The Moon’s Alluring Journey

Reaching Velmira

The city of Velmira rose from the mist like something carved from old memory—stone walls ringed in ivy, rooftops sharp and weather-worn, and lanterns flickering in warm, amber light as the sun dipped behind the hills. The scent of roasting spices and coal smoke drifted through the twilight. Velmira was alive in a way the palace never had been—lanterns glowing in soft clusters, voices spilling from open tavern doors, carts rattling over cobblestones long after sunset. Even at this hour, street vendors hawked their roasted nuts and spiced wine, laughter echoing down alleyways that glinted with old rain.

I kept my hood low, though it barely mattered. No one looked twice. Ash rode beside me, his posture as upright and measured as ever, but his eyes never stopped scanning.

“Nearly there, my lady,” he said under his breath, with just enough edge to the title to remind those nearby: I was nobility, but not the kind that required bowing.

We stopped at a modest inn tucked between a lantern-maker’s stall and a bakery still dusted in flour. The sign overhead swung in the breeze: The Weeping Griffin. Ivy crawled up one side of the building like it was trying to pull the stonework back into the earth.

Inside, warmth greeted us—smoke, stew, worn wood, and murmured voices. The main room was full but not loud. Locals, mostly. Travelers. Maybe the occasional merchant on his way toward Paceum. Not a crown or sigil in sight.

Ash secured a room with quiet efficiency and a single glance that told me to wait by the hearth. I didn’t mind. It gave me time to watch.

A man played a soft tune on a reed flute in the corner. Children darted between tables, chased by a woman scolding them with one hand and holding bread with the other. And near the far end of the room, seated by the fire, was an old man with eyes like cracked glass—milky, but sharp all the same. A group of younger folk clustered near him, eyes wide as he spoke in a voice like old leather.

“—and so she vanished beneath the moonlight, right where the river meets the ashwood trees,” he said, tapping his cane on the floor with every pause. “But not before swearing vengeance. Not on the king who betrayed her. Not on the court that bound her in silver. But on the blood. The line. The ones who came after.”

The room grew quieter. Even the children stilled.

“She was the chosen of the moon goddess, y’see,” the man went on, eyes flickering toward the fire. “Came from the stars, they say. Ruled beside the goddess herself, until mortal greed pulled her down to earth. Took her crown, her kin, her name.”

“What happened to her?” someone asked—a girl, maybe fifteen.

“She waits,” he said simply. “Waits for the blood to ripen. Waits for her name to return. When the stars shift, and the tides tremble, she’ll come back. And the Moonborn will fall.”

I stiffened.

Ash, who had just returned to stand beside me, leaned down slightly. “My lady?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, though my fingers were curled tight around the pendant at my neck.

Moonborn. Moonblood. Moonblessed. All names whispered in the old texts. My bloodline. My Family.

“They say she’ll be beautiful,” the old man finished, eyes glinting. “And furious.”

The fire popped. No one spoke for a moment. Then the laughter returned, and the music, and the moment passed as if it hadn’t been sharp enough to cut.

But it had.

Ash placed a steadying hand on my elbow. “Come. The room is ready.”

I let him guide me up the narrow stairs, though I didn’t stop hearing the old man’s voice. Not even after the door closed behind us and the city fell away.

The room was small, but clean. A single window overlooked the lantern-lit street below, casting shifting shadows on the wooden floor. A fire crackled in the hearth, fed by fresh logs someone had kindly left burning.

I dropped my cloak on the lone chair near the bed, trying not to say what we both saw the moment the door opened.

One bed.

Ash closed the door behind us and stood still for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I’ll take the floor.”

“You always say that,” I muttered, tugging off my gloves.

“And I always will, my lady,” he said, unrolling a small blanket from his pack and spreading it near the fire with practiced ease. “It’s not proper.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. “I’m not asking for proper. I’m asking for comfort. You’ve been riding as long as I have. There’s room.”

“There may be,” he replied evenly, “but you are still of the royal line. I am sworn to you. This is not my place.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “And if I weren’t royalty?”

He paused mid-motion. His eyes flicked to mine, then away again, quiet as the flickering firelight. “Then it would be different.”

Something in the air shifted—fragile, quiet, but there.

I looked down at the pendant resting against my collarbone. The smooth crescent stone caught the firelight and shimmered faintly. “That story downstairs,” I said after a moment, “about the moon goddess… and vengeance. You think he made it up?”

Ash sat back on his heels, thoughtful. “No. I think he’s retelling something older than memory, twisted by time, but not false.”

“Then it could be real.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

Silence stretched between us.

“They spoke of Moonborn,” I said. “Bloodlines. That woman—whoever she was—she’s tied to my family, isn’t she?”

Ash didn’t answer immediately. His voice, when it came, was low. “The Moon Dynasty’s origins are… shrouded. Magic and blood were once closer than they are now. But if the story has truth, then yes. You may carry the legacy of those who took something sacred.”

“And if she really is coming back?”

He met my eyes, his gaze steady. “Then she’ll have to go through me first.”

That stopped me cold.

“Is that loyalty speaking?” I asked softly. “Or something else?”

Ash stood and turned away to tend the fire, though it didn’t need tending. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

He was quiet, shoulders tight. Then: “You carry the weight of a throne and a name older than the empire itself. I don’t know where this path will take us, Dania. But wherever it ends, I will stand beside you. Not because I must—but because I choose to.”

I swallowed. “Then sleep on the bed, too. Just—stay.”

Ash finally turned. There was something raw in his face. Something he couldn’t quite smooth over.

“As you wish, my lady.”

He removed his boots and cloak with rigid precision, and lay on the edge of the bed, careful not to cross the invisible line between us.

I turned onto my side, facing the fire. The silence between us now felt warmer. Full of things unspoken. Things understood.

Outside, the wind rose, brushing the shutters like a whispered warning.

Inside, I held the pendant to my chest and tried not to dream of vengeance and stars.

Darkness gave way to silver light.

I was no longer myself.

I saw the world through eyes that shimmered like twin moons—cool, luminous, and ancient.

Long, flowing white hair cascaded down my shoulders like woven starlight. I was the Moon Goddess.

Across from me sat the Sun Goddess—radiant and fierce, her golden hair blazing like dawn itself. She smiled, bright and warm, and we laughed together, a sound like chimes in the wind, light and free.

But the laughter cracked, fractured like ice beneath heavy boots.

The Sun Goddess’s smile faltered. Her eyes sharpened, amber flames flickering. “You know he never belonged to you.”

I met her gaze evenly. “He gave me the orb. The orb that holds absolute power and purity.”

“The orb was meant for me,” the Sun Goddess spat. “He was my betrothed, sworn to bind our realms.”

I shook my head, voice steady as the tides. “He was engaged to you in name only. His heart… always belonged to me.”

The Sun Goddess’s golden locks shimmered with anger and sorrow. “You took what was never yours.”

“And yet here we are,” I said. “Holding the fate of the world in our hands.”

Between us floated the orb—pale light swirling inside its glass sphere, a heartbeat of pure energy, calm yet terrifying.

Our argument grew sharper, voices rising in the silence of eternity, echoing across realms.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the vision darkened.

The orb shattered, scattering shards of light and shadow, and the Earth God appeared—a figure cloaked in soil and stone, eyes filled with regret and love.

“Who do I truly love?” His voice was a whisper that cracked the sky.

The Sun and Moon Goddesses fell silent, the question hanging heavy between them.

I woke with a gasp, heart pounding, the weight of the orb’s shattered light still burning behind my eyes.

The pendant around my neck felt warm against my skin—like a pulse, like a warning.

The past was not done with me.