Chapter 6: The Boy Who Loved the Moon
The gardens of House Farah were vast — winding paths of trimmed hedges, ancient statues, and flowers that bloomed even under the pale glow of night. But no matter how large they seemed, Sirius always found the same spot.
Beneath the tallest silver-barked tree. Facing the open sky.
And above him… the moon.
At only five years old, most children his age clung to toys or napped early in velvet cribs. But Sirius? He sat on cold stone with dirt on his clothes and leaves in his hair, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared up at the moon with quiet devotion.
He never said much about it. No one asked why.
His parents thought it was a harmless fascination — a child enchanted by the silver light above.
But to Sirius… the moon wasn't just beautiful.
It was familiar.
It was warm.
It felt like home.
High above in the balcony, the Grand Duchess Xylia pulled her shawl tighter as she watched her son below.
"He's there again," she murmured.
Caspian stepped beside her, his massive frame shadowing hers. "Every night."
"He never complains," she added. "Not of the cold, not of the dark… nothing. Just sits there."
Caspian looked out quietly. "There are people who say the moon gives them peace. Hope. Maybe he feels that, too."
She smiled faintly. "You mean like the Moon Church?"
"Exactly. He's not the only one drawn to it. The moon is… powerful. Serene. Maybe even sacred."
"But he's just a child."
"Yes," Caspian said. "And yet, sometimes… he doesn't feel like one."
Down below, Sirius sat with his knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them. His small fingers dug into the sleeves of his cloak as he rested his chin on his knees.
The moonlight spilled across his face. It brushed his skin like a gentle hand.
He didn't speak. He didn't cry.
But deep inside his chest, something stirred. A memory not quite forgotten. A voice he couldn't yet recall.
He didn't know what her name was now. Not here. Not yet.
But when he looked at the moon, something inside him whispered:
There you are.
He didn't need words. Didn't understand them the way adults did. But he felt it.
Every time the moon rose, he felt it.
He was less alone.
"Do you want me to bring him inside?" a maid asked quietly from behind.
"No," Xylia replied. "Let him be. He'll come in when he's ready."
The stars were dim that night, but the moon was bold and full, casting soft shadows across the garden. The flowers closed, the birds slept.
And Sirius stayed.
He traced shapes in the dirt with a stick. First circles. Then loops. Then what might've been a figure — long hair, floating in a sea of light.
Then he stopped. Looked up.
He didn't know why… but it felt like she was watching him.
He smiled, just a little.
And whispered under his breath, so softly even the wind might miss it:
"…Goodnight."