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novemsolis

Mar 30, 2024

rune-writes

Divine Lover of the Moon

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Word Count: 19.8K

Rating: T

Pairing: Oschon/Menphina

Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a wanderer whose only purpose was to collect tales from across the star. The tales he would then weave into songs as a source of comfort or entertainment for the people he meets. But when one such tale leads him deep into the woods where he encounters the beautiful Goddess of the Moon, the wanderer finds his world upended, and all that he knew - even his heart - are put to the test.

Notes: my fic written for @fauxlorexiv!! working on this has been such a blast! The accompanying artwork by the lovely @trarioven is embedded in the fic but can also be seen here.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Legend tells of a man who once coveted the love of the Moon Goddess. Oschon the Wanderer, they call him, for being the first person to have successfully traversed and mapped the entire star, or so the story goes. Others claim that it was his aversion to remain in one place for too long that gave him the moniker. Armed with his bow and lute, Oschon would wander, listening to the people’s plight and breathing succor into their despairing hearts.

His tale began on the day of his parents’ death. An illness had overcome his village swiftly, his parents succumbing to it soon after the first signs of an affliction showed itself. The day his parents died, Oschon watched the village men cover them in white linen. They placed them in coffins and lowered them into the ground. A flurry of his mother’s beloved moonflowers took to the wind and landed on her coffin lid. When the men began shoveling earth back to fill in the hole, a part of him wanted to cry, but he remained silent, fingers clasped over his brother’s hand.

He was nine then, and his brother, Nald’thal, was eight.

Partings are ever a forlorn affair, his father once said, yet therein lies hope for a new encounter.

Of course, his father had spoken it upon watching travelers leave. He was always a lover of company. He would sit with them by their fires and listen to them talk of lofty peaks and monstrous seas. Their tales had always painted vivid pictures in young Oschon’s mind, and before he knew it, traveling to where the star would take him had become deeply ingrained in his heart. He’d told his father just that, that one day, he would take his father, mother, and brother to a voyage across the star; and once they’d walked the entire earth and beheld all the wonder it had to offer, they would come home where comfort and warmth awaited them.

The dream never had a chance to come to fruition when his parents left before their time. The moonflower brooch he had received from his mother became a lifeline he held on to. And so, on the day he came of age, Oschon decided to follow it through, bidding his friends, his brother, and his village farewell. Except, of course, his brother couldn't very well leave him alone, so after Nald’thal came of age, he followed in his brother’s footsteps, meeting him serendipitously in a village with Halone in tow.

“And what, pray tell, drove you to follow my brother?” Oschon asked her over a mug of ale after Nald’thal finished recounting his tale.

“Nald’thal needs protection,” Halone said in nonchalance, breaking bread and spreading butter across its surface. Under Oschon’s unyielding stare, she sighed and added, “The village is strong enough to fend itself, and I figure I might find worthier opponents by following you. You’ve always had a penchant for trouble.”

His incredulity was eclipsed by the honesty of Halone’s reply that it left him momentarily dazed. In fact, he realized he was more dumbfounded by the fact that it was indeed the response he had expected, set aside, and subsequently wondered if Halone had somehow mustered a desire outside of her lust for battle. No doubt the beasts back home had learned to cower and hide the moment she stepped into the hills. The prospect of encountering even more powerful creatures had probably been tempting enough; she might not have waited for Nald’thal to proffer the idea. Who knew how long she’d contemplated the thought? Oschon wouldn’t be surprised if the seeds had been sown since their early days of hunting together.

Oschon shifted his gaze to his brother, a man barely eighteen, who was already an accomplished trader by his own rights. He eyed Nald’thal shrewdly, knowing full well he was only there for the profit, if anything. Nald’thal had the decency not to return his gaze. Oschon sighed.

“Well,” he said, looking at his mug and the pale brown liquid sloshing inside. His heart lay in knots. He didn’t quite know how to feel to have companions at his side when he’d set out with the intention to travel alone. It shouldn’t be too bad, he thought. It would be just like back in the village, when the three of them would run around wreaking havoc or coming home from the forest covered in stinging cuts and bruises. His mother would glower while Rhalgr, Halone’s father and the village’s chief, would give a hearty laugh and slap them all on the back. But neither of them could ever forget the chilly smile he’d offered, promising a punishment harsher than anything their young minds could imagine. The memory brought a fresh pang to Oschon’s heart, so he cleared his throat, lifted his glass, and said, “To our fellowship.”

Halone and Nald’thal didn’t miss their beats, echoing Oschon’s sentiment and clinking their glasses together to what would be the dawn of their journey.

***

Ten summers came and went, during which Oschon and his companions had reaped a decent amount of reputation under their belts.

Halone became a fierce warrior, known for her luscious silvery hair and the gleaming spear she always carried by her side. Beasts upon mighty beasts fell on her feet, and though no man could match her prowess with the blade, she sought ever greater heights to hone her skill. And so did she wander, in search of ever more powerful opponents, to the aggravation of Nophica, the Goddess of Abundance, whom they’d met during their journey to the east.

Nald’thal grew into his role as a trader. He had already developed the eye and tongue required of a savvy merchant by the age of eighteen. Now, shortly after his twenty-eighth nameday, he had already pocketed the name of every influential merchant, ruler, and figure the realm over. It was not in his way to trick his customers or deal with bribery. Such was the reason how he had acquired so many loyal patrons.

Oschon, however, could not quite describe himself as having achieved anything worthwhile. His only desire was to learn of the star and its people, to fulfill the promise of his long-forgotten dream. Becoming a wandering minstrel had seemed like an appealing notion at the time. He would travel where the wind took him—be they towns, villages, or simply wilderness—and gather where people were wont to gather. Because where there were people, there were bound to be tales.

One such tale—though it was less of a tale and more of a rumor—told of a great prowling beast in the woods on the outskirts of a small village. “With eyes like twin crimson pools and a body of the blackest of nights,” the men of the village whispered. “The creature looks like the devil incarnate himself!” Except this was a beast, not a devil, with claws and fangs the length of a grown man’s arm that could easily cut through any who crossed its path. Oschon couldn’t confirm the veracity of the tale, as no one in the village had actually seen the beast, and those who had didn’t live to tell it. But the men’s gaunt faces were evidence enough. Something stalked those woods, frightening the villagers enough that no one had dared to step in it for the past several moons. It was only a matter of time before it took its hunting ground to the plain and the village itself.

Oschon looked at his companions and saw that Halone had already broken into a feral grin while his brother only shrugged and sighed, offering a little smile.

Halone stood from the log she was sitting on, reaching for her helmet. “Where did you say this creature was?”

“In the woods just north of here,” one of the men said hesitantly. He glanced at the others, then pointed a finger toward the northern gate. Even if they looked, the darkness didn’t yield much. There was no moon; the stars barely lit the steppe. Even the small fire failed to penetrate their surrounding gloom. But Halone smirked nonetheless.

“It’s a new moon tonight,” Oschon said, a futile warning, as his friend was already adjusting her helmet around her head.

“What of it?”

“With no light to illuminate our way, it would be folly to hunt a beast who could very well see in the dark. You’d step into its maws before you could even brandish your spear.”

Halone barked a laugh. She grabbed her spear leaning against the log she had been sitting on. “Is that fear I hear quivering in your voice? The Great Oschon, afraid to be mauled by a beast?”

“Not everyone has an unquenchable thirst for blood like you.”

Halone sniffed, but not taking the slightest offense, as she knew Oschon’s jibes were, at most, made in playful jest, as it was now, shown in the resigned upturn of his lips. She turned to the men by the fire.

“Should the beast be as great as you claim, I believe it might feed your village for a moon and a half, probably more,” she said. “My companion here will be more than happy to sort out the payment.” She cut a glance at Nald’thal, who dipped his head at the men. Oschon scoffed softly, though he smiled. Then Halone’s gaze shifted heavensward. Starlight shone on the hard lines of her face. “I need no light to hunt my prey, Oschon,” she said. “I pray it does not hinder you either.”

She was gone before Oschon could respond. He shared a half-amused look with his brother. The men, however, sat in nervous silence.

“Do save your concern,” Nald’thal said in an attempt to assuage their apprehension. “Halone is the best fighter in all the realms. No harm shall come to her.”

“Not while I have her back.” Oschon grabbed his quiver lying on the ground and affixed it to his back. Reaching for his bow, he rose to his feet. “Though whether or not she lets me is another matter. For all we know, she’d have felled the beast by the time I caught up to her.”

“Best get a move on then,” Nald’thal said.

Oschon lifted two fingers to his brow in farewell before following in Halone’s tail.

***

Even back in his village, Oschon was known to be one of the best trackers. He could easily read faded footprints, flattened blades of grass, and even the faint trace of aether in the air. No man or beast could avoid his senses for long. Such was the reason why Halone often asked him to tag along her hunting trips. However, as he stepped past the woods’ line of trees now, Oschon found that, for once, his knack for reading trails could not avail him. The trees stood abundantly close, silent like eerie shadows in the night. Their thick, dark boughs spread high and wide like a spider web of limbs. If what little starlight the heavens provided had lit his path toward the forest, now all was engulfed in a pressing darkness.

As though something was trying to keep him away.

Swallowing his sigh, Oschon reached out with his senses again, but try as he might, he could not find any traces of Halone’s aether. And not only her aether either—he could not sense another living being in the woods at all. Even the trees around him felt like cold imitations of their real selves. Oschon held out his hand and touched a nearby trunk. A faint warmth permeated from the bark. At least they were alive.

The thought brought both a surge of relief and a fresh wave of uneasiness. Whatever hid in these woods, it was not their average beast. For a creature to have created such a meticulous, isolated zone with an impeccable barrier that rendered one’s senses mute, they would have had to possess an impressive amount of magical prowess. Oschon couldn’t even find his way out, which made the notion that the barrier covered the entire forest all the more plausible. Reaching for his bow and nocking an arrow, he sent a silent prayer for Halone's safety before he ventured deeper.

The gloom grew ever more pressing the farther he went, so much so that it was easy to think only he existed in the world. Oschon pursed his lips at the familiar feeling. Some said it was the curse of a vagrant, to seek that which they could not attain. Some sought glory while others power; some ventured to the wilds to seek meaning to their lives. Oschon left his village to fulfill a dream. A simple enough goal, and yet each turn of the season had only left a growing pit at the bottom of his heart. Oschon didn’t remember when it started but now he often found himself staying up late past the time Nald’thal and Halone had retreated to their beds. He would find himself a patch of moonlight, sometimes with a mug of ale, other times accompanied with only his lute, and then he would gaze upwards. Always, the moon looked at him, its face round and full. Every night he would unfailingly tell the moon of how his days had gone—the people he had met, the tales he had come across. He would watch how it wax, then wane, then disappear for just a day, and when it returned, he would smile and say:

Welcome back, friend.

Something glimmered in the periphery of his vision. Oschon blinked. It didn’t seem to be a mirage because the light remained. He approached it cautiously, keeping his grip on his bow secure. The glow slowly penetrated the darkness and shapes of trees pulled themselves away from the shadows. Amidst twigs and gnarled roots, he found a fabric of shimmering stars.

Like the midnight sky. The thought unwittingly crossed his mind as he lifted the scarf in his hands. The silken fabric was soft to the touch, the color a deep indigo with a scatter of sparkling dots like starlight. Thin and weightless, yet he could feel the ripple of power across its gleaming surface.

The fabric had so entranced him that when the sound of splashing water broke the forest’s stillness, he jerked, arrow training at the source of the noise. Nothing was there but a pale silvery glow he noted from between the trees. Oschon narrowed his eyes.

A trap, most likely, but the hunter in him thought if he could only debilitate whatever it was emanating the glow, he could disperse the gloom and return his senses. Should it be their quarry, then that was a job well done. The question was: what if it was a different creature from their mark. Whatever the case, he knew he needed to put down the creature behind this barrier. So, putting aside his doubts, Oschon quietly made his way across the undergrowth.

He hid behind a tree a distance away from the edge. He would only have one shot. Oschon steadied his breath and closed his eyes, spreading out his senses wider. He found a trail of aether—finally. Except, it wasn’t merely a trail; he found an entire ocean of it, surging and undulating like waves threatening to wash over him, as though whatever creature hiding beyond these trees had gathered all the aether in the forest and kept it to himself. He tasted salt and the cool touch of ice.

He pulled his bowstring taut. Halone would not be able to best something with this colossal amount of aether, let alone him. Oschon’s throat bobbed in nervousness. One shot, he reminded himself. Steeling his heart, he trained his bow at the clearing—

—and then he froze.

The first thing Oschon noticed was the great, ebony wolf dozing on the bank of what looked to be a lake, its head resting on its large front paws. The second thing were the giggles—light and breathy with a melodious lilt to it.

“Llymlaen, look!”

The pristine water broke apart and two heads emerged. One, with her back to him, had a stream of blue hair down her back, obscuring any shape or size. The other, however, had the face of a resplendent goddess, facing her companion with a grin as bright as moonlight. Oschon stood, transfixed, as the woman brought her cupped hands and showed her friend a frog she had captured.

Oschon could count on one hand the moments he had been entranced by simple beauty, though such moments usually involved the rush of wind from atop lofty peaks or the gentle dapple of moonlight in tranquil nights. Yet this… iridescent woman, young and… not quite beautiful but pretty, and lovely, with hair a bright turquoise blue tumbling down her shoulders in twin tails and a playful glint in the silver of her eyes, took his breath away.

He didn’t quite know what happened then. When he recounted his tale later on, he swore he hadn’t made any sound—no breaking twigs or brushing against the undergrowth; Oschon didn’t even remember if he had breathed. But he did recall a dim glimmer on his chest, and the woman with the lovely face turned her gaze to meet his.

And then the world stilled.

His senses willed him to move, to run, because whoever—whatever—these people were would pin him to the tree with a stake to his heart in the blink of an eye. But Oschon’s feet were rooted to the spot. He couldn’t shift his eyes away from the young woman. A sweet frosty scent—familiar and nostalgic—came over his senses. He blinked, and the trance was broken.

“You—” the woman began.

A whip of a hand; a dagger cut through the air. Another glint from his chest and the dagger hit the tree bark several ilms from Oschon's face. A slit opened across his cheek; blood trickled down his face.

“Llymlaen!” She whirled at her friend.

But the older one, Llymlaen, paid her no heed. “Leave!” She didn’t scream. She barely said the word. But the blue-gray of Llymlaen’s eyes blazed like fire and Oschon found himself not wanting to tempt fate.

He backed a step, then another, his grip on his bow slackening. Oschon stumbled over his own feet before he turned and fled.

***

How he managed to find his way out, Oschon didn’t quite know, but as he ran past the trees and undergrowth, he realized the pressing gloom had dissipated, and he could hear the wind rustling through the leaves and the chirping of night insects. The forest was alive again, unlike the dead, desolate feeling it had before.

Oschon realized he was still holding onto the starry shawl halfway toward the exit. He slowed his pace, then thought he would rather not return to the lake again. Not when someone there was ready to kill him. He stashed the silk in his bag, then got on his way. Only, he then heard a distant triumphant cry and he remembered why he was there in the first place.

By the time he rendezvoused with Halone, the warrior had already felled the beast and was attempting to carry it on her back. A foolish attempt as, just like the villagers claimed, the creature was huge. Black as night, with crimson eyes and claws and fangs the length of a grown man's arm. It almost looked lupine—which brought to mind the midnight wolf he had seen before. Oschon shook his head.

Halone asked him what took him so long and what had happened to his cheek. When he didn’t offer a straight answer, she instead chided him for missing the fight. At least she hadn’t retained any injury, thank the gods. She would have found the beast while all was still dark. Halone confirmed that the darkness had suddenly lifted while she was fighting, so it had only taken a small effort on her part to deal the final blow.

Thoughts of the women he’d encountered threatened to breach into his mind, but he waved them away. Instead, he occupied himself with putting a levitating spell on the beast. He then carried it all the way back to the village.

Nald’thal was waiting for him along with the men who had shared the rumor with them. The men’s eyes lit up the moment they beheld the dead beast, while his brother’s face only held a satisfied smile. Nald’thal then made quick work of the beast, identifying the meat as edible while all other parts had no magical properties. The village chief, having heard of the commotion and their triumph over the monster that had haunted their woods, came out of his house to commend them for their deed. But their village was poor; they had no way to pay them. Nald’thal said as long as they could have several parts of the beast, that would be payment enough.

“It is almost midnight,” he said. “Let us retire and talk more of this after sunrise.”

They were offered lodgings at the chief’s home. As Halone and Nald’thal settled in their rented room, Oschon made his way out. He spotted stragglers still around the cut-up beast, reveling on its size now that it was dead. Oschon dipped his head as he passed them, then after a little wandering, found a quiet spot just outside the fences.

He sat on one of the boulders making up the outer barrier of the village. Had the moon been present, he would have gazed at it and confided his recent ordeals with it. He never expected an answer, just a place to unburden himself free from any judgment that would come with confiding in another human.

But there was no moon tonight. As he gazed at the star-studded sky, his eyes were inadvertently drawn to the brooch on his chest—the moonflower brooch he’d gotten from his mother that now fastened his cloak. He grazed the dull rim, the delicate round petals frozen in stone. If the beast had no magical prowess, did it mean the gloom really had been those women’s doing? There was also the issue of the shawl still hidden in his bag. He should return it, shouldn’t he?

“There you are.” Oschon glanced up at his brother’s approach. Nald’thal offered him an easy smile, took a seat next to him, and leaned back on his hands. He gazed at the sky. “It would’ve been a prettier night had the moon been present.”

Oschon chuckled under his breath and dropped his hand from his brooch. “What brings you here, Brother?”

“Halone said you arrived late.” Oschon felt his glance. “Did something happen?”

Oschon was silent for a while. “I believe the beast is the least of our worries.” He then told Nald’thal about the darkness that had enveloped the forest. Apparently Halone had informed him of it, but he hadn’t known about the other… entities Oschon encountered. When Oschon asked if he recalled Llymlaen, Nald’thal straightened his posture.

“The Sea Goddess?” he asked after a pause.

Fear gripped Oschon’s heart the moment his brother voiced his suspicions. The only deities he knew who resided on earth were Nophica and Llymlaen. But while Nophica had been warm and welcoming—he’d dealt with her when Halone almost killed one of her pets—stories of the stormy Llymlaen always managed to send shivers down his spine. Having been at the other end of her blade which would have pierced his skull had she not missed her mark only confirmed his fear.

“It seemed she and another… goddess… had been in the lake. I think they were the cause of the darkness. I know not why they created it. Or how long they would stay.”

Nald’thal pondered Oschon’s response. “You mean to say they might pose a threat.”

Oschon shrugged. He was more inclined to think they would return to wherever they came from soon enough. Nophica never quite left her grove as far as he knew. He reached into his bag and pulled the starlight scarf out.

“There is also this.”

Oschon heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath. “Theirs?”

“Possibly.”

“Why do you have it with you?”

“It was stranded on the ground. I forgot I was still holding it when I ran for my life.”

“You ran?”

Oschon frowned. “Would you have done differently had Llymlaen attempted to gut you with a knife?”

Nald’thal wouldn’t, both of them knew. Halone would be a different matter. Part of him was glad he didn’t have to regale her with the tale of how he had escaped a bloodthirsty goddess, but he figured he would have to tell her sooner or later.

“Return it,” Nald’thal said firmly.

“And risk my life again?”

“You’d risk all our lives if you keep holding onto it.”

He wasn’t wrong, though it didn’t stop Oschon from wincing inwardly. Hold on to it and be marked by Llymlaen, or return it and risk being killed there and then. But Nald’thal convinced him that the Sea Goddess would do no such thing. If it’d make Oschon feel safer, he could always take Halone with him.

And be mocked for running away? Oschon would rather brave the danger alone.

***

The next morning, Oschon apprised Halone of what had happened. True to character, she offered to come, no doubt to perhaps challenge Llymlaen as she had once challenged Nophica, so Oschon told her no. She made to protest, but Oschon turned to his brother and said that if he didn’t return by sundown, they were to search for him. Oschon then left his companions to sort through their quarry’s meat, pelt, claws, and fangs, and made his way back to the forest.

It took him half the time it had taken him the night before to reach the lake. It was empty; the water still and pristine, almost like a mirror in the way it reflected the sky and trees with perfect clarity. Oschon stepped as close as he dared to the water’s edge, then hollered: “Hello!” His own voice echoed back.

Oschon steeled his nerves then went on. “I wish to apologize for last night! And to return a scarf I found in the woods.”

Silence answered him. He traced the surge of aether he’d sensed the night before but nothing could be found. Had it all been his imagination? Yet the scarf in his hand was as real as the scar that still smarted on his cheek. He walked along the bank, then found the tree where he’d hidden himself. Sure enough, he spotted the crevice where Llymlaen’s dagger had burrowed deep.

As he wondered what he was supposed to do, his senses caught a familiar ripple of power. Oschon whirled around just as the air not ten yalms behind him shimmered. The dress appeared first, platinum-white and sparkling under the sun, hugging a petite body as her torso, arms and legs came into view, then finally her face. Ice-blue crystals draped down her shoulder and a sash of similar color wrapped around her waist. Her skin was pale and flawless; her hair, lustrous and silken, tied on both sides of her head and kept in place by a golden headdress.

She exuded a most reverent of auras, with waves upon waves of those sweet frosty aether rolling off of her. Her eyes shone silver and her mouth curved into a cold smile. A hazy glow shrouded her that seemed to be coming from inside her rather than outside.

For a long second, Oschon was back in the forest last night, transfixed and lost.

“There you are.” The goddess drawled, as though she had been waiting for him. She dropped from the back of her great, shaggy wolf without breaking her gracefulness. Then she held out her hand. “I’d like to have my scarf back, please.”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance; Oschon stumbled with his words. “Right, yes…” He fumbled with his bag, then with the drawstrings, somehow managing to get it to open. He drew the starlight shawl out to the open. Oschon vaguely sensed the goddess frowning but when he turned to face her again, she looked as impassive as ever.

“Here.” He placed the fabric on her outstretched palm. She snatched it and inspected it carefully. “The wind must have blown it away. I found it on the ground—” He made to turn and point, but a growl from the giant wolf stopped him. “I did not mean to take it.”

The goddess sniffed disdainfully. “A likely story, coming from someone who enjoyed peeking on women bathing.”

“I didn’t—” Oschon began, flushing fiercely.

“Of course not.” She gave the scarf a flap, then a satisfied nod, before wrapping the shawl around her shoulders. “Good thing Llymlaen isn’t here, or she would have gouged your eyes and fed them to her sharks.”

Oschon swallowed his nervousness. “Please, let me explain. I was here with my companion to hunt a beast that’s been sighted around the area. We got separated. Forgive me, I never meant to trespass.”

“A beast?” The goddess’s eyes went wide with surprise. It startled him to have elicited such a response from her. “What manner of beast?”

“A… wolf of some kind,” he said, rather hesitantly, then quickly added, “that’s been taking residence in the woods for a while. I doubt it was your hound, rest assured, please.”

“I see. Have you caught it then?”

Oschon wasn’t sure what to make of this change in attitude, but he replied nonetheless. “Aye, my companion found it while still blinded by the darkness—” There; the slight recognition of what he was referring to. “—so you see how I might have stumbled upon you accidentally.”

“Ah… Well…” The goddess trailed off, eyes shifting away. Then suddenly, she sighed. “Llymlaen, can we please stop? The human’s not at fault and I sorely hate acting like I’m angry.”

Oschon blinked. There was a pause, followed by a glint in the sky. Oschon shut his eyes as a trident flashed across the expanse and struck the ground ilms from where he stood. Wind whipped like a storm in the middle of a raging sea and Oschon tasted a tang of salt in the aether. He held his breath and willed his hammering heart to still. He heard the trident being lifted from its perch then felt the sharp tip of its blade graze the skin beneath his jaw. It turned his face upward. He opened his eyes to a countenance as beautiful and terrifying as a tempest.

“I should have gouged both of your eyes,” Llymlaen hissed.

Oschon fought against the tremble in his knees.

“Llymlaen!” the other goddess scolded. Llymlaen scoffed, nicked his skin, then stalked away. A thin trail of blood trickled down his neck. “I’m sorry. She means no harm.”

Oschon doubted it, but the goddess didn’t seem to pick up on his unease. She was already speaking nonstop.

“I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience I have caused you. The barrier was a safety measure to hide us from prying eyes. Of course it seemed you possessed some sort of knack at following trails more than most, so I could not entirely blame you for it. Not to mention you have your friend with you! Oh, I do hope they are alright—”

Oschon was taken aback by the sudden stream of words pouring out of the goddess’s lips. She spoke too fast about too many things with too little elaboration; it was hard for Oschon to keep up. She might not have stopped had Llymlaen not called her name.

“Ah, forgive me,” she said with a sheepish grin. “As I was saying, thank you for returning the scarf. I need it to return home, you see, and after realizing it was gone, Llymlaen almost hunted you down if I hadn’t asked her to wait. I knew you would’ve returned.”

That made him pause. “You…knew I would return?”

The goddess gasped with both hands delicately covering her mouth. “Ah, goodness, forgive me for not introducing myself.” She made an elegant swish of her knee-length dress, bent her knees, one ankle behind the other. “I am Menphina, Goddess of the Moon.” She rose from her curtsy and offered him a radiant smile as though that was enough for an answer. Although, now that he thought about it, perhaps it was. The starlight scarf and the soft glow surrounding herself should have given her away—or if not, she wore a full moon brooch on her shoulder that was pretty telling by itself. And yet never had he thought he would meet the Moon Goddess frolicking on earth, because the moon should have…

He recalled there had been no moon last night.

“And my companion there is Llymlaen, the Goddess of the Sea, as you might have surmised.” Menphina added with no regard to his befuddlement, half-turning to where Llymlaen was standing beside the hound.

He heard the clearing of a throat, then another warning: “Menphina.” Oschon caught a slight purse gracing the Moon Goddess’s lips.

“I thank you for bringing me back my scarf again, Oschon.” A pause. “I bid you well.”

How she knew his name—he didn’t know, nor had he the chance to ask, because by the time Oschon shook out of his trance, Menphina had already climbed atop her hound, who met Oschon’s searching gaze with a growl. “Hush, Dalamud,” the goddess said. She met Oschon’s eyes briefly before her eyes inadvertently fell to something on his chest.

Before Oschon had the chance to see what she was looking at, Llymlaen had already shot to the sky, Menphina and her hound following suit.

***

For the next several days, Oschon stayed in the village, helping Nald’thal and the village butchers to skin the beast and distribute the meat to all the villagers. Halone accompanied some of the men back to the woods as protection, and once they were quite certain all dangers were averted, the three of them decided to leave, with the rest of the beast parts packaged in magical containers ready to be sold or traded in the next town they visited.

Oschon didn’t apprise his companions of all that transpired in the woods, only that the goddesses were gone and the scarf along with them. Halone was still upset that she didn’t get a chance to cross blades with Llymlaen, and sometimes, the conversation turned to speculations on who the other goddess was. Oschon claimed the goddess didn’t introduce herself, and he couldn’t quite remember the scriptures as to guess who it might be. Halone called him daft while Nald’thal couldn’t believe him. But his brother never pressed him further, so Oschon left it at that.

One night, however, as they were settling at the inn of a small town, Nald’thal offered to have a drink in the yard. They’d made a hefty sum from selling the beast’s remains, and then trading the wares they’d collected since, but Oschon, for once, opted to stay indoors.

“Something occurred in those woods,” Nald’thal then said decisively. “Do you not notice the change too, Halone?”

Halone nodded. “Spill it, Oschon. You’ve gotten a lot quieter, and never once, in the past few weeks, have I seen you go on your nightly stalks with that brooding manner of yours. What happened?”

Oschon scowled and folded his arms. “For one, I do not brood,” he said, then added, “nor do I stalk.”

Halone scoffed. “Then were you being merry every time you drank under the moon?”

Oschon’s scowl deepened. Indeed, ever since Menphina revealed herself to him, coupled with the fact that she knew him by name, Oschon hadn’t stopped to grace the moon with his tales. He almost did, last week on the night of the full moon, strolling out of his tent to a patch of moonlight beyond their campsite as he usually did. Only, he made a double take at the last second and retreated back inside. He didn’t even spare the moon a glance. Oschon didn’t know why he was making a big deal out of it, nor why he hid her presence from his companions, but in the end, under Nald’thal and Halone’s scrutiny, he waved his hand and said they were imagining things.

By the next new moon, they arrived in a larger town where Nald’thal had a client who was waiting for the rest of their beast’s jarred, preserved organs. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, taking the last of its dying rays and leaving the world painted in black. Aether-infused lamps sprang to life, illuminating city streets and dark corners. While Oschon loved the wilderness, he couldn’t deny a city at night held a certain kind of alluring beauty to it. One wouldn’t even realize it was night at all, except by the streak of indigo sky caught between the rows of buildings.

Oschon was sitting outside the inn, polishing his bow and humming to himself, an empty dinner bowl on the table before him, when a familiar ripple shimmered in the air. He was on his feet instantly, an arrow trained at Menphina, who had materialized out of nowhere.

“Could you please point that elsewhere?” she said with an annoyed huff, a delicate finger pushing the tip of Oschon’s arrow to the side.

“Menphina.”

The goddess made flesh: silver eyes, sparkling dress, and the unmistakable glow beneath her porcelain skin. The only noted difference was that now the starlight scarf was securely wrapped around her shoulders, just like how she’d donned it right before she left the lake roughly two fortnights ago. No more chance of the wind picking it up, Oschon thought. For a moment, he found himself back in that clearing, spellbound as he’d beheld the Moon Goddess’s resplendence for the first time—a recollection that was cut short by the sight of a silvery glint and the sharp pain across his cheek.

He heard the murmurs first, then felt the wary glances. They pierced through the thin veil of his fascination, bringing his attention to his spectators. The inn’s patrons were looking at Menphina with both caution and captivation. The only consolation was the fact that there were only a few of them outside the inn that they couldn’t make any significant fuss. So Oschon did what he thought was best: he put his arrow back in its shaft then slung his bow across his back. Then he crossed the yard and asked Menphina to follow him—and for heavens’ sake, to dim her glow. From the corner of his eyes, Oschon saw the goddess tilting her head in confusion though she followed him without question. By the time they left the inn’s premises, her light had dissipated.

He took her to a deserted alleyway next to the inn. His only thought was to bring her far away from prying eyes. But his mind had strayed, fixed on the question of why she was there and turning up every possible answer that entered his head, that he hadn’t quite seen where he was going. It wasn’t until the goddess asked it herself—“Where are you taking me?”—that Oschon stopped and looked over his shoulder. Menphina’s gaze was clear, almost innocent-like. It almost made him forget she was an immortal being as old as the universe itself.

He cleared his throat, then turned around. “Forgive me,” he said, then, having decided to come directly with his query, added, “have I, perchance, done something else that acquired your ire?”

Menphina blinked, puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe the goddess of the moon would come to the star for no reason.”

Menphina cocked her head to the side, then lifted her face skyward. “It is a new moon. I do not see why I need a reason to visit the star when I have no duty that binds me to the sky.” It was Oschon’s turn to look perplexed. And then the goddess giggled. “Forgive me; I jest,” she said. “While yes, I am free to leave as I go during a new moon, perhaps I should say first that I came alone. Llymlaen isn’t here with me. Even Dalamud stayed behind. So be at ease, please. I only came to see you.”

Her gentle smile brought to mind the day he had returned her scarf. She’d known his name before he had introduced himself.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“I am the warden of the moon,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It would be amiss of me if I do not know the name of the man who regales me with the most fascinating tales.”

His suspicions were right, then. Menphina had been there in all his brooding and stalking and silent ruminations. She’d listened to every tale and every heartfelt confession he had expressed after nightfall—even when he had nothing to say and would only sit in silence, letting his mind wander to memories he rarely treaded. If only the earth could swallow him whole…

How long had she been watching him?

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a scary, brooding face?” Cool fingers touched his forehead; Oschon sucked in a breath. “There,” she went on, “the wrinkles.” Her finger moved, smoothing his skin. For a moment, Oschon found himself gazing at the moon, cocooned as he often was in its soothing light. He felt the tension leave his shoulders, and Menphina smiled.

“After being subjected to the receiving end of Llymlaen’s wrath, I was afraid you’d been left frightened,” she went on as her fingers fell to the scar on his cheek, brushing the faint line there. His still-sensitive skin tingled. She finally retracted her hand, and Oschon could finally breathe again. “But you seem to be very much hale and whole. I am glad.”

He averted his gaze from her moonbeam smile. “I don’t suppose goddesses usually check up on mortals they’d terrorized.”

Menphina, however, met his remark—cutting or otherwise—with a delighted grin. “As a matter of fact, no. Which is why you should be proud that you receive a personal visit from yours truly.” She sounded haughty, looked haughty, but the glint in her eyes seemed to say that, again, this was all jest. Oschon didn’t quite know how to handle her, much more so when she suddenly asked to be shown around town.

As much as he would like to decline, Oschon found himself complying. He told himself he would rather not risk another goddess’s wrath, after having escaped the previous one by a hair’s breadth. Yet as he took Menphina out of the alley and back into the crowded street, he found himself rather enjoying her company.

Oschon wouldn’t have thought it for a goddess, but it seemed Menphina did have a childlike innocence about her. He noticed it in the way her eyes sparkle at lamps on the streets or the little baubles decorating storefronts. A group of street musicians held a performance in the square and she clapped her hands in rhythm. She walked with a skip in her step, her arms swinging on either side of her, as she took in the people coming and going all around her. And when a street vendor selling steamed buns caught her attention, the goddess squealed and bolted right towards it. Like a child, Oschon found himself thinking.

Apparently, his wasn’t the only attention Menphina had captured either. He noticed several passers-by glancing at her. Even the people queueing in front of the steamed bun vendor gave her curious glimpses. She might have dimmed her ethereal aura, but Oschon realized it wasn’t so easy to hide her foreign nature.

Oschon reached her side within several quick strides. In one smooth motion, he had unfastened his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. As he fastened it firmly before her chest and pulled the hood to cover her glistening hair, Oschon found that her silver eyes were fixed on him. He let go of her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “for my impertinence. Just for the time being, until you leave.”

But Menphina didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she pulled the hem closer around herself and smiled her moonlight smile. Oschon’s heart skipped a beat.

“This is a moonflower, is it not?” she later asked after they had gotten their steamed buns and were sitting a little ways away, in a slightly quieter spot at the square with benches set under the awning of trees. Heat rolled off their buns in tendrils. Menphina blew at it the way Oschon had shown her, carefully bit into the pastry, then brought her hand up to her cheek as her lips spread wide in a contented grin. “Ah, this is delicious!”

Oschon felt himself smile before he dug into his own bun. “Yes,” he replied, “that brooch is a moonflower.”

“I knew these round petals looked familiar,” she said. “I saw them once, long ago. An entire field of it. They always lit up under the moonlight.” Menphina brushed the rim of the brooch. It glimmered under her touch—which reminded him…

Had the brooch not glimmered also when Llymlaen attempted to attack him? He vaguely recalled a glint over his chest.

As though picking up on his thoughts, Menphina added, “Where did you get it from? I sense magical properties in it.”

Truthfully, the thought had never occurred to him. He’d never felt any of its sort from the brooch, yet there was no other explanation how he had survived Llymlaen’s dagger. The Sea Goddess couldn’t have missed, unless on purpose, and she had seemed to have enough indignation to gut him there and then. Menphina confirmed it as much, saying Llymlaen had never missed her mark. A new sense of dread overcame him, and with it, a new sense of appreciation for the brooch. His eyes dropped to the small ornament, so worn with time, having lived through a little over a score of summers. Yet it was as pristine as the day he’d gotten it.

“My mother gave it to me,” he said. “I… don’t know much about where she’d gotten it, but I remember my mother giving that to me just before she died. She said it would protect me.” His memory was rather fragmented; part of him had always thought it was a dream. But he knew what he saw: a moonless night, a figure in white, and her mother’s familiar smile.

“Your mother must have loved you so to gift you such a powerful parting gift.” Beside him, Menphina stared at his brooch with a faraway look on her face.

They finished their buns, and after throwing the wrappers away, spent the rest of the night walking around town. As the night grew darker, so did the crowd thinned. Lamps were dimmed and doors were locked. In a deserted corner of the town where a stream ran quietly down a canal, Menphina swept her gaze over the sleeping settlement. She stopped, then turned and unfastened the moonflower brooch from around herself.

“Thank you for entertaining me. It is not often I get to witness human life so closely, not one with proper companionship at least.” Her eyes crinkling with mirth, she returned the cloak to Oschon. All at once, the soft glow of the moon penetrated their surrounding darkness. She lingered for a while, then finally said, “I should take my leave. It is nice to finally meet you, Oschon.”

She turned her back to him, tilting her face upward. Her skin gleamed silver and her dress whipped in a non-existing wind. Oschon knew that the moment she left, he might not see her again. So in one compulsive moment, he blurted:

“Would you like to visit again?”

Menphina looked over her shoulder. Oschon dug his fingers into his cloak.

“The next new moon. In another town. I’ll show you other places.”

Her smile was as bright as the radiance that was slowly engulfing her. “I would like that.” And then she shot to the sky like a silver streak of a shooting star.

***

“I saw you with someone yesterday,” came Nald’thal’s probing question the next morning after Oschon finally joined them for breakfast. “Who was it?”

“Who was who?” Oschon asked.

His brother wrinkled his nose, then shared a not-quite-so-subtle glance with Halone. “He’s playing dumb.”

“Which means he has something to hide,” Halone said.

They turned scrutinizing gazes on him, and Oschon quickly wolfed the last of his bacon and coffee before placing his tab on the table. He left the inn ahead of them, claiming he’d found a job for them.

He would not tell them about Menphina. Ask him why, he couldn’t answer. At least, not yet. Perhaps one day he could tell them about her, but he doubted he would meet her again beyond their next promise, so he saw no reason why Nald’thal and Halone would need to know.

Oschon wasn’t lying when he said he’d found them a job. He’d met the man the day before prior to Menphina’s visit. Oschon had promised him that they would hear more about the job before deciding if they would accept it.

On his way to their potential employer, Oschon passed by a clothier that was opening up shop for the morning. A particularly pretty fabric hung at the store front, the color a soft arctic blue. He imagined Menphina donning a cloak in that color instead of the deep green he usually wore. Suppressing all doubts that cropped up in his mind, Oschon strode inside the shop and bought a length of the ice-blue fabric.

By the next new moon, he had finished commissioning the cloak he had planned to gift Menphina. He’d told himself it was better than having to lend her his—that blue suited the goddess better. He’d seen the finished product. He could just imagine it flowing down her shoulders, hiding her inherent glow while still maintaining her elegance. He had even gotten a snowflake button that matched the cloak’s soft color. Oschon wondered what kind of expression Menphina would make when she saw it, which made it all the more difficult to hide from both Nald’thal and Halone because a smile kept threatening to show on his face.

In fact, it was already difficult to throw them both off his trail when he set out to meet the goddess that evening. He didn’t know how Menphina would find him, but seeing as she had materialized out of thin air right outside the inn the last time, Oschon figured he would rather have their next meeting place be more inconspicuous. The back exit of the town he was visiting seemed like a good place—a mostly deserted area whose few guards were easily sent away after he told them of a drunken fight that had broken out in a nearby tavern. He checked his surroundings then, making sure no more stragglers were out in the open, before striding out the gates.

It didn’t take long for Menphina to appear. A glint in the sky, and then a burst of starlight. Oschon almost staggered in shock. He watched the light disperse to reveal a huge black paw, followed by a shaggy ebony head. Menphina, resplendent as ever, waved her hand from atop her hound.

“Were you waiting for me?” the goddess asked, finally breaking Oschon free from his speechless stupor. He shook himself, realized the great hound Dalamud was already sitting on his haunches just a few fulms away, then focused his gaze on the beaming goddess right in front of him who seemed to have no idea what sort of uproar her flashy appearance would have created had there been any other eyewitnesses besides him.

Oschon had hoped to present the cloak in a more gentlemanlike manner, but the towering dog grated on his nervousness. He half-unwrapped the paper bag containing her garb, pulled it free from its confinement, then threw the cloth around her shoulders, securing the snowflake button in front of her chest as he hissed under his breath, “Unless you have some way to make him smaller, I’m afraid we cannot take Dalamud inside!”

The hound growled and Oschon glared at him. Underneath the ice-blue hood, Menphina blinked. She shifted her gaze from Oschon to her hound then back again. Oschon knew he’d won the argument when she sighed and gave Dalamud an apologetic look.

“Forgive me, love.” She held out her hand and starlight began to ensconce Dalamud, diminishing his size until he was no bigger than a common wolf. Dalamud whined and sniffed in dejection, shaking and stretching his now-smaller legs. It was still impressive in form but nowhere near as imposing as before. Despite his uneasiness, Oschon couldn’t help but laugh. Dalamud glared at him and made to bark but even his ferociousness had abated somewhat too.

Perhaps now, everything could go according to his plan. Except, as he was about to lead Menphina inside, a figure standing at the gate stopped him short.

Two figures, more like…

“And who, pray tell, is this, Brother?” Nald’thal asked in a wary tone. Beside him, Halone seemed to be more interested in the goddess Oschon had inadvertently hidden from view.

‘No one’ would be his immediate answer, but the scrutiny on his brother’s face told him enough that he and Halone had seen the starlight and magick and Dalamud shrinking into his current size. Not to mention they had known about the blue fabric-turned-cloak he had purchased that now flowed from Menphina’s shoulders. Oschon pursed his lips—a last act of adamant refusal to divulge his secret—until Menphina tugged his shirt and gave him a silent nod. Oschon sighed.

He stepped aside and gestured to the goddess. “This is Menphina,” he said, then added in a quieter voice, “the Moon… Goddess.”

He might have preferred seeing them shocked, but Nald’thal’s lips were pressed thin while Halone’s blue eyes took on an excited gleam. Menphina, however, beamed brilliantly before dropping into another elegant curtsy. “A pleasure to meet the two of you. Oschon has told me a lot about you.”

Oschon averted his eyes from Nald’thal’s raised brow.

“So this is the other goddess from the lake?” Halone said, sauntering up to them. She bent down by the waist and examined the goddess’s face beneath the hood. The top of Menphina’s head barely reached Halone’s chin. “You’re rather small for one.”

“Halone!” Both Nald’thal and Oschon hissed, but Menphina only giggled.

“Would you say you’re adept in the art of combat?” Halone asked. Nald’thal and Oschon made to interject once more, but she ignored them completely. “I heard Oschon encountered the Goddess Llymlaen in the woods, but alas, I hadn’t the chance to meet her.” She threw an annoyed glance at Oschon, who responded with a frown. “What would you say to a bout of spar—”

“She’s not here to spar, Halone,” Oschon cut in, at the same moment as Menphina replied, “All right.”

Oschon stared incredulously at her, but the goddess only beamed innocently and said to Halone, “I would say I’m good at magick.” Halone smirked at him.

“Next time then,” he said, reluctantly with a sigh. He refused to give into Menphina’s meltingly sweet smile.

Nald’thal and Halone ended up tagging along. Oschon couldn’t say anything against it, not when Halone had completely captured Menphina’s attention. The two women were talking animatedly ahead of them while Oschon and Nald’thal followed closely behind, Dalamud never straying far from Menphina’s side. A few times he felt his brother’s glance. On Nald’thal’s fifth attempt to start a conversation and failing again, Oschon bit down on his frustration and said, “What is it, Brother?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what is happening here,” Nald’thal eventually said. “You told me that the deed was done—the scarf returned, the goddesses gone. Then what is this, Brother? Why in Gods’ names is the Warden of the Moon strolling in some ramshackle street dressed in a cloak from you? Do not tell me she still holds you responsible for taking her scarf, even after you returned it?”

Oschon had expected the string of questions as he had expected Nald’thal to come to such conclusions. He saw no need to correct him. “She wanted to see how humans live their lives, so she asked me to accompany her.”

“As payment for your crime?” Oschon didn’t reply. “Twice?” his brother pressed. He glanced at him, who clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I know she was the woman who was with you last month.” So Oschon saw no other recourse but to nod and shrug, hoping that was enough of an answer. No one could read a goddess’s mind. Even if he were paying for his crime, he doubted two acts of service would be enough to appease them. It might serve as an excuse should Menphina decide she would visit again, now that she and Halone had made some sort of promise.

Ahead of them, the two women were still engrossed in their conversation. Snippets of “lofty peaks” and “unruly beasts” reached his ears. Oschon furrowed his brows. Was Halone telling her about the Mythic Mountains? It had been on a whim. They’d been chasing some manner of beast Halone had been hunting, leading them to one of the highest mountains in the realm, when they’d then come across an abandoned hut and subsequently made it theirs. Oschon was made in charge of its upkeep. He had then put a self-cleaning spell on the building so that whenever they decided to return, it would still be in pristine condition.

Seeming to notice his gaze, Menphina turned her head and tilted her head, quirking a brow at him with a small smile. Heat flushed his cheeks. Unbeknownst to him, Nald’thal had noticed the exchange.

When they reached the town square, a merriment came out of an open door to their right. A tavern—their tavern. Or, at least, the tavern where Oschon usually spent his time performing. It was too late to draw Menphina’s attention elsewhere because then she’d asked. “Can we go there?”

No, they could not go there, but before Oschon could reply, Halone had already said that they could. He eyed his friend. What was this sisterly bond the warrior had immediately forged with the goddess? She noticed his frown. He bristled at her smirk.

So inside they went, finding the tavern packed from wall to wall. Unsurprisingly, as it was rush hour, although it seemed the crowd’s size was double the usual. All the patrons were involved in some kind of revelry, everyone singing as one to a melody performed on the stage. A part of him wished he could take Menphina to a quieter place, but the goddess was already joining the swarm of masses with sparkles in her eyes.

Oschon made to grab her hand, but he felt himself being jerked to the other direction. They pushed and pulled him through the throng, his name chanted in a sing-song sort of way, and before he knew it, he was on the wooden stool atop the wooden stage, a lute thrust upon his hands. “Play for us, Oschon!” a shout came from the back—a grinning barkeep at the counter. Oschon scowled.

He hadn’t wanted to enter the tavern for this very reason. It wasn’t supposed to be his work day, but the barkeep didn’t care about that now, did he? Nor, it seemed, did his companions, because a brief scan of the crowd showed Oschon a jolly Halone clapping alongside everyone. His scowl deepening, Oschon searched for the ice-blue cowl of Menphina and found her with Nald’thal along the side of the ro a little distance away from the stage. A sigh of relief escaped him. It seemed his brother had gotten her to a safer spot. Nald’thal whispered something to the goddess, who in turn gave him a solemn nod. They then turned their gazes to the stage—

—and an expectant look from Menphina was the last thing Oschon had expected to see.

He… couldn’t say no to that face. And so, reluctantly, he sat on the stool and brought his fingers to the strings, joining the band for five consecutive songs.

“That was marvelous!” Menphina exclaimed by the time Oschon joined them. The proprietor had cleared away a table for them, a little to the corner near the doorway. It seemed they had also gotten his permission to let Dalamud in because now the hound was sitting beside Menphina’s chair, spine straight in alert, his growl reverberating every time someone came too close to the goddess, including Oschon. Menphina scratched the back of Dalamud’s ear to calm him. “It really does feel different listening to it in person.”

“By ‘it’ you mean…?” Nald’thal asked.

“Oh, well, I often listen to him play during the night,” she replied nonchalantly. Oschon choked on his drink.

“Of course,” Nald’thal said as Halone patted Oschon’s back. “You would have been there every night…”

Oschon wished the earth would swallow him whole then if it would help him avoid the scrutiny with which his brother was looking at him. He could just hear Nald’thal berating him: so that’s why you stopped your moonlit strolls—which would then lead back to their previous conversation on why he was meeting the goddess in the first place if he had been avoiding her elsewhere. Oschon hated how his brother knew him so well.

“Well, not every night. He is not the only human I need to watch over,” Menphina said. “The night is dark and the light I emit can only illuminate so much. But I always try to be there from time to time. Which reminds me, Halone. I promised you a duel next time, but I fear I will not be able to come until the next new moon.”

“Why is that?”

“It is the only time I am free from duty. Although, I would very much like to spend more time with all of you. I cannot go past the next day, but perhaps… I might be able to come earlier.”

Oschon looked up at that. “Would that be possible?”

“I have not done it, but it should be, yes. As long as I return by the next morning, that is.” Her face brightened. “This has been fun. I would hate to know that I can only experience it during the night.”

***

Menphina didn’t stay long that night. After the tavern, they showed her more of the town’s specialities, which wasn’t much as most businesses had closed for the day. When it was time for her to leave, she attempted to return her cloak to Oschon, who told her to keep it as she would be visiting them again.

“Until next time, then,” she said.

“Until next time.”

After the goddess left, they returned to the inn where Nald’thal rounded on him and asked if “paying for his crimes” was truly all it was because the goddess had looked more than ready to visit them again. And there had been no animosity between them. In fact, Nald’thal had sensed otherwise. Oschon pointed out that this time, it was with Halone whom Menphina had made the promise. Halone had the gall to look uninterested. “I wouldn’t have pressed had the goddess said no,” she said.

Both of them knew that Halone would have pressed the goddess if not for a spar but for another visit so she’d have another chance asking for a duel. But that was neither here nor there, so instead, Oschon turned his attention to Nald’thal.

“What have you so ruffled, Brother? You’re not always this bothered.”

For several long heartbeats, they stared at each other. “What bothers me is the thought that you’re falling in love with her. Giving your heart to a divine being will only lead to ruin.”

Love?

Oschon wanted to scoff, yet as Nald’thal’s words sank in, Oschon couldn’t help the flutter in his chest which he quickly shut away. Surely what he felt for her could not be described as such—him, a mere human in the face of an ageless goddess. Fascination, perhaps? Or gratitude? For watching him even during his darkest of nights. And yet every time Menphina visited afterwards, a surge of excitement would bubble in his heart and his pulse would skip every time she threw her moonbeam smile at him.

Radiant—yes, that was the word. From the porcelain skin to her silvery eyes, her lustrous strands of bright cerulean hair. When she returned the next new moon and entertained Halone with a duel, they went to an empty plain astride Dalamud’s back and Menphina shed off the cloak he had given her. Her light simply illuminated the entire steppe that even the stars blinked out of existence. Any other man would have cowered in fear before the massive waves of aether, but Halone stood with her spear drawn out, mouth pulled back in a feral grin.

It was a sight to behold—Halone’s bladework against the might of Menphina’s magick. Light flashed as blade clashed against ice. When everything was over and done, one would think Halone to be sprawled on the ground, unconscious, but the woman had managed to hold her own against the onslaught of a goddess’s magick. If anything, that deserved its own commendation, and such was what Menphina offered with her squeals of delight and praises for Halone’s skills.

“Perhaps I should ask Llymlaen to come sometime,” she later mused, to which Oschon and Nald’thal profusely refused.

Her visits then grew frequent. Always on each new moon she came to wherever Oschon was staying. She had even begun visiting on other occasions, such as during eclipses, though her visits then were usually short. To make up for it, she began arriving during midday. She heeded Oschon’s words and arrived with less fashion, less flash. No more shooting stars atop enormous wolves. If Dalamud did come, she’d made sure to land in a well-shrouded area before shrinking his size and donning her cloak.

Every little mundane thing managed to grasp her interest one way or another. If she wasn’t watching children skipping rope or browsing the little trinkets on a vendor stall, she would stand in front of a bakery watching the bakers make bread. She basked in the trill of laughter and the everyday toll of a working man. Then when she came across an unsightly part of the human world, she would pause then drag Oschon to a wide area. Her little magick shows drew people to her and they would watch as her light put smiles on even the hardest of the men.

She truly loved humans, it seemed, and every time Oschon watched a contented smile bloom on her face, it made him feel that whatever this was—whatever it was he was doing with Menphina—seemed worthwhile.

Having her be part of their group gradually felt like the norm that Oschon never quite realized when Menphina started visiting outside of new moons and eclipses. It was Nald’thal who asked, because he had noticed that Dalamud wasn’t present.

“I have him guard the palace,” Menphina said matter-of-factly.

“Palace?” Halone asked.

For once, they were camping in the woods, Menphina having arrived shortly before sundown. They’d caught some fish and were now grilling them on their fire. Oschon offered one to Menphina, who accepted with a grateful nod. She blew away the heat and bit down on the flesh. Her elation and praise of the simple taste was so genuine that even Nald’thal—who had done most of the preparation—looked embarrassed.

“Yes, my palace on the moon,” she then replied, “as Llymlaen’s lie at the bottom of the seas and Nophica’s hide in the midst of mountains. As is my nature, my spires are built of ice, beautiful and intricate, but cold. Dalamud is my only companion.”

“Do the other gods or goddesses never visit each other the way you visit the star?” Halone asked again.

At that, Menphina paused. “Azeyma, warden of the sun, comes sometimes, but the sun is always rising, always moving. She could never leave her palace for long.” She made another lengthy pause, in which she bit into her grilled fish again. “And then perhaps there are Althyk and Nymeia—the Brother Time and Sister Fate as you might know them. But, again, those visits are rare and far in between.”

“I can’t imagine how lonely you must have felt,” Nald’thal said.

Menphina smiled. “Which is why I turn my attention to humans. They are such fascinating creatures. I could never be weary of them.” She finished her fish within a few mouthfuls. “But yes, to answer your question, the reason why I had to leave Dalamud behind was because he is my channel to the moon. I cannot quite leave it untended when I should be there lighting up the night.”

Oschon chanced a glance to the sky and indeed, he found the crescent moon—only, it wasn’t as bright as it should be. He’d thought the clouds were the cause of that, but perhaps…

His gaze shifted to Menphina, resplendent as ever beneath her blue cloak. She noticed his stare and grinned.

“Since I have told you about my home, will you not tell me yours? The village where you all grew up.”

“Have I not told you about it?” Oschon asked. He swore he could have mentioned it once or twice, but Menphina said he’d only ever told her about his parents passing when he was young. Perhaps he had never seen the need to regale her about it. He…had never liked thinking about his village—a place that held so many memories that he had since forsaken. He’d never quite felt like he fit in there.

Nald’thal, meanwhile, began telling her of their village on a pasture to the west of the realm. A small smithy village, whose residents either worked on the mines or learned smithing under Halone’s father. Halone took pride in her family’s craft, although she was never skilled at it. She’d joined the village’s watch instead after her battle prowess came to be known.

“Oschon was a troublemaker,” she said.

“I believe the two of you were,” Nald’thal countered. “Oschon would go exploring the wilds then come back battered and bruised, Halone in tow. Our mother would scold him all night long.”

“Not to mention her father,” Oschon added, referring to Rhalgr, Halone’s father, who had taken them in after their parents passed. A small smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as his heart made a little twinge of pain.

“And was there not a flower field nearby where we liked to play?” Halone added. “Moonflower was it? That brooch you have, the one your mother gave.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that.” He recalled the field, where small, round flowers bloomed as far as the eye could see, covering the entire land in a blanket of white.

Halone’s gaze grew dreamy. “I used to think that was the most beautiful place in the entire star.”

“But we left it some ten summers ago,” Nald’thal went on. “We’ve not been back since.”

“Do you not miss it?” Menphina asked.

“From time to time. But we still send word. And I will not deny that my journey with my brother has been exhilarating, and rewarding, to say the least.”

Oschon met his brother’s gaze, and Nald’thal offered him a rare smile.

“Then what about the cottage in the Mythic Mountains? Halone mentioned something about it,” Menphina asked Oschon.

That had its own different kind of beauty, he thought, with a sprawling landscape all around. Looking at Menphina, he decided he might as well show her rather than tell. “Would you like to see it?” he asked. Her beam was everything he could ask for.

Their next destination thus then decided, on Menphina’s next visit with Dalamud, they rode the hound’s back to the top of the highest peaks in all the realm—the Mythic Mountains, whose imposing summit pierced the clouds. When Dalamud landed on the outcropping that stretched over the cliff’s edge, the mist that usually shrouded the entire peak dispersed, revealing a small and modest cottage made of wood and enchanted in such a way to keep it clean, safe, and hidden from prying eyes. A large oaken tree lorded over the area, its gnarled roots cracking the earth and hugging the side of the cliff while its thick overhanging branches made dappled light dance on the ground.

“It’s so beautiful,” Menphina breathed into the cool air.

The world dipped and rose around them: valleys and hills and towering peaks all swathed in green vegetation. Steep cliffs dropped into the abyss as though once upon a time a divine hand had cut the earth into blocks and erected them in irregular intervals. Menphina dared a look over the outcropping and gasped when she could not find where the bottom lay. From somewhere in the distance, the roar of thunderous waterfalls reached their ears.

“Come,” Oschon said, holding out his hand for her to hold. He helped her step off the ledge then led her to their cottage. A protective rock wall shielded it from most of the howling wind.

They hadn’t been there for so long that when Halone opened the door, the air inside felt stiff. But Oschon’s spell had held; the place was mostly clean—the only sign the cottage was uninhabited were the dust motes floating in the air and a general isolated feeling it had accumulated. They had to make it a little more home-like so as they set to work, they let Menphina wander outside.

The sun was already setting by the time Oschon went outside to search for the goddess. He found her sitting on the bench under the oak tree, gazing absently at the distant horizon. She looked up when he called her name, her face breaking into a gentle smile. She patted the space beside her and Oschon hesitantly took his seat.

“What are your thoughts?” he dared ask.

“Hmm.” She pondered. Dalamud had taken his smaller wolf appearance, dozing on Menphina’s feet. He seemed to enjoy being this small now. “I’m thinking how wonderful this place is. So high, and so vast. You could almost see the entire world. I can see why you love it. But a part of me does wonder: does it not make you feel lonely?”

Oschon stared, speechless. He turned his gaze to the surrounding mountains and watched the sun sink low between two pointed peaks. In the distance, a silhouette of birds soared, crying and searching for prey. He had never thought about it—never felt it cross his mind. Every time he stood in this place, time had always stood still. It was easy to forget it existed—that an entire world existed outside this sprawl of mountains and waterfalls. And part of him thought that that was precisely what he sought—a sort of solace to be had that he could find nowhere else. A place where his heart was free to laugh and to cry. A home.

And yet…

“Forgive me for my presumption,” she said in his silence. “I only thought you might feel the way I do in my spire. But I only have Dalamud for a companion while you have such a lovely family waiting for you.”

“What are you trying to say, Menphina?”

The sun cast a golden hue on her smile. It should be impossible for her to be even more radiant than she already was, even with her usual glow dimmed and hidden inside her cloak. Yet there it was—her shine—illuminating brightly under the dying sun.

What bothers me is the thought that you’re falling in love with her.

“Will you play for me?” she asked.

He refused to admit Nald’thal was right, but even he couldn’t ignore how deep his feelings for her had grown. He should stop, back away and turn around before he let himself fall any further, but like the fool he was, he acquiesced to her request, picked up his lute, and plucked the strings.

The melody came to him unbidden. A familiar tune—one that had been dredged up from the depths of his memories along with the rest of his childhood recollections. Oschon played his father’s song, a ballad of love his father had once written and performed for his mother in that field of moonflowers. From the look on Menphina’s face, she seemed to recognize the melody. How—he didn’t bother to ask. But there was one thing he was now certain of: his heart yearned for her, the one person who saw him, and found him, and acknowledged the loneliness he hid even from himself.

She was the solace he’d sought. He didn’t know if he could ever turn back from it.

***

News of failing crops came to their attention one day during harvest season. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard of it. For the past few moons, uncanny occurrences had cropped up in various parts of the realm. The current rumors came from a village near the eastern end of the realm, where they came upon Nophica, who so rarely left the confines of her grove. Clad in a flowing silken dress, she held out her hand over a dying field, strengthening roots and invigorating the soil. Her amber hair glinted in the light.

She nodded her greeting at their approach. “A pleasure meeting you here.”

“A pleasure seeing you here,” Nald’thal replied. “What brings you out of your woods?”

“The villagers’ crops have not been doing well so I came to offer my help.” The goddess spoke lightly, but the setting sun cast light on her grim expression. Oschon dropped to his knees and grabbed a handful of the soil. Brittle. The lands on these parts should’ve been fertile. Nophica confirmed his thoughts as much when she finished her work—or, rather, put a pause on it—and said, “The soil has been acting odd. My magick could not reach it from my grove.”

Oschon felt her gaze discreetly fall on him, though when he attempted to meet it, Nophica was looking elsewhere.

“No matter how much the villagers work on it, their seeds won’t sprout,” she went on. “The ones that do would simply wither and die. I’ve done what I could to keep their crops alive, but what I could save were of much lesser quality.”

“How long has this been happening?” Nald’thal asked.

“For the past few moons. Probably longer.” Another pause. “There is a change in the aether current. Something draws it away from the soil.”

This time, he did feel Nophica’s gaze. He looked up, and indeed, the goddess’s mint-green eyes bore into him. It was only a moment, but he had felt the gravest of predicaments she was trying to convey, and he started to wonder if this was more than a simple matter with the soil.

“Animals that should be fertilizing the soil are nowhere to be seen. There is a shift in the cycle of rain and even the wind seems to have changed course.” Nophica turned to look at Halone. “Have you noticed how violent some of the beasts have become? Vicious.”

Halone nodded her affirmation.

“That may not correlate directly with the weakening soil, but we believe the disruption of aether is to be the cause of them.”

“And what, pray tell, is the cause of this disruption?” Oschon rose from his crouch. His heart hammered. He didn't like how Nophica had looked at him—how she was looking at him again.

“Each of us gods represent a certain element,” she began to say. “I govern over land while Llymlaen governs the sea; Azeyma rules the sun and Menphina the moon. We are bound by duty, and as such, bound to the place of our governance. That is how we maintain the balance of this star’s aether.

“Crossing to another domain is not impossible, though highly regulated, as even a shift of a god’s position could disturb the flow of aether. As such, Althyk, the father of time, and his sister, Nymeia, oversaw it all. They tend to overlook minor disruptions that could mend itself given time, but Menphina’s frequent visits to the star have upsetted the balance beyond natural mending.

“Now the current has changed. The soil loses its nourishment; beasts run rampant; and out on the sea, the tides have grown so restless that Llymlaen has to bring wayward fishermen home.”

“But that’s—Menphina would never—” Menphina would never do anything that could endanger the star. She loved the star and its residents too much. Oschon felt his throat close up. To blame such a thing on her!

“Was that why she looked troubled,” Nald’thal mused, “when we asked her about her visits.”

Oschon whirled at him, eyes flashing. “Are you siding with her?!”

“I side with you.” Nald’thal regarded him coolly. “If you’d not been lost in your affection for her, the thought would have occurred to you too had you spent even an ounce thinking what manner of consequence the presence of the Moon Goddess would have on the star when she should be up there lighting the moon.”

They glared at each other. Oschon then looked at Halone, someone else in their group who had formed a bond with Menphina, but the warrior looked away. Did she share Nald’thal’s sentiments then? Had they discussed it before just between themselves? Hypocrites! They’d enjoyed Menphina’s company as much as him.

Their silence stretched thin, charged and heavy. Nophica spoke calmly. “Menphina has always had a boundless love for humans, yet what she feels toward you seems to go beyond what is expected from a goddess. So much so that she would go as far as break her word with Althyk and heedlessly follow her heart, disregarding any consequences. And so I beseech you, Oschon, as a goddess of this star, will you not stop seeing Menphina?”

A muscle twitched along Oschon’s jaw. She was wrong. Menphina wasn’t at fault. Yet even as he thought so, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny Nophica’s claims. How long had Menphina been visiting him? A year? More? Under the dying sun, Oschon found it hard to breathe.

“Why must I be the one who stops her?” he said through the dryness of his throat. “She barged into my life. I never asked for it. If you want to save the star, do it yourself!”

His eyes flashing, he threw every last bit of venom and hot seething anger that he could muster at Nophica; consequences be damned. The goddess didn’t flinch. She only looked at him with that same sorrow lining her jade eyes. As if she truly was sorry.

Oschon’s breath hitched. His feet turned before his mind could follow. Nald’thal and Halone called his name but he hissed at them not to come.

The next day, Oschon refused to speak with both of his companions. They finished their business promptly, the trouble with soil and crops having been dealt with by Nophica herself. They didn’t see the goddess afterwards, but it was just as well. Oschon had nothing to say to her. He stood by what he said. He didn't believe Menphina to be the underlying cause of this unbalance in aether. Perhaps there were other reasons and those of the deities saw fit to put the blame on the obvious change that had occurred in the past year and a half—which was apparently him.

They left the village shortly after, Oschon trudging quietly behind his companions and giving only the barest minimum of responses when asked about their next destination. He vaguely heard Halone say “somewhere that's not here”, felt Nald’thal’s glance which he refused to meet. More whispered discussions, and then they decided to go to a bigger town where they might settle for a while and look for work. “And for someone to cool his head,” his brother said with a clipped voice. This time Oschon did glare into his back, only to find Nald’thal glaring back.

Their next town was a bustling port city where ships docked and sailed and merchants brought wares from all corners of the star. They’d been here often enough, though in previous occasions, they had been one of the traders crowding the marketplace. This time, they dismounted their steeds near the inn, booked separate rooms, and went their separate ways. Oschon sought solitude. He’d rather not have either of them speaking quietly behind his back of things he’d rather not hear, or to have his brother’s gaze constantly boring into him. He had heard their opinions loud and clear, and no he was not going to stop seeing Menphina.

Such were his thoughts when he left the inn, but as Oschon made his way through the bustling city, the everyday talks gradually seeped into his hearing.

“Good thing the ships made it in time,” a woman carrying groceries said. “I heard the sea’s been unpredictable lately, what’s with the moon going in and out all the time.”

Her companion nodded grimly. “It’s been so dark lately, people have stopped traveling at night. My husband’s not been out hunting either ‘cause of the attacks and accidents happening outside.”

“Good thing we have the moon out tonight.” The woman smiled at the sky. “I hope it finally stays.”

Listening to the two women’s conversation felt like lead weighing his heart. He wanted to scream that the moon was always there, that it was never truly “out”, only slightly dim, which would be the case on an overcast night anyway. He mulled the thought, running it over and over in his mind, rejecting the notion that a cloudy sky was not the same as an absent moon. Yet it was all everyone talked about.

On a deserted bridge in a quieter part of the town, Oschon leaned his arms against the wooden railing and watched the river flow beneath him. One or two men passed by carrying boxes and crates, but otherwise, the place was empty. He spotted the moon’s reflection, beautiful like a lopsided smile. Its soft, gentle glow bathed his back; warm and comforting.

She was there, yet so out of reach.

As though sensing his disquiet, the sky darkened. Oschon blinked. Clouds had moved to cover the reflection of the moon. He lifted his head just in time to see the silvery glow completely disappear, replaced by a glint in the encroaching darkness. He blinked again. It was no star. Indeed, just as the thought formed in his mind, the light shot down like a shooting star, but instead of heading to the far horizon, it was moving at full speed towards him. Oschon barely had time to react before the light softly landed in front of him, coalescing into the single iridescent form of a woman.

Menphina…

Clad in her white dress and the cloak Oschon had given her, the goddess shook the remaining moonlight from herself. And then her silver eyes met his, and her face blossomed into a smile.

Oschon couldn't help but stare. “Why are you—?”

“Here?” She finished his sentence. Her beam widened. “To see you, of course.”

And after Nophica told him not to.

At his silence, Menphina’s brows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nothing—”

“Don’t lie.”

Oschon pursed his lips. He looked away. “I’m not.”

“I know you, Oschon. I know when you’re hiding something.” Menphina peered into his eyes. “Tell me.”

How was it that she had so much effect on him? Just the sight of her disarming gaze undid every dread and unease that had plagued him since meeting Nophica. He could almost forget everything the goddess had told him just to have this moment last.

Menphina urged him to speak, her mouth set into a little pout that made her look adorable. If only he could bottle her expressions and bring them with him on his travels.

Oschon masked the yearning in his heart with a quiet chuckle. “I can’t win against you, can I?” He paused, then said, “Something came up.”

“Something bad?”

“Something unpleasant.”

“Tell me.”

Oschon’s gaze wandered to the sky where dark clouds now hung as though waiting for rain. “Did you move the clouds to come see me?” he asked instead, half in jest, though judging by Menphina’s guilty expression, it seemed he had hit a mark.

“I can’t stay for very long, so I asked Llymlaen to move the clouds,” she admitted, pink tinging her cheeks. And after Llymlaen had to bring those fishermen back from being lost at sea.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do you keep coming to see me?”

Menphina didn’t answer immediately. When he chanced a glance, he glimpsed a flicker of emotion that froze him to the ground. A flicker, still, but telling enough, settling in the depths of her eyes as she looked at him squarely and said, “Because I want to be with you.”

Never had he thought he would hear those words uttered from Menphina’s mouth. Yearned for them, perhaps; dreamed of them—in all the time they had spent together, watching her smile and laugh and just be there beside him. But now she had uttered them, and Oschon found himself at a loss.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said softly. “What is wrong?”

Oschon sealed his mouth. Could he tell her about this tingling warmth spreading from his stomach to the tips of fingers? In this very moment, he fought against an inherent urge to pull her into his arms and bury himself in her light.

Giving your heart to a divine being will only lead to ruin.

How right Nald’thal was.

Oschon cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away to the trees lining the river. Men were stringing decorations between the trunks, the tell-tale of an upcoming festival.

“Have you heard of the mid-autumn festival?” he asked. “There’ll be one here within a fortnight. It’ll have a huge bonfire with music and dancing and, of course, food to be shared all around.”

Menphina was silent. It took a while but she finally dragged her eyes from him and toward the trees.

“You’ll find the festivities last all night long.” He paused. “Would you like to come?”

She glanced at him. “Will you tell me what is bothering you then?”

Oschon swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I will.”

“Then I shall come.”

***

Oschon asked Menphina to come a few hours early. It would be a full moon that night; he didn’t want to take her away from her duty. Menphina, having pondered about it, said that it would be alright. She would think of something—which was precisely what Nophica had warned him about. Still, he couldn’t say anything against it. He wanted to see her one last time. Legend had it that if one were to profess their love for another under the full autumn moon, their love would be granted. It was a long shot, but if there was some way he could keep this bond he shared with Menphina, then perhaps, should they be parted, a day might come where he could find his way back to her.

However, when the day finally arrived and he waited for her a little outside of town, she never came. Oschon checked the sky, looked at the town gates in the distance, paced, but as the sun slowly dipped, he began to wonder if perhaps she wasn’t coming at all.

He returned to town and found the square already packed. He spotted Nald’thal in the perimeter, enjoying a glass of ale. Neither of them had addressed the issue with Menphina and Oschon hadn't told him about meeting her tonight; but it didn't matter now. She wasn't here.

Soon, the last tendrils of sunlight disappeared and the bonfire started. Musicians on the makeshift stage started their performance. People flocked to the stalls and tables where meals were served. Oschon couldn't quite stomach the idea of eating now. A gaping maw had formed at the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong.

He barely had the chance to form the thought when someone bumped into his back. He blinked out of his reverie, glancing back. A blue hood; a glimpse of turquoise hair. Menphina's round face peeked out from under a familiar cowl.

“Found you,” she said.

Oschon stared at her in horror. “What are you—?”

“Come.” She grabbed his hand and led him away just as the first cry of dismay broke from the crowd. What had been a fairly clear sky before was now shrouded in darkness. The moon had disappeared along with the stars. People bemoaned a coming of a storm, but Oschon knew better. It seemed Menphina did too, judging from her brisk pace. The festival couldn’t be held without her holding her fort in the sky. They were on borrowed time, but it didn’t matter to him. As long as she was here… As long as the moon was in front of him…

“I’m sorry but I can’t stay for long,” she said hurriedly. “I snuck away when Nymeia wasn’t looking and had Llymlaen help cover the moon for a while.” They stopped at the same bridge they had met the last time, then she turned around and faced him. “Now, you promised to tell me something.”

All was silent. All around, lanterns strung across the bridge swayed in the breeze, which Oschon noticed was slowly picking up. This was borrowed time. Menphina would have to leave soon so the festival could continue.

“Nophica told me,” he said, “about the disrupted aether.”

Menphina blinked. For once, the goddess looked shocked.

Oschon smiled wryly. “We can’t be together, can we?” He needed no answers, but please let him have this moment. If he could only confess his love; if she would reciprocate his feelings; then perhaps all was not lost. “Menphina, I—”

Before he could speak any further, a cry resounded across the heavens like a crackle of thunder. Menphina’s eyes flew open as a bolt of lightning struck the other side of the bridge. Instinctively, Oschon pulled Menphina behind him.

“Menphina,” a voice boomed from the pillar of fire, loud and commanding. The entire fabric of the star seemed to tremble with it. A woman stepped forward from the dissipating fire, clad in a blazing crimson dress. A gold headdress accented her flaming red hair. None of the descriptions Oschon had read of the Sun Goddess did any justice to the wildfire standing before him now. Bright, burning eyes glared at him—or, rather, at the person behind him.

“Menphina,” the voice spoke again, softer now, almost. “Come home.”

A tug at the back of his shirt; it was the first time he’d seen Menphina cower. “Go away, Azeyma! I’m not coming with you.”

Azeyma sighed. “Are you a fool? You know how sacred the harvest festival is! That it depends on the presence of the moon—your presence. You cannot neglect your duty now.”

Menphina tightened her fist on his back. “I promised Oschon I would see the festival with him. I would have come sooner had Nymeia not lock me in my palace.”

“Menphina!” Under the goddess’s reprimanding, reproachful glare, Menphina flinched and ducked her head lower. Azeyma held her gaze, then slowly shifted it to him. Oschon braced himself. “Mortal,” her booming voice said. “I believe Nophica has informed you of the consequences of your action.” Oschon gritted his teeth. At his silence, Azeyma’s voice sharpened. “Will you condemn this star?”

“No! Don’t you dare put the blame on him!” Menphina leaped from behind him and circled him around, arms spread wide as if to protect him from Azeyma. “It was my fault! All mine! I fell in love. I couldn’t stay away.” Her voice broke and it shredded Oschon’s heart to pieces. “Do not punish him.”

“Very well.” Azeyma waved her hand. Bright red coils appeared around Menphina. It slipped her out of her robe and pulled her away.

“Wait—” Oschon reached out his hand on impulse but he only grasped air.

“Our duty is to the star, sister,” the Sun Goddess went on, even as Menphina struggled against her restraints. “We cannot let anyone, not even ourselves, endanger it.”

“Don’t—Menphina!”

The last thing he saw was the wide-eyed fluster in Menphina’s silver eyes; and then they were gone, just as quick as they had arrived.

***

Menphina stopped coming.

Oschon had thought himself ready, but when the next new moon rolled by and for once his night wasn’t interrupted, he found himself outside the city, waiting for the goddess to appear. She never did. When he returned to the inn, Nald’thal was looking at him with so much sympathy, he felt his heart might burst. Perhaps, he thought, that would have been better.

He wasn’t entirely sure about the state of the aether, but everyday, the people of the city talked about how safe the roads had become now that the moon was out every night. Beast attacks were becoming less frequent, and out on the docks, the ship crews claimed that the seas had calmed. There was also the simple fact that the bright moon made their evenings all the lovelier. The festival had already passed, but Oschon swore the streets were more crowded than it had been before. It had only been a short while; did it truly have such an impact? Despite his misgivings, there was no denying that the people were happier having their moon back. Oschon, however, couldn’t force himself to join in the rapture.

The next day, Oschon told Halone he would leave. He needed time alone. Halone and Nald’thal would be alright by themselves.

“What about you?” Halone asked.

“I’ll travel,” Oschon said with a shrug. “The reason I left the village was to see the world in the first place.” The familiar words rolled off his tongue easily, but now he couldn’t help the odd taste as they left his mouth.

“Nald’thal wouldn't be happy.”

“Nald’thal will have to accept.”

Indeed, his brother had prepared a thorough counter argument as to why Oschon’s plan was folly. Oschon deflected, even when he knew some of the points his brother brought up were legitimate concerns.

“You’re running away, just like you did when you left the village.”

Oschon averted his gaze. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Brother. Do you think I don’t know what you seek? There is a gaping void in your heart—one you seek to fill. Even now your eyes are empty, as empty as they were the day we lost our parents. But you will not find the solace you seek in your adventures.”

A muscle twitched along Oschon’s jaw. He knew that. He hoisted his bag, grabbed his bow, then made for the door.

“You’ve noticed, haven’t you—the reason you stayed close to Menphina?” Oschon paused with his hand on the doorknob. “If you do not open your heart, you’ll never find peace.”

His heart constricted; Oschon turned the knob and pulled the door open. “Fare you well, Brother.” He let the door shut without a backward glance.

The seasons turned. Oschon found himself sailing to a neighboring continent, hopping from one city to the next like he had always done. He performed in taverns, listened to people's tales and weaved them into songs. It was easy to return to his routines, Oschon realized, though by the end of each night, he would seek refuge in his room and drink his bottles dry. He refused to spend the night outside where the heavens and all its denizens were for all to behold.

The first time he noticed a change in the sky, he was stepping outside an inn with his arms stretched over his head when a couple men’s remark on the brightness of the moon caught his hearing. He was about to pass it off as idle talk of “yes, the moon is so bright and beautiful, the goddess has blessed us with another wonderful night”, but one of them noted how it lacked its usual luster. That piqued Oschon’s curiosity. The sky had been clear as far as he knew. He stepped from under the inn’s awning then looked up. Indeed, no clouds marred the perfect blue-black expanse. Stars blinked in silver and gold. Then there, the moon, almost round but not quiet, and… The men were right. It wasn’t as bright.

“You reckon those moonless nights will return?” one of the men said to his friend.

“Doubt it, but you never know,” his friend answered.

They left, leaving Oschon to his own quiet ponderings.

He decided to leave it and not delve further. Perhaps it was only a trick of the night and the moon would be as it were tomorrow. But tomorrow came, and indeed, the sphere’s usual glow had dimmed. Oschon’s brows furrowed.

Was Menphina on the star again? The last time Oschon witnessed a dim moon on a clear, cloudless sky was when the goddess was channeling her aether through Dalamud from the star. Granted, it hadn’t been her full power, so the moon wouldn’t have been as bright. But if Menphina were here, surely he should’ve heard rumors about unruly beasts and rampaging seas again. Yet all was quiet. He asked traders, merchants, and travelers, and all claimed nothing out of the ordinary. It was odd.

With each passing day, Oschon’s heart grew restless. He scoured the realm for any signs of aether disturbance, but found that all was well. Then one day, he felt a tug—just a tiny twinge—in his heart, and for whatever reason, it drew his gaze westward.

Toward home.

Oschon’s jaws clenched. He hadn’t stepped foot on his home continent for almost two years. Would he find Menphina there? Was she waiting for him? He couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t gone to him if she was here. Or perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps Menphina wasn’t even there and something else caused the waning of the moon’s luminosity. Whatever the reason, Oschon knew it was time to return, so he turned his steed westward and headed home.

His first thought was to visit Nophica. The goddess should know something, and her grove wasn’t far from the eastern port city. The moment his ship landed, he steered his steed toward the mountains.

He had only been there once, when Nophica had called upon him after Halone almost struck her pet down: a massive, labyrinthian oaken grove where the trees grew hundreds of fulms tall, the width of each trunk spanned a score of people. Vines and branches formed such intricate archways that one would feel as though they were walking down ornate halls. The goddess’s elementals ruled over these woods. Oschon treaded carefully with only the help of a torch; no light—not even sunlight—could pierce through the thick foliage.

It was evening by the time he reached her chambers. There was an opening in the trees, foliage and shrubs that acted as curtains, and the sound of gurgling water that should mark the goddess’s personal spring. He dismounted his steed, then approached the leafy curtains.

“Nophica—” he began, but stopped short. A ripple in the aether warned him of two powerful beings in the clearing beyond. He recognized the fresh spring leaves as Nophica, but the other—hot, blazing fire—was something he had only sensed once before.

Azeyma.

Oschon hid behind a tree, his heart hammering. He heard voices, angry and panicked.

“—she will not stop! We have tried everything—I have tried everything—but she will not forsake him. Talk to her, Nophica, I beseech you. If this goes on, she will die.”

He heard a sob, then a pause; murmurs as Nophica said, “Calm yourself, Azeyma. We do not yet know what she hopes to achieve.”

“What else does she hope for by transferring her aether to the moon?” Azeyma seethed. “She plans to relinquish her godhood, and all for her love towards a mortal. She hopes that by diminishing her own aether, she would not disrupt the balance by being here. She hopes the aether she transfers would be enough to keep the moon lit up even after she is gone. But that is folly! What are we if not the accumulation of aether collected from prayers? The moment she drains herself, she will disappear, and once she is gone, the moon will not last for long.”

“What did you say?” Oschon, having heard enough, stepped out of his hiding place and slipped past the vine curtains. The two goddesses looked at him in a mixture of surprise and rage. He looked from Nophica to Azeyma. Angry tears welled within the Sun Goddess’ eyes. “What do you mean Menphina will die?”

Azeyma made to leap at him but Nophica held her back. “She’s dying because of you!”

“Azeyma!” Nophica reprimanded.

Azeyma ignored her. “She refuses to forget you. She refuses to let you go! And all for this…bond…you two share. The longer you keep her in your heart, the faster she will go!”

“Azeyma! Do not put the blame on him.” Nophica gave her a hard shake and a stern look. Azeyma pursed her lips, tears streaming down her face.

When Oschon found his voice, he spoke. “Is Menphina here, on the star?”

Nophica looked at him. “She has been for some time.” Then her gaze shifted upward, as though she could see the night sky beyond her thick foliage. “It does seem that her plan is working. I have not felt any disturbance throughout her stay.”

“Where is she?” he croaked.

It was Azeyma who answered, defeated and frustrated. “In a field of moonflowers.”

He knew where it was instantly. Without sparing another word, Oschon rushed out of the clearing, leaped into his steed, and steered him out of the woods, trusting on his senses and memory to lead him in the dark.

How could he have been so blind? Since the moment they first met, it had seemed that Menphina knew him. She’d known his name—knew things about him that even he tended to hide from himself. He had set it aside as the moon watching him constantly for the past ten or so years—or, as she had put it herself, the man who had regaled her with the most fascinating tales. But that hadn’t explained her fixation on his moonflower brooch, or the way she had recognized his father’s song, because try as he might, Oschon could not remember any time he might have accidentally played it, or hummed it, aloud. She would have to have watched him since all those years ago when time had been simpler, and happier.

It took him several days to reach his old village. The flower scents caught his senses first, then he looked around and found that he recognized the birch trees flanking the well-trodden road.

Home.

The word felt foreign yet familiar. He hadn’t been here for the past decade and a half and yet the familiarity struck him hard like lightning. He slowed his steed to a trot, then veered to the right where a break in the trees revealed an overgrown path. He remembered having taken it countless times in his childhood. Even after nightfall, Oschon could navigate the area purely based on memory.

The end of the tree line came into sight. Oschon pulled his steed to a stop and dismounted, looping the reins on a low, overhanging branch. He could already smell the blooms from here. Oschon took a deep, steadying breath. Patting his steed’s neck, he crossed the remaining distance between him and the edge of the forest and stepped out.

Blossoms, as far as he could see, covered the grassy expanse that spread far and beyond, dipping in slow, undulating hills until it reached the distant gray peaks. Shades of white and silver painted the land, illuminating under the moon’s gentle glow. They swayed in a breeze that slowly picked up, and like a hound bounding and welcoming its master home, it rushed at him with all its might, invisible fingers dragging at his skin and locks of hair, almost pushing him back a step.

Oschon closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet scent. He was home.

The only thing they’d mentioned to Menphina about this place was that it was somewhere he and the others had often played. But the field carried more memories than that. It was the place his father once met his mother, where he had played the love song with his lute and captured her heart; it was the place they were buried, where Oschon had made a little stone table before he left. It was also where he had cried, as a child, sitting on that jutting rock in the middle of the field, refusing to believe that his parents were gone. And then a figure in white had appeared—

—a figure, which now coalesced into the woman sitting where he had usually sat, resplendent in her impeccable dress, with skin as pale as porcelain and lustrous hair that gleamed in the night.

Menphina’s features twisted into a form of surprise. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he took a step forward, then another, and another. And then he was breaking into a run, and Menphina was standing in front of him, her arms spread out just as his limbs snaked around her, lifting her up and pulling her into a twirl. Her laughter lilted like music, a song of unbridled jubilance. He set her down and leaned his forehead against her, breathing her in. She was real.

Menphina cupped his cheek. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

All those early days after losing his parents, when Oschon had spent his spare time on this very rock, looking up at the moon—perhaps, even back then, a part of him had yearned for her. For a companion. For solace, or peace—comfort. To fill the void in his heart that had been left barren since his parents’ passing.

Oschon held her hand and brought his lips to the heel of her palm. “Azeyma came to me,” he said. Her surprise was transparent in the widening of her eyes. She made to pull away but Oschon tightened his hold. “She told me you’d forsake yourself.”

She yanked her hand free, then took a step back. Her glare could pierce through the hardest of ice. “This is the first time we met in years and that is what you say to me?”

“Menphina—”

“What did she say?”

Her gaze bore into him. Oschon never thought of hiding it from her. He took a steadying breath. “She said that you’re relinquishing your position as goddess, that you’re transferring your aether to the moon. To be here…” With him.

“And is that wrong? Is it so wrong to wish to be with the person you love?” Her eyes flashed.

“You’ll die, Menphina,” he said. “And you’ll take the moon with you, along with the star. Is that truly what you want?”

It pained him to hurt her, but she had to see it. She had to see that what she was doing was endangering the humans she claimed to love. Her love for one mortal could not outweigh her compassion for the star. Menphina averted her gaze, eyes hard and mouth trembling.

Moments passed in silence, in which a cool breeze from the mountain picked up loose petals from the ground. It danced between them. At last, the sharp edge of Menphina’s gaze softened and she sighed.

“Do you know how I came to know about this place?” she said. “I heard of flowers that bloom under the light of the moon. Isn't it nice knowing the immense gratitude humans have for you that they cultivate flowers in reverence to you?

“I asked Althyk once so I could come down to the star to witness these blooms. That was when I saw a boy. He came here with his friends and they grappled each other and fought with wooden swords. After a while, the boy broke away from his companions to inspect the blooms. I’d thought of stopping him when he started breaking the stems, but when I realized he was weaving a crown, I couldn’t help but watch. Then his mother came to pick him up, and he presented the crown to her. The smile on his face as his mother wore it was forever seared into my mind.

“I knew there was a limit to how often I could come, so whenever I could, I would, every new moon, hoping to see that smile and the gaiety of these children. Until one day I saw him alone and crying.” She looked at him then, and he realized the truth. “I approached him and asked him what was wrong. His parents had just died, entombed not far from here. I couldn’t quite bear to see him like that, so I sat with him and told him all about the wonders of the world and the stars beyond. And when someone came to pick him up, I plucked a flower for him and transformed it into a talisman in the hopes that should he ever find himself lost, it would remind him that he was never alone.”

Oschon touched the brooch on his cloak. He could never remember that night fully. All he knew was that a figure in white had sat with him throughout the night. The brooch was already in his possession the day after. The villagers then said it might have been his mother’s specter coming to give him her final farewell.

“So it was you,” he quietly said.

“It tore my heart every night I see you gaze at the moon,” Menphina went on. “Gone was the jovial boy who had laughed to his heart’s content. So when we finally met again, I couldn’t help my concern. I wanted to see how you were truly faring.” She dropped her gaze, her voice growing soft. “I never would have thought that spending time with you would have me utterly bewitched. I cannot think of a life without you.”

Her words hung in the air between them. Silence ticked by. The moon was barely visible beyond the clouds, like a thin silver bow, its glow barely enough to light the sky. Oschon gazed at it forlornly.

“If I could, I would leave this mortal realm and join you on the moon,” he said. “But I can’t, nor would you be happy with that arrangement. But should you renounce your godhood, so would you forsake your immortality, and then death will take you.” Menphina didn’t object. His eyes softened despite the tightness in his throat. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “And I do not want for us to unite only for you to leave in the most devastating way. Could we not go back to how we once were? You love the star too much to simply abandon it.”

“I would. For you.”

“You would,” he agreed, “and it would destroy you.” Oschon stepped closer and took her hands in his. He turned her palms upward and gazed at the lines so much like his, tracing them where they intersect one another. Would that things were different. “And it would shatter me to see you broken.”

Menphina’s breath shuddered. A quiet sob escaped her lips. “And what of you?” she asked. “Even in the time we have been apart, you have closed your heart once again.”

“As my father used to say… Partings are ever a forlorn affair, yet therein lies hope for a new encounter. For starters, perhaps it is time I return home.” He smiled at her, then drew her attention to the brooch on his collar—a steadfast, loyal companion, if he ever had one. “And I have your gift with me. I will never be alone.”

The sob finally overtaking her body, Menphina flung her arms around his shoulders. “I would’ve shared one lifetime with you, Oschon.” The last threads of her stubbornness crumbling, Menphina sobbed into his arms. “I love you.”

Oschon’s hold tightened. He buried his face in her hair, soft and silky, and warm. Familiar. “Thank you for being there for me.”

***

After sending Menphina off, Oschon stayed in the field for a while. He sat with his back to the jutting rock, one knee drawn to his chest. If he let his mind wander, he could recall the moment he’d received the moonflower brooch—or talisman, as Menphina had called it. The specter had come from the woods. He’d thought it was his mother. He’d been so happy; he’d let himself ramble on and on. And when the night grew deeper and his eyes heavier, he’d lean on her shoulder, her soft and silky hair covering him like a curtain, smelling of ice and frost. In hindsight, he should have known it hadn’t been his mother, but after waking up in his house the next morning, he’d merely thought it a dream. Except for the talisman in his hand that had proven otherwise.

For the first time in fifteen years, Oschon found himself home. Halone’s father, Rhalgr, was still head of the village it seemed. He clasped Oschon’s shoulder, while his son, Byregot, slapped him on his back. They didn’t show it but Oschon caught tears in their eyes. Not visiting or sending any word was no way for a son—even a foster son—to act, and perhaps that had been one of his reasons for staying away. But he had promised Menphina. He would not run away.

Halone and Nald’thal had returned home a few moons ago. When they entered the house and saw a teary-eyed Rhalgr and Byregot, they froze, and subsequently tackled Oschon to the ground. Halone made him promise never to disappear again. Nald’thal only glared quietly with his arms folded. Oschon, still pinned on the floor, lowered his eyes and asked for forgiveness. His brother didn’t say anything, until at last he told Halone to let Oschon go.

“Are you forgiving him that easily?” she said, indignant.

Nald’thal only offered his hand to Oschon, who grasped it and pushed himself off the floor.

Later that night, he told his former companions about Menphina. As expected, they couldn’t quite hide their shock. Perhaps, had it been someone else’s story, Oschon would be surprised too that a deity would risk so much.

“So she’s the one who gave you that brooch,” Halone said.

“What happens now?” Nald’thal asked.

Oschon didn’t quite know what happened now. “Life goes on, I guess,” he replied. “And with every parting comes a new encounter.”

As though agreeing with him, the flower brooch glimmered, like a faint trace of moonlight along the carvings.

Perhaps a day would come when he could meet Menphina again. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

~ END ~