home, my father sat me down and carefully explained the route I’d need to reach town and make it back safely, warning me not to get lost in the Black Forest. He reminded me not to mention to anyone in Procyon that I lived in a forbidden place, explaining the agreement he’d made with the bishop: I could attend school whenever I wished, and it would be a safe haven for me.

The next morning, my father had already left by the time I woke up. I put on the school uniform and set off for my first day. Aera, being the same age as me, was in the same class. She made it her mission to introduce me to everyone, ensuring I would be accepted. Sometimes, we even slipped out of class just to talk letting our conversations drift wherever they wanted to go.

Days, weeks, months. Each one with laughter and happiness, a world that felt like a dream I never wanted to wake from.

“Will you come to the Full Moon?” — Aera asked one day.

“The Full Moon? What’s that?”

“It’s a festival we celebrate each new year during the spring!” — She explained eagerly.

“We gather to honor our God, Procyon, praying for good harvests and fertility. Everyone dances and the whole night lights up. You have to come — It’s going to be beautiful!”

----------------------------------------

The day of the Full Moon approached with a palpable excitement that filled the air in Procyon. Aera’s enthusiasm was contagious, and even as I settled into this new life, the prospect of experiencing the festival alongside her brought a thrill of anticipation.

As the festival day dawned. I found myself torn between two choices. Laid out on the bed were two dresses, each one embodying a different mood and pulling me in opposite directions.

The first dress was a delicate white, adorned with soft, lace frills that cascaded down the bodice and skirt like wisps of cloud. A light pink ribbon fastened around the waist added a touch of sweetness, making the entire ensemble look ethereal and almost innocent, a perfect match for the spring festival’s warmth and charm.

Yet, beside it lay the second dress — a striking black gown. It had a sleek, lustrous sheen, catching the morning light with an almost dangerous allure. Red gemstones glistened along the neckline, each jewel a small burst of fire against the dark fabric, like embers dancing against midnight shadows. This dress felt bold, like a whispered promise of mystery and intrigue, daring me to stand out, to be noticed.

I hesitated, fingers tracing the fine stitching of the white dress before drifting back to the black gown’s smooth, cool surface. The frilly dress spoke to a gentler version of myself, the one who might blend into the background and bask in the celebration’s joy from the periphery. But the black dress — it called to a deeper part of me, the one that yearned to claim a space of my own in the world, to stand out amid the crowd and command the night with a quiet confidence.

After a long moment of hesitation, I reached for the white dress, feeling my heart skip as I slipped into its soft embrace. Its frill fell gracefully around me, and as I tied the pink ribbon into a bow, I felt a surge of quiet excitement mingled with nerves. The mirror reflected back a girl I hardly recognized — poised, a little nervous, yet undeniably ready.

Shadows from the trees casting shifting patterns along the ground as I made my way toward town. She told me to meet just outside the festival. From here, I could already feel the energy thrumming in the distance. The streets had transformed. Festive banners crisscrossed above the cobbled streets, and stalls lined the sidewalks, brimming with brightly colored decorations, handcrafted trinkets, and treats whose sweet aromas wafted through the air. The entire town seemed to shimmer, dressed in hues of gold and silver, as if it, too, had donned its finest attire for the day.

“Elewp!” — A familiar voice called out, and I turned to see Aera approaching. She wore a long, flowing gown of light green and gold, her hair adorned with tiny flowers that made her look almost otherworldly.

[Captivation]

“You look amazing, the dress suits you perfectly!”

My cheeks flushed as I tried to return her smile, but the words got stuck in my throat. If she was the embodiment of nature’s grace, I was definitely the human equivalent of a blushing tomato.

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“Y…Y-Y-Y-You… Look… Cool.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ve never heard that one before!” She handed me a mask — delicate, shaped like a fox, with intricate white patterns that curled around the edges. It wasn’t enough to hide my entire face, just from my forehead to my nose.

“What’s this for?” I asked, inspecting it.

“…A mask.” - She said as if I already knew it. - “For the Full Moon.”

“Hm…?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Everyone wears animal masks for the Full Moon, and then they join the ball in the plaza. People search for their soulmate… And when they find them, they dance together under the moonlight.” — She gesticulated with her hands, as if it was a perfect romance story.

After waiting for me to put mine on, she takes out another mask shaped like a rabbit and slips it on. Aera took my hand, giving it a small squeeze.

“And I want to enjoy the festival like a normal person would, so I’m really glad everyone will use masks.”

Her tone was somehow relieved, as if she was glad for some reason. But before I could ask, she pulled me forward. Her infectious energy set the tone as we plunged into the heart of the festivities. First, we stopped at the game stands. Aera’s face sparkled with determination as she challenged me to one booth after another. From knocking down bottles to a ring toss over bright glass bottles, we threw ourselves into each game as though each one was a matter of life and death.

“Ha! You missed again.”

She teased, her laughter ringing as she tossed her ring effortlessly over the peg, scoring yet another prize.

I couldn’t lose. I took my turn, focusing as hard as I could, and finally managed to land the ring right on target. I threw my arms up in triumph, and Aer clapped enthusiastically, as if I’d just conquered the impossible.

Next, we wandered to the food stalls, tempted by the aromas that swirled in the air like spells cast to lure us in Skewers of roasted meat, fresh pastries dripping with honey, candied apples that glistened like jewels under the lantern light — all of it was irresistible. We devoured fried buns stuffed with warm spices, sweet dumplings filled with fragrant jams, and crispy flatbreads dusted with powdered sugar.

At one point, she dared me to eat a local delicacy: a strange, green-colored candy with an unusual texture that popped and fizzed in my mouth, leaving me gasping for air.

“That is why it is called a firecracker!”

As the day drifted into twilight, we wandered to the souvenir stands, examining delicate trinkets, hand-carved figures, and intricate jewelry. Aera picked up a small, delicate pendant shaped like a crescent moon, holding it up to the light and admiring the way it shimmered.

“Beautiful!” — She murmured, looking at it like a child to a new toy.

We spent a good ten minutes trying to haggle with the vendor, Aera coaxing him with her charm and me chiming in with clumsy attempts at persuasion. Despite our efforts, we eventually conceded defeat, laughing as we placed the pendant back on the table and walked away, empty-handed yet triumphant in our attempt.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by then, casting long, soft shadows over the town. Lanterns along the cobblestone streets began to flicker to life one by one, their warm amber glow casting a golden haze across Procyon. The festival had transformed, the lively chaos of the day giving way to a hushed anticipation. An ethereal melody floated through the evening air as people slowly gathered in the plaza for the night’s final event — the dance beneath the Full Moon.

Aera had asked me to wait here in the plaza, but I had already circled its edges more than one, searching for her in vain I stood on tiptoe, straining to see over the heads of the crowd that was thickening around me. With each passing moment, my impatience grew, the only thought circling through my mind was:

“Where is Aera?”

The question slipped out under my breath, and I was startled by a voice nearby, answering as if my thought had been heard.

“She should appear anytime now.” — Said a blonde boy wearing a coyote mask, looking towards the church. — “The Full Moon dance is about to begin, after all.”

Before I could fully process his words, the deep, resonant beat of drums began to roll from the church up the hill. The sound was slow and rhythmic, each beat echoing as if it were rising from the very stones beneath our feet. Then came the bright, brassy notes of trumpets, lifting the mood into a bold and celebratory anthem. A hush settled over the crowd as all eyes turned toward the church’s towering doors, which slowly began to open.

In the shadowy entrance, a figure emerged. She was cloaked in a long, flowing white veil that trailed behind her like mist, floating ethereally above the city. Every inch of her seemed to glow under the soft lantern light, a delicate radiance that set her apart from the other humans as if she had descended from the moon itself. Beneath the veil, a mask shaped like a wolf, pure white, with intricately carved details that caught the light and gave her a divine presence.

A murmur swept through the crowd, whispers of reverence and awe.

The Avatar of Procyon.

The Saintess.

Aera Procyon.

But this wasn’t the girl I had spent the day with, laughing and running through the festival with childlike delight. This figure was regal, poised — the very embodiment of the town’s devotion and hope. Her gown, a striking departure from her earlier green robes, was a shimmering ivory silk, adorned with intricate embroidery and delicate lace that caught the light with each graceful step she took. In this moment, she looked like a bride, her presence filling the square with a sense of reverence and timeless beauty.

I suddenly understood why she’d asked me to wait here. She wanted me to see her like this — from afar, within the ceremony that bound her to the heart of Procyon. My pulse quickened as I watched her approach the center of the plaza, her movements as fluid as water, as though she were gliding rather than walking. She was no longer just my friend but a figure of legend, someone connected to something vast and ancient, something that bound her to this town in a way I could scarcely comprehend.

A circle began to form around her as the music swelled, the crowd moving back to create space. The drums beat louder, the trumpets brayed, and flutes joined in, their lilting notes weaving through the night air like threads of silver. Townspeople donned their own animal masks, each one an emblem of their spirit, and one by one they began to step forward to join the dance, their movements fluid, ritualistic. Each dancer entered the circle with a bow to Aera, a silent gesture of respect and homage, before taking their place in the rhythm.

Aera moved within the circle, her steps slow and graceful, her arms raised as if in blessing. Her veil trailed behind her, shifting in time with the music as she spun and dipped, embodying the Saintess role with a gravity that was captivating. Her every movement seemed to carry weight, an unspoken message that spoke to the faith of every person in Procyon, their hopes and dreams bound up on this one night under the full moon.

The music quickened, and Aera’s dance became more intricate, more intense. She twirled and stepped with precision, like wisps of cloud, and the townsfolk followed her lead, their bodies swaying and moving as one, a seamless expression of unity. I watched, entranced, unable to tear my eyes away. This was more than a dance — it was a ritual, a connection to something greater, and Aera was the thread that wove them all together.

One by one, the men of Procyon began to step forward, each one bowing in quiet reverence before extending a hand to the women they wished to dance with. Slowly, couples filled the plaza, moving gracefully under the full moon’s light. As I watched, captivated, I noticed a tall boy, older than me, making his way through the dancers, his gaze fixed on Aera. He approached her with a reverent look, as though he were nearing a sacred relic rather than a girl, and just as he was about to extend his hand in invitation, a voice rose sharply from the crowd, stopping him in his tracks.

“The Avatar can’t mingle with mere humans!”

The words rang out, clear and unyielding, cutting through the soft murmur of the festival like the edge of a blade. The boy stopped mid-step, his hand faltering before he lowered it, looking away with a respectful nod, his shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment. A quiet murmur rippled through the onlookers, an unspoken understanding that none of them, no matter how admiring or well-meaning, could ever hope to be worthy of the Saintess’s touch. She was beyond them, beyond all of us — a living symbol of the divine, an avatar of Procyon’s own spirit.

I felt a pang in my chest, an uncomfortable tightening that I couldn’t quite name. Seeing the reverence of the boy, of every man, woman, and child in that plaza, reminded of my place. All night, I’d been spellbound, too entranced by her to remember the line that separated her world from mine. How could I have forgotten? She wasn’t just Aera, the girl who laughed and ran with me in the sunlight, who tasted strange candies and shared her stories with me under the wide, open sky. She was the Saintess of Procyon, a figure of worship, beloved by everyone here, someone destined for a life woven with purpose far greater than I could fathom.

I looked down, feeling the weight of that understanding sink in. She hadn’t glanced at me once the entire night, not a single acknowledgment of my presence. Why would she? She is the center of everything, radiating a light that pulls everyone towards her, while I… I am just another girl in the crowd. Just one of many faces that watched her with admiration, as people would look upon the moon.

I hadn’t realized how foolish I’d been, allowing myself to imagine, even for a moment, that I was special to her, that we shared some unspoken bond. I was a guest in this place, an outsider lucky enough to be close to her only because of her kindness. To think I was anything more — anything close to her equal — was an illusion, and perhaps even a betrayal of my own gratitude. I felt my fingers clench around the mask I had removed, the delicate fox face now feeling strange and foreign in my grip.

As the music swelled around me, lifting on the night air like a fragile spell, I made my decision. I would let her continue her dance, unburdened by my presence or the weight of my own selfish hopes. Aera belonged here, to Procyon, to these people who looked upon her with such reverence. To them, she is a symbol, an icon of purity and light, woven into their lives like a promise of grace and protection. I was merely a guest in her world, a shadow drawn by the brightness of her presence. To linger here, to watch her as if I, too, had any claim on her attention, suddenly felt wrong. No, more than that — it felt unbearable.

I couldn’t bear to stand there, just another face in the crowd, watching her drift farther into the world of faith, one I couldn’t reach. And yet, despite this resolve, I knew I couldn’t simply slip away without saying goodbye. I owed her that, at the very least — a silent farewell, an acknowledgement of the time she had shared with me.

Turning, I slipped through the crowd, weaving quietly between clusters of townsfolk entranced by the festival’s beauty. The music’s faint echo following me as I found a quiet corner along the outskirts of the plaza. Here, the glow of the lanterns grew dim, their lights couldn’t reach this darkness. I spotted a stone bench under a building, and settled onto it, letting the cool air brush over my face, calming my restless thoughts.

On the edge of celebration, the night took on a different quality — a solemn stillness that felt comforting in its isolation. I leaned back against the stone, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. The coldness of the night surrounded me, strange emptiness settling in my chest. I thought about everything she had shared with me, each laugh, each quiet moment. She had invited me into her world without hesitation, showing me a side of herself that perhaps no one else in this town had ever seen.

And yet… Perhaps that world was never truly meant for me…

[Abandonment]

I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the festival’s music drifted on the night air like a lullaby, and my tired thoughts melted into hazy dreams beneath the gentle light of the full moon.

I awoke to a soft voice, familiar and close, like a blanket.

“You’re really special.” — Aera’s amusement threading through her words. — “Only you would be able to fall asleep during the Full Moon.”

I blinked, the world coming back to focus. She was sitting beside me, her presence as dazzling as the moonlight filtering through the cherry blossoms. I straightened, embarrassed warmth creeping up my cheeks as I met her gaze. She was smiling, tilting her head in that affectionate way, studying me as though I were something fragile and precious.

“Sorry… Not only for sleeping, but also for leaving.” — I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and glancing away.

She shook her head, a laugh soft as a whisper escaping her lips — “No need to apologize. If anything, it’s endearing. Only you would value a moment of calm in the middle of all this.”

I gave a small, sheepish smile, still feeling the gentle weight of sleep in my limbs — “It’s quieter here… And away from everyone.”

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she looked away, her face thoughtful as she let her fingers trace a pattern on the fabric of her dress. — “Sometimes I wish I could do the same.” — She said, almost to herself.

“Slip away, find a corner that’s just mine… Where no one expects anything.”

As she sat beside me, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond, I saw a glimpse of something quieter, something hidden — A longing, perhaps, for freedom she couldn’t fully name.

“Then why don’t you?” — I asked, my voice as quiet as a ladybug.

Her eyes met mine, and there was a flicker of something in her gaze.

[Sadness]

“Because the world I inhabit… It’s not just mine. It belongs to all of them. Their hopes, their fears, their faith — Everything I do becomes part of that.” — She paused, taking a breath, her face soft and steady. — “But with you… I can slip away, if only for a little while.”

She reached for my hand, her fingers curling around mine with something beyond warmth, grounding me in the present. In that simple gesture, I felt the quiet strength of her trust, a vulnerability she showed only to me.

“Why did you leave?” — She asked, her voice carrying an undercurrent of insistence, as if she could already see past my first answer.

“To get away from the sound —” I trailed off, averting my gaze to hide the truth that lay unspoken behind my words. I hoped it would be enough for her, that she would let it be. But she didn’t. Her fingers tightened around mine, compelling me to look up, to see the fierce, unyielding gaze that met me. She wasn’t going to accept the easy answer. Not tonight.

“No.” — She firmly stated, searching my eyes with intensity — “Tell me the actual reason, please.”

I hesitated, feeling a knot in my throat, the words tangled and thick as I tried to force them out. She was patient, waiting, unwavering. My heart beat faster, each thud a pulse of the fear and longing that had brought me to the edge of the plaza in the first place. Her silence invited honesty, but that made it all the more difficult. How could I say what I had barely admitted to myself?

“I wanted… to dance… with… you.”

The admission hung in the air between us, fragile and raw, almost too real to bear. Aera’s expression softened, as if it was something precious she needed to handle with care. A faint smile curved at the corner of her lips, a quiet joy hidden beneath her surprise. She took a step closer, her presence filling the small space between us.

“We can still dance.”

“But… The dance is already over, isn’t it?”

Aera’s only answer was taking my hand firmly in hers, pulling me up with a strength that belied her delicate frame. There was a playful defiance in her laugh, as if the constraints of time and tradition held no power here. She guided me back into the open space beneath the arching branches and the blanket of stars.

“Their dance is over, but ours doesn’t have to be.”

I didn’t know what to, so I simply let myself fall into the moment, allowing her to take the lead.

There was no music now, no spectators, no festival lights — just the soft rustle of the leaves, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, and the steady, comforting presence of Aera beside me. She took a step, drawing me into the rhythm of a dance known only to us, her movements fluid and graceful, as though she were guiding me through a dream. And in that moment, the lack of music didn’t matter. We moved together, letting the silence fill with an unspoken melody, one that seemed to flow from the earth itself.

She twirled me once. I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound lifting me as easily as a sigh, mingling with hers in the quiet air. She was more radiant than I had ever seen her, her title forgotten, her role dissolved. Here, she was simply Aera, a girl with laughter in her eyes, warmth in her hands, and a freedom in her movements that spoke of a spirit unbound.

As we spun and swayed, like the moon and the light. The world seemed to narrow to just her, the space between us tightening until I could feel the soft brush of her breath on my cheek, the faint scent of wildflowers lingering around her. Her hand remained steady in mine, grounding me, holding me in place, as though to say that for this moment, we were the only two people who mattered.

She leaned in slightly, it felt as though time held its breath.

“You know.” — She whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves — “I wish I could stay like this with you forever.”

I felt the pull of her words, the unspoken longing hidden within them, and a part of me wanted nothing more than to answer her that this moment could last as long as she needed. But instead, I simply squeezed her hand in silent understanding, letting the words remain unspoken, as delicate as the moonlight that draped over us.

The Full Moon hung high above, casting its ethereal glow over us as we moved together, our breaths falling into perfect sync, our steps a silent rhythm, our souls entwined in the quiet solitude of the night. In that fleeting moment, with masks discarded and pretense abandoned, we were no longer the Saintess and the Stranger, no longer bound by titles or expectations. We were simply two people, reaching across an invisible boundary, drawn together by an unspoken, undeniable connection.

For just one second, in the shadow of the moon, we had become one — two souls dissolving into each other, bound by a warmth that erased every hesitation, every fear. I wanted nothing more than to be close to her, to share this space that felt both fleeting and infinite safe within the glow of her soul.

[Love]

“Thank you.”

I nodded, unable to speak. With a final, lingering glance, she let go of my hand, stepping back into the shadows, her figure dissolving into the night, blending seamlessly with the whispers of the moon.

----------------------------------------

The night felt emptier without her, but in the stillness, I held onto the warmth she’d left behind. For this moment, I was content. And as the Full Moon began its descent, I make my way slowly through the plaza.

The dance had ended some time ago, and the lack of music left a silence that hung heavy in the air. The majority of the citizens had already left, but I could see a large group climbing down the stairs beyond the plaza. Yet, scattered across the plaza were couples lingering in the corner. The scene felt peaceful enough, but something about it was off.

I couldn’t pinpoint it at first, dismissing it as a vague unease from being alone. But as I took a few steps forward, the feeling grew, sharp and unsettling, coming from all sides, pressing into my mind like a dark fog. I tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the quiet of the night, but the sensation only intensified, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

Ever since I’d come to Procyon, I’d experienced what I privately call “emotion bubbles” — brief impressions of other people’s feelings that echo faintly inside my mind. A fragment of someone’s joy or sadness, a twinge of anxiety here, a flicker of excitement there. They were small, manageable flashes that came and went without much effect. I’ve hardly felt anything during the entirety of the festival… But tonight was different. This feeling wasn’t fleeting or faint, it clung to me, heavy and dark.

As I walked through the plaza, the feeling became clearer — not like an emotion I’d felt from anyone before, but something else. It was filthy, twisting and crawling through my thoughts like a swarm of insects, leaving a sharp discomfort in its wake. It wasn’t joy, nor love, nor sadness, nor even anger. It was something far more primal unrestrained, something that felt sulfuric and reckless, like a raw pulse beating through the air around me.

[Lust]

The realization struck me with a visceral clarity, as though a veil had lifted, exposing an unfiltered wave of hunger and desire pressing in from every direction. It clung to me, suffocating, like smoke filling a room, impossible to escape. The couples around me, their laughter, their gazes — it was as if their emotions had bled out, intensified into a dark, pervasive energy that seeped into the very stones beneath my feet.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to shield my mind from the invasive feeling, but it was reckless, creeping deeper, clouding my thoughts. Each step I took felt heavier, the weight of their emotions settling over me like a shroud. I wanted to leave, to escape the plaza, to shake off the grip of this unwanted sensation, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.

Glancing around, I caught sight of them — the couples locked in each other’s arms, too close, their movements slow and almost mechanical, as if pulled by some invisible shackle. The hollow way they touched, the glazed look in their eyes — it was unsettling, like watching puppets strung on threads of compulsion. Beneath their gestures, something dark pulsed, a primal hunger twisting into the air around them, thick and suffocating.

A shiver ran through me, icy and sharp, and I could feel the despair start to build, creeping up like shadows clawing their way into my chest. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady myself, to clear the heaviness pressing down on me, but it was no use. Their emotions seeped into my mind, crawling under my skin like fire licking up from beneath, searing through my veins, uninvited and unwanted. The sensation of it — raw, unbridled lust — was so overpowering that my own heartbeat stuttered, the rhythm dissolving into chaos.

The world around me blurred, edges softening and twisting, and my chest tightened as though a heavy weight had settled there, crushing my lungs. Every breath was shallow, ragged, a struggle that left my head spinning. My fingers went numb, trembling as I gripped my arms, desperate for something solid, something real to hold onto. But the feeling wouldn’t let go — it sank deeper, a dark, filthy tide that left me gasping, as though the air itself had turned to poison.

I wanted to scream, to shatter the silence, to break the grip of this curse that seemed to hold me captive in this place, but fear froze the sound in my throat. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out everything else, until it was just me and the hollow beat of panic, building louder, fiercer, until it felt like I was being consumed from within.

And then, suddenly, my feet moved on their own, a surge of instinct taking over. Without a second thought, I turned and bolted, the plaza spinning away behind me as I broke into a frantic run. Each step was unsteady, my vision tunneling as I stumbled forward, desperate to escape. My breaths came faster, shallow and erratic, my chest burning as I forced myself onward, through the fog of dread and disorientation.

The world around me became a blur of shadows and shapes, my mind barely registering anything but the driving need to put distance between myself and the oppressive weight of this place. Just a little more, I told myself, pushing through the dizziness. Just a bit more and I’ll reach the stairs. I’ll be free.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of two figures — a girl around my age, standing near one of the stone columns with her arm wrapped tightly around the shoulders of a blonde-haired boy. Their voices drift towards me, a murmur cutting through the haze.

“The post-festival is always so depraved.” — The boy’s voice, smooth and slightly bemused. He was speaking to the girl, who clung to him as if he were her anchor. I slowed, trying to listen, trying to understand.

“Don’t you think it is strange?” — She replied, her voice carrying a note of knowledge — “That everyone thinks of Procyon as a male? In my opinion, Procyon must be a goddess, drawing everyone closer in her warm embrace.”

The boy chuckled softly — “But here, in the middle of the plaza? With people they don’t even know the identity of?”

She glanced around with a soft sigh, the faintest hint of amusement touching her expression — “The vendors, the games, even the dance — They’re all preludes, just meaningless distractions towards the true purpose of the festival.” — Her voice dropped slightly, as if sharing a secret. — “The majority of couples go to the inns, their homes, the outskirts, even the plaza itself in some cases. The Full Moon is to bring fertility, Kyros. For new life to fill our beloved town.

Kyros rolled his eyes, his tone light but edged — “I’ve never been the religious type. But if I had grown up going to the church like everyone from the center, maybe I’d be nodding along.” — He paused, shifting slightly, blushed — “Also… When are you going to stop hugging me, Aera?”

She laughed softly — “You spent the whole night searching for me, almost crying, you were so worried. I think you deserve at least this much.” — Her arms tightened around him, her voice softening — “And don’t you think that maybe… I wanted to hug you, too?”

[Love]

As the images in front of me began to clear, reality settled in slowly, almost unwillingly. My mind resisted, taking its time to process what I was seeing, to believe that it was truly happening. The scene before me felt distant, like something I’d stumbled upon by accident, but as my senses sharpened, a cold clarity pierced through the fog of confusion and disbelief.

Was that really her? Aera? The same girl who had spent the night laughing with me, pulling me into a world of warmth and wonder? Could this be the same person who had whispered her fears to me, who had taken my hand and drawn me into that delicate dance under the stars?

My chest tightened as the pieces started to fall into place, each one carrying a sharp sting of betrayal. The dance, the smile, the moments that had felt so real to me — had they all been meaningless to her. The true purpose of the festival — was it really that vile thing I’d sensed in the plaza? The tangled bodies, the glazed eyes, the pulsing lust that had twisted into the night air like vermin?

And then, there was him — Kyros, the boy whose presence seemed so natural beside her. Who was he? He wasn’t a stranger to her, that much was clear. I’d seen the way she looked at him, the quiet intimacy between them that didn’t need words. The ease with which they stood together, like two parts of the same whole, something deeper and unshakable binding them.

Spears were plunged deep into my heart, confusion, betrayal, and something darker — an ache I couldn’t fully name. My breaths grow shallow, each one harder than the last, as a cold dread tightening around me, whispering that I didn’t belong here, that I had stumbled into something I wasn’t meant to see.

A gentle voice in the back of my mind pleaded for me to turn away, to leave before the feeling consumed me. My stomach twisted, and I felt the taste of bitterness creeping up, mingling with the dull throb of panic that beat steadily in my chest. The energy from the plaza lingered in the air, like a stain that refused to stop buzzing in my ears.

“Aera.” — I whispered, the sound barely audible, my voice trembling. I hadn’t meant to say her name alone, but it slipped out. All the questions, the fears, the uncertainty that had been festering since we went our separate ways — it all condensed into that one name, a fragile plea hanging in the night air.

Aera’s gaze flicked over to me, her expression softening instantly. She took a step toward me, her face filled with something like sympathy, but it only deepened the pain in my mind. I wanted her to explain, to erase the confusion swirling in my mind, to tell me that what I’d seen, what I’d felt, was just a misunderstanding.

“Elewp!” — She began, her voice gentle. She took another step closer. I shook my head, taking a step back.

“Is it true?” — I managed, my voice barely holding together. — “The festival, the plaza… That’s what it’s all for?”

Aera hesitated, glancing back at Kyros before turning back to me. — “Elewp, the Full Moon… It’s complicated.” — She reached out as if to steady me, but I stepped back, my movements stiff and instinctive.

“Complicated?” — The word felt sour on my tongue. — “Is that what you call all of that?” — I gestured around me, toward the plaza, the shadows still lurking in its corners. — “This isn’t a festival. It’s a damned ritual of the flesh.”

Kyros’s expression tightened a hint of irritation crossing his face, but he remained silent, watching our exchange with a guarded intensity.

Aera’s hand fell to her side, her face falling as though she’d expected this but dreaded it all the same. — “Elewp, there’s a side of Procyon you don’t understand yet. This festival is about connection, bringing new life and binding people together. It’s a tradition that goes back centuries. What you felt was the spirit of Procyon, the holy spirit that links us all.”

Her words felt hollow, distant, as if she were reciting a script.

“But you…” — My voice wavered, my thoughts spilling out, raw and unguarded.

“You said tonight was special, that our time together meant something. But it feels like… Like I was just another part of the festival for you, just another… another distraction!”

Aera took a step closer, her hand reaching for mine.

“Elewp, that’s not true. You’re different. But there are things in this town, things I can’t change, things that I am bound to as the avatar of Procyon. I have to be all things to all people, even if… It hurts those closest to me.”

She looked towards me, then at him. Kyros scoffed quietly under his breath.

“Please, Elewp.”

She murmured, her voice fragile.

“Please try to understand. This isn’t just about me. It’s about the people of Procyon, their hopes, their needs, their faith. I am part of that, and it’s a role I can’t escape. No matter what I feel or want.”

Every word added to the sense of distance, the reminder that she belonged to a world I could never truly want to be part of. Finally, I took a slow, steady breath.

“So, this is who you are, then? The girl who’s kind to everyone, who shows a piece of herself to anyone who needs it… Because it’s your duty?”

Aera’s gaze dropped, her hand retreating as if she, too, felt the widening chasm between us. I felt a pang of regret, a sharp, hollow sting that reverberated through me like the slow cracking of glass as if something precious — fragile but irreplaceable — was slipping from my grasp, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“I thought you’d see me as Aera. Not as the Saintess, not as a fragment of Procyon… But as me!”

Her eyes met mine, brimming with a sorrow that seemed to reach out, stretching across the space between us like a silent plea. But the closeness I had once seen there was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. Her gaze held the weight of reality, cutting through the remnants of illusion I had clung to.

“I did see you.” — I whispered, my voice shaking, each word carrying a finality.

“But now I see the real you. And that… That is why it hurts.”

I stumbled back, the cold night air pressing in, wrapping around me with the weight of a poison that seemed to spread through my veins, filling every corner of me with a heaviness I could barely carry. My voice, when it came, was raw, edged with a pain I hadn’t known I could feel.

“Don’t ever talk to me again, don’t ever approach me again, don’t ever think of me again!”

The words left, unforgiving and final, like a curse spoken into the darkness. I turned sharply, my feet carrying me away, down the steps that led away from the plaza, from her, from everything I had once thought was real. I told myself this was for the best, that leaving her behind would free me from the unbearable poison that twisted inside me, but each step felt like tearing open a wound that would never heal.

Just as I reached the edge of the steps, I felt a sudden tug — a small, desperate grasp, her hand wrapped around mine, trembling. She was holding onto me, clinging as though I were her last anchor in a storm she couldn’t control.

“Please… Don’t leave me.”

She whispered, her voice breaking, raw and pleading, a sound so fragile it cut deeper than any words could.

“But Aera never forgets anything beautiful. So, I definitely never met you before.”

I froze, my entire body seizing in response to the weight of her touch. She didn’t want to let me go, didn’t want to lose me — and yet, a dark certainty settled in the depths of my mind: staying near her would mean more pain, an endless poison I couldn’t bear, a wound that would never close. Her hand stinged against mine, a reminder of everything I could never truly have, everything I would always be denied.

I twisted, trying to pull free, my body shaking as I struggled against her grasp, like an animal trapped, desperate for escape. But she wouldn’t let go. Her grip tightened, fierce, unyielding, like she was holding onto the last piece of something she would never be able to keep. For her, it was so easy — to keep everyone close, to surround herself with love and devotion, while never fully belonging to anyone. It was easy for her to hold me here, and make me stay, while remaining forever out of reach.

“Let go!” — I cried, my voice strangled, torn between the desire to stay and the overwhelming need to be free. I felt something dark, something desperate building inside me, twisting in my chest like a storm.

“I just wanted to make this day something special for you.”

And then, like an instinct taking over my body, without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped her, a sharp, explosive sound that echoed through the empty plaza like a crack of thunder.

Her eyes widened in shock, her hand loosening as she stumbled backwards, her foot slipping on the edge of the stair. She reached out, her hand stretching toward me, her expression shifting from shock to pleading, her eyes wide with fear.

But my body didn’t move.

Her [Desperation] poured into me like a flood, an echo of emotion so strong it paralyzed me, rooting me to the spot. I tried to reach out, tried to move my hand, to grab her before she fell, but a darkness — something twisted and vile, more potent than any feeling I’d sensed before — wrapped around me, holding me back. It was as if a poison had seeped into my soul, anchoring me in place, whispering that this was inevitable, that this was her fate.

And then, she fell.

“You’re really special.”

I watched, frozen, as she tumbled down the stairs, her body rolling, step by step, faster and faster, gravity pulling her down with an unforgiving force. The world seemed to slow, every second stretching into an eternity as I stood there, helpless, watching her fragile figure disappear down the stone steps.

That place, that during the day, was once filled with laughter and light, was silent, bathed in the cold, as the Full Moon watched from above. The stairs that we climbed down the day we met each other for the first time, exploring the town below, now carried her down, down into a darkness I couldn’t reach.

“I wish I could stay like this with you forever.”

My chest tightened, a sharp pain spreading through me, a raw ache that tore at my very soul. Tears blurred my vision, falling hot and fast down my cheeks as reality crashed over me, its weight crushing.

Before I knew it, I was running, my legs carrying me down the stairs, each step a desperate plea, a frantic prayer that I wasn’t too late, that I could still reach her in time.

“No… No, please.” — The words falling from my lips in a broken litany.

This can’t be happening. Please… Let me save her.

I stumbled down the steps, my heart pounding as I reached the bottom, and then I saw — her still form lying on the cold, unforgiving cobblestone, her delicate figure draped in silence — a pool of blood had begun to spread beneath her head, dark and glistening, a cruel stain in the world.

I fell to my knees beside her, my hands trembling as I reached out, gathering her fragility in my arms, cradling her like something precious and broken. Her skin was cool, her warmth slipping away, leaving only the echo of what could have been.

“Please… Please let me save her…”

If only she is still hanging by a thread. I waited, my hands pressed against her, searching for any sign, any faint pulse, any flicker of thread. But there was nothing. No heartbeat, no warmth, no gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her soul — the light that had filled her with such grace, such beauty — was gone, leaving only an empty vessel, a shell that would never again hold the warmth I had cherished.

A sob tore from my throat, raw and broken, as I clutched her closer, the scent of her blood filling the air, a bitter reminder of what I had done. The tears came harder, unstoppable, each one carrying a piece of the hope I had once held, each one a silent apology for the life that had slipped through my fingers.

Don’t ever talk to me again!

Don’t ever approach me again!

Don’t ever think of me again!

The Full Moon watched, its pale light casting a ghostly glow over the world, bearing silent witness to my despair, my guilt, my grief. I held her close, pressing my forehead to hers, as if I could somehow will her spirit back, as if I could turn back the hands of time.

The night was relentless and cold, its silence broken only by the distant murmur of voices and the rapid pounding of my heart. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on me like an anchor, pulling me deeper into a sea of despair. I cradled Aera’s lifeless body, barely registering the flicker of movement around me until a rough voice broke through the silence.

“What happened?”

I looked up to see Bishop Audren, his face ashen as he approached, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the sight before him. Behind him, a small crowd had begun to gather, townsfolk who had not yet left, drawn back by the sounds of chaos. Their faces blurred, unfamiliar shapes that closed in, peering down at us in horror.

“She… She fell down the stairs and hit her head!”

I managed, my voice shaking, raw.

“Please, save her!”

My plea carried a desperate hope, one that faltered even as I spoke, knowing in the hollow depths of my soul that she was already gone. Yet still, I let her go, laying her down as the bishop knelt beside her, calling out frantically for healers, his trembling hands hovering over her.

Part of me wanted to hold her, to cling to her and never let her go, to keep her here with me. But even as they rushed to her, I felt the sickening weight of reality settle over me. This was futile. I knew, in the deepest part of me, that she had already slipped away.dy slipped away.

“No… Aera!”

The cry shattered the silence, filled with a grief that slashed the night. I turned to see Kyros, his face twisted in anguish as he ran towards her, his eyes fixed on Aera’s still form. He stood there, his hands trembling as he reached out, only to stop, his anger shifting to me, a glint of something dark and accusing flashing in his eyes.

And then, like a storm breaking, his expression twisted with [Wrath], his voice a low snarl.

“Bishop Audren, she’s lying to you. Aera didn’t fall down on accident — I saw it with my own eyes! That girl pushed her down the stairs!”

The accusation landed like a torment, reverberating through the gathering crowd. My breath caught, my spinning as I tried to comprehend what he had just said.

“No! I didn’t! She… She stumbled! I would never hurt her!”

My words came out frantic, desperate, but I could see the cold judgment hardening in their eyes, see the shock on their faces twisting into something darker.

“Stop lying, Shikimi!”

The bishop’s stoic mask crumbled, his face twisting with sudden fury. The man who had always seemed so composed, so distant, now filled with berserker rage.

“I’m not lying!” — I cried, feeling the fear take root deep inside me, clawing its way up as I fought to make them see.

“Why would you believe him over me? I was the one closest with Aera! I was the one she danced with!”

“Do you know what lies you’re spewing? Why would the Saintess’s twin brother ever lie?”

His voice was sharp, seething with contempt.

“You damned foreigner!”

“A foreigner? She’s a foreigner?” — A voice from the crowd spat, laced with sudden realization. — “And she’s the one who’s spent all this time with Procyon’s avatar?”

“What is your name?” — Kyros stepped closer, his voice low, each word dripping. I flinched, backing away from his looming figure, the realization settling over me with a sickening clarity. He was Aera’s brother — her own flesh and blood, the one I thought she preferred over me, the one I was jealous of. That is why they were hugging one another… That is why he was worried about her… That is why I felt love between them.

Then… Was it all for nothing?

“Shikimi Elewp.”

He sneered, his eyes narrowing.

“I swear by everything I am, Shikimi Elewp, that I will kill you.”

Without warning his fist struck me, a sharp, brutal blow that knocked me back. My front teeth fell on the floor. The pain was immediate, blooming across my face, but I deserved it, the pain was nothing compared to what I had caused. He struck again, and again, as he screamed, crying as [Vengeance] filled the depths of his soul. And still, the bishop watched, waiting, allowing Kyros to exact his punishment, his revenge.

Finally, when my face was swollen, and blood poured from my mouth, my vision blurred from the assault, the bishop lifted his hand.

“Kyros, that’s enough.” — He said, his tone cold, pulling the boy away from me with a firm hand.

Straightening, the bishop looked down at me, his mask coming back with steely resolve.

“Taking the life of an avatar of Procyon is the highest form of heresy. Thus, I declare Shikimi Elewp as a cursed witch, to be tortured for an entire day and an entire night, before being burned at the stake.”

Kyros’s eyes flared with rage as he was pulled away by priests, still reaching for me, still straining to strike once more. The priests moved toward me, their expressions hard, resolute, their hands outstretched to drag to my fate.

I could lie to myself all I wanted, but the truth is… If I had just stayed with her when she asked, if I had just tried to understand what she was saying, nothing would have happened. Isn’t it better for them to exact justice on me? However, I guess I was too much of a hypocrite in the end, because I didn’t want to die.

[Thanatophobia]

It rose from a place I didn’t know existed, a torrent of primal, untamed emotion that tore through my mind, spilling out in an explosion that resonated with the fury, the grief, the pain of every human around me. The priests staggered back, clutching their heads, confusion flashing across their faces as they felt the crushing weight of my despair, my desperation, reverberating through them, amplified by the cold, relentless night.

In that moment, instinct took over. I turned, my feet carrying me forward, my body moving as if it had been waiting for this escape. I ran, stumbling down, away from the town, away from the hatred, away from the accusing eyes that burned into my back. My mind was blank, every thought drowned by a single, primal drive — to survive, to get away, to escape what I had done.

I fled through the streets, my vision swimming, my heartbeat thundering. As I neared the outskirts, I caught sight of a train line, stretching into the darkness, and without thinking, I veered toward it, slipping past the boundary they dared not cross. The townspeople halted, fear twisting their faces as they watched me disappear, their voices growing faint as I slipped into forbidden territory.

----------------------------------------

My body weakened, my muscles barely carrying me as I entered the Black Forest. The cold empty air bit into my skin, the chill seeping through the fabric of my dress, stained with the blood that marked me as both a murderer and exile. I staggered, my foot catching on a black root, and I fell, my knees hitting the dark, powdery earth, the black dust clinging to my hands as I pushed myself up, my breaths ragged, desperate.

The dress, painted red, and cloaked in black.

In the silence, the weight of what I had lost crashed over me, pressing down with an unforgiving intensity. I could still see her face, still hear her voice, the echoes of her laughter lingering like a ghost that would never fade.

“I’m sorry…”

The words spilled from my lips, raw and broken.

“Please forgive me…”

The void of the forest wrapped around me, unforgiving, as I realized the depth of what I had done, of what my presence here had cost. If I had just stayed in the church, if I had obeyed my father, if I had never left the sanctuary he had built for me, then none of this would have happened. She would still be alive, loved and cherished by her town, a beacon of hope for the people who believed in her. She would be whole, untouched by my darkness.

But I knew, in my heart, that she would have found me anyway. Aera had been drawn to me, just as I had been drawn to her, our fates entwined from the moment we met. Yet I couldn’t escape the truth — if I had held her hand when she had reached for me, if I had chosen her instead of pushing her away, she would still be here.

“Make everything vanish.”

The whisper rose from the depths of my soul, a desperate, pleading prayer.

“Please, take this pain away. Make it all disappear. Make me disappear.”

As I knelt there, my face streaked with tears, I felt a presence, a shifting in the darkness. A pair of red eyes glowed softly from the shadows, moving toward me, each step careful, deliberate. But I felt no fear, for those eyes were achingly familiar, a comfort that transcended the cold emptiness inside me.

“Father?”

My voice wavered, fragile and uncertain, as the creature stepped into the faint light, revealing itself. A giant, obsidian wolf stood before me, its form towering and spectral, dark fur rippling like liquid midnight, as if it carried the weight of the night itself within its form. Its maw was filled with jagged teeth, some missing, others broken, each one catching the faint moonlight, glinting like shards of blackened glass.

I could almost hear Aera’s voice, faint as a memory, telling me once — maybe in one of those long, late conversations under the stars — that the Black Forest was filled with wolves, beasts who feasted on the souls of the unwary, creatures who existed as enemies of Procyon himself. They were beings of darkness, born to haunt the light and consume anything they could pull into their void.

Yet now, staring into the eyes of this creature, feeling the quiet familiarity settle over me like a blanket on a cold night, I felt nothing resembling fear. If anything, it felt like a reunion, like encountering something ancient and lost that had always belonged to me, had always watched over me, even when I had been unaware of. The questions churned in my mind, whispering their confusion: Why wasn’t I scared? Why did this being feel so familiar?

And why, in all my years living in the Black Forest, had I never encountered one of these so-called beasts, despite the townspeople’s constant warnings, despite Aera’s hushed tales of terror? Perhaps because I had thought them only myth, stories to keep children inside and remind them of the boundaries they shouldn’t cross. But now, one of them stood here, close enough that I could reach out and touch the darkness rippling.

I took a slow, steadying breath and whispered.

“Are you going to eat me?”

I knew there was no point in running. It could outrun me, catch me before I’d taken more than a few steps. If this was how my story ended, if this was the cost of what I’d done… Then so be it. The guilt lay heavy within me, sinking deep into my bones, wrapping me in a kind of calm. Yet, as the dark creature watched, something changed. The black fur began to lighten, its surface rippling as if stirred by an unseen wind, threads of white weaving through dark like moonlight shining through clouds. Its red eyes softened, turning an otherworldly green, gleaming like twin emeralds beneath the stars.

“No…” — I breathed, the sight stealing the air from my lungs.

“No way…”

The black wolf that had haunted the edges of every nightmare and whispered myth was not a beast. Before my eyes, it transformed, shedding its darkness until it stood as something unearthly, a creature of light and serenity, a presence so radiant it seemed to establish the essence of the Full Moon herself. It was Procyon — not as a distant god or a mere legend, but a goddess embodied, a being of divinity.

A shiver ran through me as the realization settled like a gentle hand upon my heart. The townspeople had spoken in hushed tones of Procyon’s wrath and power, had offered their prayers to it, seeking its favor, fearing its fury. But standing here, face to face with the very spirit of Procyon, I felt none of that. There was no anger in her eyes, no judgment — only a soft, ancient understanding that wrapped around me, easing the ache inside me, a presence that felt as familiar as a mother’s embrace.

“Aera was part of you, wasn’t she?” — I whispered, my voice cracking. My heart ached with the thought, my mind racing with memories of Aera’s gentle laugh, her kindness, her hope. It made sense now, all of it. The bond she shared with the people, the light that seemed to shine from her, her belief in something beyond the world she could see — it had been Procyon’s own spirit woven into her heart.

I lifted my gaze to the great wolf’s face, eyes burning with desperation.

“Please… Bring her back. I’ll do anything. Just let her live.”

The goddess met my plea with silent stillness, the faintest shift in her expression conveying an answer more devastating than words could ever be. It was impossible. Even for a goddess, the threads of fate couldn’t be undone. The life that had been given and then taken could never return to the living world. The finality of it hit me like a blow, and a hollow emptiness inside me, threatening to swallow me whole.

I lowered my head, a fresh wave of grief wracking through me. — “Then…” — I managed, my voice barely a whisper. — “Then make forget. Please. Aera’s death will haunt me for the rest of my life. This… This pain, it’ll destroy me. I’ll never be able to laugh again, to smile, to feel anything but this darkness. My father will lose my joy, too, and he doesn’t deserve that.”

The wolf’s emerald eyes held mine, glistening with a sorrow that seemed to stretch back through centuries. I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to continue. — “And not just me. The townspeople, too. They loved her just as much, even if they blamed me in the end. If they lose her, they’ll lose hope. Please… Make them forget her, too. Let them live without this pain. Without the shadow of her loss.”

Procyon’s eyes glinted in the moonlight, the weight of her silent agreement pressing down on me. The forest grew brighter as her fur seemed to take on a new light, as though it absorbed the moon’s glow, intensifying until she looked like a creature woven from the stars themselves. She lifted her head, letting out a long, echoing howl that seemed to vibrate through the very fabric of the night, a sound that was equal parts lament and promise.

She stepped forward, her enormous form lowering to kneel before me. Her radiant tail, gleaming like a thread of spun silver, rose into the air, splitting into countless shimmering beams of light. One tendril drifted toward me, hovering just above my forehead, while hundreds, thousands of others spread out, stretching into the night, winding their way toward the town that slept under the watchful eye of the moon.

The light touched me, a warm, soothing sensation spreading through my mind, easing the raw edges of grief, blurring the sharp ache of my memories. I felt it slipping into me, wrapping around the pain in my chest, dulling the throb until it felt far away, a distant shadow. Procyon’s power wound through me, a gentle force that softened the anguish, coaxing it into sleep.

Images of Aera floated to the surface, fading like the remnants of a dream. Her laughter, her touch, the warmth in her eyes — all of it softened, blurred, slipping through my fingers like sand. The details of her face grew hazy, the sound of her voice melting away, until she was nothing more than a flicker of light, a faint warmth that would forever linger just beyond my reach.

And then, in a moment that was both agonizing and tender, I felt the memory of her slip away completely, leaving only a gentle, aching emptiness, a space where she had once been. I knew that something was gone, something beautiful and irreplaceable, but the specifics, the details that had once been so sharp, so vivid, were beyond my grasp.

As the light receded, I felt the last thread of connection break, leaving me alone in the quiet darkness. The wolf’s gaze softened, her emerald eyes carrying a depth of compassion I couldn’t fully comprehend. She leaned forward, pressing her muzzle to my forehead, a touch filled with an ancient sorrow, a silent blessing.

And with that, she withdrew, her form fading, dissolving into the night until there was nothing left but the soft glow of the moon above, casting its gentle light over the forest.

I stood there, alone in the silence, the warmth of her touch still lingering, but the emptiness within me so vast, so consuming, but I wasn’t sure I could ever fill it. I knew that I had lost something precious, that a piece of me was missing, but what it was — who it was — lay beyond my reach, a mystery hidden within the depths of my soul.

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