Sad Moon

Prologue - 1

The sun was rising slowly over the horizon, painting the sea and sand with a golden hue that mirrored the dawn. On the shore, a silhouette emerged: a lone pilgrim, draped in a tattered cloak that had once been black but had faded to gray with wear. From this cloak extended his skeletal right hand, covered in greenish scales like a reptile's skin, clutching a wooden staff almost as tall as he was, its purple color contrasting sharply with the landscape.

His steps left prints in the damp sand, forming a path that stretched out of sight. The sound of his footsteps echoed in his mind like the crash of a falling tree. The slow rhythm of his gait made his body sway from side to side with a violent motion.

Lost in thought, a question disrupted the tranquility that surrounded him: —What is destiny?— But before he could answer, the cry of seagulls pulled him from his reverie. Soon he found himself appreciating the coast he was walking along. He turned his gaunt body to the right and gazed at the horizon, feeling fortunate to witness such beauty once more. The landscape filled him with a sense of peace and comfort.

The calm brought forth a thought: —Each wave that breaks on the shore, each bird that soars in the sky... do they follow a predetermined path? Or do they follow an inner call, a purpose that transcends mere destiny? Perhaps what I felt was not the call of my destiny as I had thought, but a self-imposed purpose to justify my actions—. He closed his eyes and, after a long, deep breath, decided to continue his journey.

The swaying of his body betrayed that he was walking once again, but something was different this time. Clinging to the belief that everything that had happened was inevitable had lightened his guilt, but now his memories were so heavy that his weak knees struggled to keep him upright. A slight tremor began to overtake him. He gripped the staff tightly, but it was in vain.

Now he lay on the ground, remembering the faces he loved and the faces that loved him. Their gazes felt like daggers piercing his skin. The pain was so great that he could not hold back his tears. His lament was drowned out by the sound of the waves; the seagulls continued to fly, the wind kept blowing, the sun kept shining. He understood that this was his punishment, that damned solitude that he could not escape no matter how far he wandered.

The seagulls that had been crying in the sky were now above him, attempting to tear at his cloak with their beaks, searching for the little flesh that remained. He no longer cried, no longer walked, no longer thought; he lay there. An amorphous sound emerged from his weary body, like the roar of a chimera. It was his plea to the heavens to end his suffering. The echo of that sound reverberated across the beach, driving away the hungry birds that kept him company.

—Perhaps destiny is not a straight line, but a tapestry of intertwined moments. Maybe dying alone on this beach is my destiny, or perhaps it is just the consequence of the life I led— he thought. Then, as if in answer, a small crab emerged from the sand in front of his face. With a sarcastic tone, he whispered to the tiny crustacean: —Perhaps you are my executioner after all—.

The crab, sensing the presence of the being, scurried away from him. With a chaotic dragging of his body, he took up his staff and began to follow the small creature, leaving a trail in the sand. He did not know why he was doing it; perhaps he clung to the only company he had left, or maybe he followed it out of habit. After a few meters, he saw that the small creature was approaching a pair of rocks.

The crab finally arrived, revealing tide pools teeming with life. He knelt, using the staff for support, observing the crustaceans moving among the rocks and the algae dancing with the ebb and flow of the tide.

As he watched, he thought: —In these tide pools, life continues regardless of what happens in the vastness of the ocean. Perhaps, like these creatures, I too have a purpose, a reason to carry on. Maybe that was not my destiny but a means to lead me to something greater—.

He relaxed his scaled hand, letting the staff fall to the ground. Extending his hand forward, a red mesh began to form in the air before him, its geometric patterns glowing with the intensity of the sun's rays. He closed his hand into a fist and, with a swift motion, pierced through the mesh. He turned his wrist and opened his hand gently, allowing the energy to flow through him. With one final decisive movement, he withdrew his arm, piercing through the mesh once more.

In the blink of an eye, his once-worn cloak took on a deep black hue; the holes and scratches vanished. As if reborn, he stood up agilely. His hand, once like that of a lich, was now a strong claw with nails as sharp as knives. His scales took on an incandescent shimmer that passed through all the colors of the rainbow. His weak and emaciated figure transformed into a tall and strong one.

Now upright, he resumed his step with a determined gait. He felt a revitalization from that longing for a destiny he believed he could reach. He moved away from the rocks, leaving his staff behind.