Ren Kisaragi talks to strangers for a living. Every night from midnight to four, he sits in a radio station the size of a convenience store, in a foggy coastal town nobody moves to on purpose, and takes calls from insomniacs and fishermen. It's a quiet life. A woman calls in with a warning. Don't go home tonight. The mountain is awake. She says his name like she's known him and Ren hangs up and walks home anyway. Something silver is waiting in the fog. He survives the bite. That's the problem. The wolf was a god, old and dying, and the bite wasn't an attack. It was an inheritance. Now Ren carries a second heartbeat in his chest, a voice in his head that answers to "the old man," and a bond that makes him something the world hasn't seen in a generation: Moonbound. And he is the last one. There will never be another. The mountain community that takes him in has rules. Four of them. Don't tell anyone. Never bite anyone. Spend the full moon on the mountain. And when the fence breaks, you don't fix it alone. Because out beyond the fog, the Eclipse is watching — hunters with silver-jacketed bullets and patient methods, who study their prey for weeks before they pull a trigger. They've come to this coast before. They left bodies. And now a scout is on the mountain, waiting for the full moon. Ren didn't ask for any of this. But the moon won't leave him alone, the hunters won't either, and a man who never wanted to matter is about to become the last page of a very old book. A slow-burn supernatural light novel about found family, quiet courage, and what it costs to carry something ancient.