10 - The Moon

Later that night, after dinner, the hearth had burned down to a dull glow, the embers barely flickering, casting soft orange light across the cabin walls. The warmth from the fire lingered, but it did nothing to settle my mind. Three faces haunted me: my dearest friend, whose eyes held no fear when she looked upon mine; my mother, for whom I would bleed rivers dry; and her... the golden-haired woman who had carved herself a throne in the darkest corner of my soul.

Pushing away from the table, I stood up abruptly, the wooden chair scraping against the floor louder than I meant it to.

"Where are you going at this hour?" Mother's voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk, soft yet edged with steel.

I forced my lips into something resembling a smile, though it felt like wearing a mask. "A walk. Nothing more."

Her emerald eyes pierced me, searching for the truths I buried deep. She had always possessed that damnable gift, reading my sins as clearly as runes carved in stone. The weight of her stare pressed heavier than any iron shackle.

"Don’t stay out too long, dear." Her fingers found that accursed amulet at her throat, the one that hummed with old power.

"I won’t, mother. You should get some rest."

The door creaked on rusted hinges as I stepped into the night's embrace. Night’s breath struck like a war hammer, cutting through the cabin's dying warmth and sinking fangs deep into my bones. The world beyond seemed carved from black grass and silver moonlight.

The field stretched before me, an ocean of grass beneath the swollen moon. The old oak stood sentinel at its heart, gnarled and twisted like an old king's arthritic hands. Pine shadows stretched long and dark, reaching toward me with hungry fingers. Above, the moon leered through tattered clouds, mocking my torment with its pale light.

I drew breath deep, tasting wildflowers and rich soil, the scent of growing things touched by the moon's kiss. Behind me, Mother's silhouette filled the doorway, her hand still clutching that strange pendant that caught the dying firelight.

My boots found the worn path toward the oak, each step echoing like a funeral drum. For the first time in memory, I walked without purpose, without knowing what waited beneath the watching moon.

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The night pressed close, thick as grave dirt and twice as cold. Moonlight painted the world in corpse-pale silver, stretching shadows long and twisted across the narrow track. My footfalls rang too loud in the oppressive quiet, each crunch of mud beneath my boots like thunder in a tomb.

Something pulled at my chest, a hook of iron dragging me deeper into darkness. The forest breathed around me, ancient trees swaying in winds that carried whispers of forgotten names. Their branches clawed at the star-drunk sky like the fingers of buried giants.

My heart hammered against my ribs as though it sought escape. Why did it feel like something was waiting for me out here? Something unseen, hidden in the dark, just beyond the edges of my vision.

The grass gleamed wet and silver, each blade sharp as a knife’s edge in the moon's cruel light. Everything looked too real, too alive, as though the world itself had shed its skin to reveal something raw beneath. Ice crawled up my spine like a spider's legs.

Then the world shattered.

Fire crackled where none had been, warm and welcoming as a lover's touch. I blinked, and the field vanished like morning mist. A camp surrounded me, with tents and banners that I had seen many times. The scent of burning wood mingled with something metallic and sharp. Blood. Old blood, mixed with jasmine... her scent.

My hands had aged, weathered by years I had never lived. The fire's warmth kissed my skin while solid ground held me firm. This was no dream born of fevered sleep.

By the flames sat a woman whose golden hair caught moonlight like spun silver. Valeria. The name struck me like a physical blow, bringing with it a flood of memories that were not mine. Her presence tugged at something buried deep, something that recognized her as a starving man recognizes bread.

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She hummed, her voice weaving through the night air like silk through fingers, drawing me closer against my will.

> "In the quiet of the night, where the stars begin to sing,

> I feel your warmth beside me, like a soft and distant wing.

> Through the shadows, through the sky, we'll find our way to roam,

> In the whispers of the moonlight, we'll never be alone."

The melody pierced me like a spear through the heart. I knew those words, knew them as a man knows his own name. They pulled at memories that tasted of smoke and steel, of long marches and longer nights.

She turned, crystal blue eyes finding mine across the flames. For one breathless moment, time itself seemed to stumble. "Did the song please you, my love?"

Her voice could wake the dead from their eternal rest, each note stirring desires I had tried to bury deep. I wanted to reach for her, to trace the curve of her cheek, to lose myself in those eyes like deep mountain lakes. But when I spoke, the words felt foreign on my tongue.

"It feels like home. With you... even this place feels like home."

My feet moved without my will, carrying me with a grace that belonged to another man's body. I was a passenger in my own flesh, watching through borrowed eyes.

Her smile cracked like fine porcelain, revealing the weariness beneath. She turned back to the fire, her gaze distant as storm clouds. "We are so far from home, Einar. I grow weary of this endless road. I want... I want to go home."

The words struck me like hammer blows to the chest. My ribs tightened around my heart until each breath came sharp and painful. I found myself beside her, the fire's warmth mingling with her presence, both comfort and torment in equal measure.

"When will this damned war end?" Her voice barely rose above the crackling flames. "When will we be free of it?"

"Years yet, perhaps." Each word dragged from my throat like pulling nails from wood. "But I swear by all the First, I will not leave your side."

She faced me again, her eyes blazing with fierce light. "And I stand with you, as I always have. As I always will."

The world narrowed to just us, the fire, and the weight of words unspoken. Her eyes held depths I could drown in gladly.

"I love you," she whispered, the words fragile as spring ice.

Warmth flooded through me, washing away the cold that had lived in my bones for so long. Peace settled over me like a warm cloak after years in winter's grip.

"I love you too, my Karissa."

The word spilled from my lips like wine from a broken cup, sweet and intoxicating and somehow right.

But dreams, like all beautiful things, must die.

The vision crumbled like a falling tree. Camp, fire, Valeria... all dissolved into night and memory. I stood alone beneath the merciless moon, its light cold as a corpse's touch. Where warmth and love had been, only emptiness remained, vast and hungry as the void between stars.

My feet had carried me to the oak without conscious thought. The grave beneath its twisted roots lay silent as secrets, holding whatever truths it guarded close. But my mind lingered at that phantom fire, still feeling her weight against my shoulder, still hearing echoes of her voice.

"Valeria." Her name escaped like a prayer to gods who had long since stopped listening.

The sound hung in the bitter air, unanswered and alone. I waited for something, anything, to acknowledge what I had seen. But the night gave me only silence.

A tear carved its path down my cheek like a blade through flesh. I scrubbed it away, cursing myself for weakness before a woman who existed only in dreams. But another followed, then another, salt tracks marking my defeat.

My hands curled into fists, nails biting crescents into my palms until blood welled. Questions stormed through my mind like cavalry through wheat fields. Why did she feel more real than my own soul? Why did her touch burn brighter than the sun? Who was she to me?

I stared at the unmarked grave, fists clenching and releasing in rhythm with my racing heart. The visions made no sense, followed no logic I could grasp. Yet the feelings they brought... those burned true as the hearth in the cabin.

"Why?" The word tore from my throat raw and broken, a plea cast into uncaring darkness. "Why do I feel this way?"

The wind stirred the oak's ancient branches, but gave no answer save the whisper of leaves like distant voices calling names I could not hear.