By The Moon's Blade

1. Grasshaven, Six Months Ago

I bite into a harvest apple and go to set it back down on the table, keeping my eyes trained on the book in front of me. I'm surprised Maroka was able to get this kind of fruit all the way down here. I savor its peculiar sweetness and honeyed flavor. It's been a while since I've had something that reminds me of home. I watch a drop of the juice fall onto one of the pages, blurring a word in the notebook.

"Shit," I mumble, taking the bottom of my shirt and carefully dotting off the liquid.

I set the apple down on the table and wipe my hands quickly on my dirty white tunic before flipping the pages. It's been a few months since my mother's death, but it's hard to keep track of the days. I've spent most of my days within the confines of this house, trying to discover as much as I can. I'll contribute to the village hunt when I'm needed, but any other time is spent trying to read and take as many notes as possible.

I haven't had the courage to read through every single book in her collection. The madness within her words is too much to bear some days.

But, from what I've read from her various notebooks and miscellaneous history books packed at the bottom of a chest in the wagon, it seems like the Vestige is some sort of conduit that allows us to use lunar energy to manipulate particles from the air to create different elements. So, rubbing air molecules together at a quick enough pace to create fire or sparks, or pulling the moisture from the air to create water. All of this is powered by the moon energy derived from the Vestige. And it explains how she was able to fill that canteen full of water before we got to Grasshaven.

I pull her Vestige out from under the bed and inspect it. There are still bits of dirt within the crevices, so I tug at my tucked-in shirt and wipe at the small cracks. Holding it in my hand, I feel the weight of its dullness and I yearn for that lavender light to radiate once more.

Unfortunately, we don't know anything about where this Vestige comes from. That knowledge seems to have been lost in the war, when most of the Lunari people were forced to escape. And based on the light emanating from both my knife and my mother's stone, it seems like that lunar energy is dying. I've tried setting the knife outside for days at a time, but even direct moonlight doesn't have a great enough effect on the crystal to charge it properly.

There is some sort of connection between the Vestige and our umbramancy capabilities, I just... don't know how to connect the dots.

As my fingers trace a line, I recall the first moment that my mother gave me that knife.

It was about ten years ago, I was only thirteen. Long, unkempt curly hair laid atop my head and blanketed my shoulders. My eyes had a certain twinkle, that's what she used to say. I was fairly quiet, but always happy. It was a normal afternoon, nothing... out of the ordinary. But she pulled me aside to a bench in the center of Starmill as we strolled around town, just the two of us. She kneeled down in front of me and pulled a sheathed knife out of her pocket.

I remember the look in her eyes. Instead of the anguish that discolored our most recent years, all I remember is a moment filled with unconditional love and joy. I always wondered why she gave me a knife in a place like Cloudridge. I guess now I see why.

But more importantly, I remember the glow emanating from the center of the knife. It was nearly blinding. Look too long at the center of it and you'll walk away with a blue spot in the center of your vision for a few hours, like looking into the sun. Now, I'd do anything to feel that glow illuminate my face again.

I remember bringing it over to Shalia's house the next day. They were so jealous. I probably laughed in their face one too many times, taunting them with a playful grin.

I asked Poppy if he knew anything about the crystal, but his final days were spent in silence, eyes glazed over, though he'd share a smile every once in a while to let us know he was still there. He passed away shortly after and I started writing music, so the topic was dropped. I put the knife away in my nightstand and it was eventually covered by various papers and notes. I never needed a reason to unsheathe it in Cloudridge, so its very existence was pushed away to the back of my mind, until my mother ordered me to bring it.