Moon 8
The prince couldn’t recall much from his early years—just fleeting fragments of memories that might not have even been real. They slipped through his fingers like smoke, more sensations than solid moments. He didn’t remember her, his mother. But his brother said she loved him dearly, and so did the rest of the family. He wanted to believe it—those earnest eyes made it seem so true.
Even if he couldn’t remember her, he had forged a fragile bond with his brother, Rydaun, over the years. Rydaun reminded him of embers—a flicker of flame at the mercy of the wind. He saw the cracks in the boy, as broken as he felt himself. Rydaun’s mind was never at rest; calm one moment, seething the next, his anger flaring like molten rock. Sometimes he would scream at things that weren’t there, his voice raw and full of terror. And afterward, he would collapse into the prince’s arms, trembling, crying, haunted by the shadows only he could see.
His aunt, Rellana, had been his teacher. She taught him the sword, magic, how to fight, survive, and even kill. She was the first person he remembered seeing—up on that mountain top. That memory was clear, sharper than any other. The full moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale glow over snow-covered peaks and withered trees. The air was frigid, the kind of cold that gnawed at his bones. He even remembered the chill of her blade as it struck his heart.
His mother, though, was a hollow presence, locked in an endless sleep. He felt nothing for her. To him, she was a stranger. But for Rydaun’s sake, he wore a mask, pretending to care, offering the comfort his brother seemed to need. He was certain Rellana saw through his charade, but she never said a word, and so he let it be.
Rydaun often spoke of who he had been before. He painted the prince as kind, clever, funny, and above all, courageous. The prince desperately wanted it to be true. Rydaun swore he even acted like his old self at times, as though pieces of that person still lingered. "You’re still my brother," Rydaun would say, his voice full of conviction. The prince didn’t know how to feel about that.
It was strange, living in the shadow of someone else—someone who was supposed to be him. It felt like wearing another man’s shoes, walking a path he couldn’t remember. He didn’t know that version of himself, but he pretended he did.
It made Rydaun smile, and for some reason, that brought him peace. Seeing this fractured boy smile, even for a moment, made all the pretending worthwhile.
Maybe the prince could be his brother again. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea. If he tried hard enough, maybe his memories would come back. Maybe he could proudly call himself Rellaun, son of the Moon, and finally feel like he belonged.
Or maybe...
Maybe the prince had died on the mountain, and whatever he was now had only taken his shape. He didn’t know if that was true, but the thought lingered, a shadow in the corner of his mind. His aunt, Rellana, had said as much before—that he wasn’t human. And her actions spoke louder than her words. She never let her guard down around him. Every time he entered a room, he could feel it—the way her hand hovered near her weapon, the tension in her stance. She was always one step away from striking him down.
Yet that didn’t scare him. If what she said was true, then perhaps she should be prepared. When she found him on that mountain, she didn’t see a boy—she saw something else. Kin to the stars, she called him, one of those malevolent things that had ravaged the lands. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was one of those things, wearing this face to blend in, waiting for the perfect moment to destroy them all.
But he didn’t know. He truly didn’t know.
Was he the prince, twisted into something monstrous by the will of the stars? Or had he always been a monster, pretending to be the prince?
The answer lay buried somewhere deep within him, but no matter how hard he searched, it remained out of reach. All he could do was wonder—and pretend.
“How are these classes, Theseus? Are they as good as everyone says?”
The other boy didn’t look up, his attention fixed on his meal.
“Theseus?”
“Huh!?” Theseus jolted, startled. His eyes darted around before settling on Rellaun. “Sa-sorry! Uh, what did you say?”
“How are the classes?” Rellaun repeated, leaning forward a bit.
“Uh… they’re okay, I guess. Not that different from regular school.”
That caught Rellaun’s interest. To him, it was like hearing tales of foreign lands—things he had an idea of but didn’t fully understand.
“How so? Did they have beastmen for teachers too?”
“No! Not that.” Theseus chuckled awkwardly. “We had… well, normal stuff. Math, science, English. I even took some home ec classes before. It’s kinda similar.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but we didn’t do anything fancy like potions. The teacher even joked we were just cooking.”
“Cooking, potions—aren’t they the same thing?”
“No. No, they’re not,” Theseus said, shaking his head firmly. “I remember back at my old home, we had a cabinet full of potions. I even saw my mum make some once. She used a magic wand to stir the pot and zapped the potion, too.”
Rellaun tilted his head, intrigued. “Zapped it? Like lightning?”
“Kind of. It lit up like a spell,” Theseus replied, a flicker of a smile crossing his face before fading into something harder to read. “It wasn’t just mixing ingredients. There was something alive about it, you know? Like it had its own spark.”
Rellaun nodded slowly, though he couldn’t quite picture it. To him, it all still sounded like cooking—but with a bit of flair.
“I just wish... I wish we could do wand stuff,” Theseus muttered, a trace of longing in his voice.
“But we can,” Rellaun said matter-of-factly.
“Huh?”
“That’s the next class. Don’t you remember?” Rellaun reached into his pocket and pulled out his schedule, unfolding it with a small flourish. “It says it right here: ‘Wizardry, Charms, and Curses,’ taught by Professor Bartemius Crouch the Younger.”
Theseus’s eyes lit up, and for the first time all day, he looked truly alive. Color returned to his face as excitement overtook him.
“Ra-really!?” he nearly shouted, his voice cracking.
“Ah-huh.” Rellaun nodded, though he couldn’t understand why Theseus was so ecstatic. They saw magic all the time. What made this so special?
“Like with a wand and everything!?” Theseus’s enthusiasm was practically contagious.
“That’s what wizardry is, I think?” Rellaun shrugged. To him, there wasn’t much difference between wizardry and any other kind of magic. But apparently, it was a big deal. The Conspectus scholars always droned on about distinctions—wizardry, arcane, soul arts, and that strange one tied to the “dark of humanity,” whatever that meant.
Still, Theseus’s excitement puzzled him. Why was he so fascinated by something they were surrounded by every day? Rellaun couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something.
Afterward, Theseus practically inhaled his lunch, shoveling it down so quickly that Rellaun half-expected him to choke.
“Come on!” Theseus exclaimed, grabbing Rellaun’s arm with a sudden burst of energy.
“But I haven’t finished my—”
“Let’s go!” Theseus interrupted, his grin wide and infectious.
Before Rellaun could protest further, Theseus was already dragging him out of the great hall. The prince sighed but let himself be pulled along. At least this time, he didn’t have to fake astonishment or enthusiasm.
He only hoped the next class would live up to Theseus’s expectations. The professor looked friendly, after all.
Shard of Fragile Bone
A small, delicate fragment of bone wrapped in a worn blue cloth. It appears to be part of a child’s skull, so brittle it seems like even a gentle touch could shatter it.
This fragment holds a secret guarded by the Moon’s sister. After a month of relentless searching across the mountain tops, this was all she uncovered—hidden in the exact spot where they had once witnessed the true Moon.
It was there she felled a beast made of Moonlight.