The days in Lunehaven passed in gray rhythm — the kind of rhythm that made time feel thin and forgettable.
For most people, it was ordinary life.For Lian Ardent, it was exile.
He had learned to move through the hours without thought, taking whatever work kept him close to people yet far enough not to be noticed. Mornings found him wiping down tables at the seaside café, afternoons tightening bolts and gears in an old garage, and nights pushing a broom through the dim hallways of the fish market after closing.
Three jobs. Three masks.And beneath them all, a boy trying to pretend he was something he wasn't — human.
The cafe smelled of salt and roasted beans. Lian wiped the counter as the first light broke over the sea. Mara, ever watchful, poured coffee for fishermen who'd already been awake for hours. She gave him a nod, her face tired but kind.
"You're early again," she said.
"I don't sleep much," he replied simply.
"That's not healthy."
He shrugged, the smallest of smiles flickering. "Maybe I'm just built wrong."
She frowned, but said nothing more. He preferred it that way. The fewer questions, the better.
The regulars had grown used to him — quiet, efficient, polite. The kind of presence that slipped through conversation like mist. They joked about him sometimes, but not cruelly. "Moon Boy," they called him. "Never sweats, never blinks, and never looks tired."
Lian didn't mind. The name fit. The moon had followed him since the night he woke. It watched from the sea's edge, from broken mirrors, from dreams. Sometimes he caught his reflection in a window and thought he saw a faint pale light clinging to him, like dust caught in moonlight.
By noon, he traded the apron for oil-stained gloves at the mechanic's shop.
Old Ronn, the shop owner, was a man of gruff patience and too many cigarettes. He didn't care who Lian was, so long as the engines purred when customers returned. That suited Lian perfectly.
"Hey, Moon Boy!" Ronn barked one afternoon, tossing him a wrench. "You ever worked with an engine older than you?"
Lian caught it effortlessly. "Can't say I have."
"Well, today's your lucky day. This one's been dead longer than my first wife."
Lian crouched beside the old motorcycle, its metal frame corroded with salt. As he opened the panel, his fingers brushed the machinery — and for a fleeting moment, the rust retreated. The metal gleamed faintly under his touch before fading again.
He froze.Had he imagined that?
Ronn didn't notice. "You got good hands, boy," he grunted. "Don't talk much, but the work speaks."
Lian smiled faintly. "Machines are easier than people."
The mechanic snorted. "Ain't that the truth."
Hours passed in the hum of tools and the hiss of oil. But as the sun dipped lower, Lian caught his reflection in the motorcycle's mirror — eyes gleaming faint gold again. The same haunting shimmer as before.
He turned away quickly, clenching his jaw.
No. Not here. Not again.
He focused on the clatter of tools, the smell of grease — anything that felt normal. But deep inside, something restless stirred. The pulse he'd felt on the night of the storm — faint but insistent — beat again, syncing with the rhythm of the hammer striking metal.
It whispered, You are not ordinary. Stop pretending.
By nightfall, he walked the empty market streets under the hum of old lamps. The sea breeze carried the scent of fish and rain. He unlocked the janitor's closet, slipped on his gloves, and began sweeping through the rows of empty stalls.
The work was dull, mechanical. That was what he liked about it. Simplicity dulled the noise in his head.
As he swept, a stray cat padded into the corridor, eyes glinting in the dim light. It paused, watching him.
Lian crouched. "Hey there."
The cat hissed, fur rising. But when he extended his hand, it froze. Then, cautiously, it stepped closer and pressed its head against his fingers.
Warmth pulsed from his palm — faint, golden warmth. The cat purred, curling against him.
He smiled. A small, real smile.
For a moment, the weight of the ordinary didn't feel heavy.
At dawn, he walked home along the cliffs. The horizon bled orange into gray, and the sea shimmered with early light.
He stopped to rest on a rock, gazing at the waves. His reflection trembled in the water — calm, human, almost believable. But then, as the sun touched the horizon, a flicker rippled across the surface.
He saw her again.
The silver-haired woman from his dreams.
Her face appeared faintly beneath the water's skin, her expression unreadable. "You hide well," she murmured, voice like wind through glass. "But the seal won't hold forever."
Lian stood, heart pounding. "Seal?"
"The curse binds your veins," she whispered. "The moment it breaks, the world will remember who you are."
He took a step closer. "Then tell me who I am."
Her image flickered. "Not yet."
And then she was gone — only ripples remained, spreading across the surface like veins of gold dissolving into blue.
Later that day, Ronn found Lian staring into the open hood of a car, lost in thought.
"Boy, you look like you seen a ghost," Ronn muttered. "You all right?"
Lian blinked, pulling himself back to the moment. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"...About what keeps a thing running," Lian said quietly. "Engines, people, everything. What happens when the part that makes it move isn't there anymore."
Ronn grunted. "You replace it."
Lian shook his head faintly. "And if there's no replacement?"
The old man gave him a long look. "Then you find a new reason to move."
The words lingered long after Lian left the shop.
By night, fatigue should have found him. But his body refused to tire, and his mind hummed with quiet unrest. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling again. The sound of waves outside had become familiar, like a heartbeat he couldn't ignore.
The moon was high tonight, full and brilliant. Its light spilled across the room, touching everything in silver.
He turned his hand toward it. The veins beneath the skin pulsed faintly — once, twice.
The pulse felt heavier now. Louder.
Thump.Thump.Thump.
It resonated through his bones. His breath came slow, measured, and then — his reflection in the window blinked before he did.
A voice rose, soft but clear in his mind.
"You were not meant to bow to gravity."
He sat up sharply, heart racing. "Who's there?"
The whisper answered, You were the sky's blood once.
The air thickened. The candlelight flickered violently, stretching shadows long and thin.
Lian grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, but the room seemed to ripple. The walls bled light — faint golden streams threading through wood and air alike.
He stumbled toward the door, yanking it open — and froze.
Outside, the entire street shimmered faintly under the moonlight, every surface humming with unseen energy. The sea beyond glowed as if alive, reflecting veins of silver that pulsed like a sleeping heart.
Lian fell to his knees, clutching his chest. The pulse inside him matched the rhythm outside — synchronized, inevitable.
And then, it stopped.
Everything went still.
When he opened his eyes again, the glow had vanished. The world returned to its quiet, ordinary night. Only the lingering warmth in his veins told him it hadn't been a dream.
The next morning, Lunehaven was as it always was — fishermen shouting across docks, gulls circling above, markets waking with laughter and haggling.
Lian worked, smiled faintly, nodded at jokes. He played his part well.
But behind his calm eyes, a storm was building.
He could feel it — the invisible tether between him and something vast beyond the stars. The seal, as the woman called it, was weakening.
And though he didn't understand why, part of him feared what might happen when it finally broke.
That night, as he finished sweeping the market, Ronn's words came back to him: Then you find a new reason to move.
He gazed toward the horizon, where the Moonforest shimmered faintly beyond the cliffs — the place the townsfolk warned travelers never to enter. They said it was haunted, full of lights that moved without wind, voices that spoke without mouths.
But Lian felt it again — that pull. The same one that had led him from the sea, the same one whispering now through the veins of the world.
He set down the broom.
If he was going to find answers, he wouldn't find them among these streets.
The forest was calling.
And this time, he wouldn't look away.
Cliffhanger: The Moonforest calls to him — he decides to follow.