"What? Why did you say that?" Emrys asked, leaning forward. The salt-laden breeze ruffled his dark hair as his light gray eyes searched Luna's face.
The setting sun painted the sky in shades of amber and rose, its dying light reflecting like liquid gold in Luna's pupils as she responded, her voice barely above a whisper, with comical puffed cheeks, "I was forced to be here."
Emrys' brows furrowed, creating deep shadows across his face. "What?! Why?" His mind raced through possibilities.
Luna's fingers traced abstract patterns in the sand beside her. "It's a long story," she said.
The moment held on as Aeron, Hector, and Corsair came running toward them, their feet sliding in the smooth sand of the shore. Their labored breathing punctuated the rhythmic sound of waves. "What the hell are you guys doing out here?!" they demanded, frustration evident in their strained voices.
Emrys remained still as stone, his attention fixed solely on Luna.
Luna took a deep breath, her eyes distant as she began. "I come from Eosara the South-Eastern Region of Etern," she said, her voice taking on a storyteller's cadence." Our history speaks of a great migration—a desperate flight to sever all ties with the rest of the world. My mother told me how darkness had begun to creep into the United Regions of Etern, like poison in a well. Led by my ancestor, Gekkou, our people fled to protect themselves from its influence."
She paused, collecting her thoughts like gathering storm clouds. "But peace was fragile. A year after the migration, political tensions erupted between Gekkou and a man named Hanko Hachi, whose pride burned as bright as his ambition. Hachi saw our flight as a weakness. He preached of reclamation, of taking back what was lost—by force if necessary."
The narrative flowed from her lips like water from a spring, telling of division, of battle lines drawn in sand and blood. "The people split—some rallying to Hachi's banner of vengeance, others clinging to Gekkou's dream of peace. My forefather told Hachi and his followers they could leave freely, but warned them to expect no aid from those who remained."
Her voice hardened. "This ignited Hachi's rage, sparking a war that would stain our lands for a decade. It was during this time that the Samurai rose to prominence, their blades and armor becoming symbols of the divide. Gekkou's warriors wore robes black as midnight, while Hachi's troops dressed in crimson."
Luna's words painted pictures of devastation: husbands torn from wives, fathers from children, sons marching to pain and terror. "Blood soaked into our soil, limbs littered battlefields like fallen leaves, and the air itself seemed to carry the echo of endless pain. The very darkness we had fled now sprouted in our new land, growing stronger than any could have imagined."
She described how Gekkou initially remained behind the lines, orchestrating strategies like a master puppeteer. But everything changed in the war's eighth year when Hachi noticed something extraordinary—soldiers who had been caught either in two or beheaded were returning to fight again. "They called it Fukugen—the power to restore, to regenerate. Those who had suffered the most grievous wounds developed this ability to an unprecedented degree."
The story turned darker as Luna spoke of Hachi's descent into obsession, his quest to capture and study one of these regenerating warriors. Her voice trembled as she described his fateful mistake—the beheading of his own friend, whose blood-soaked robes had appeared black in the fog of war.
The tale reached its climax with the final confrontation between Gekkou and Hachi, a battle of legendary proportions near a thundering waterfall. Luna's voice rose and fell like the tide as she described their deadly dance, the clash of steel, and the ultimate victory that led to many years of peace.
"Now my forefather has six generations after him, with the sixth being my sister's and I. His white hair and iris were also passed down the bloodline. While the war became a tale told every generation by their mothers."
The sun had disappeared into the horizon with the stars painting the night sky. Emrys was the only listener awake.
"Well according to my mother, in order to prevent a dark seed from sprouting again in our homeland, I had to be brought here. And my father refuses to look me in the eye, or even talk to me up until I left."
"If me staying here will prevent my history from repeating itself, then I must stay."
Luna's shoulders slumped, as if the weight of history itself pressed down upon her. "The only thing that pisses me off," she confessed, her voice shaking subtly, "is that this is the best I can do."
Emrys lifted his gaze to the star-strewn sky above, now deep indigo and scattered with diamond-bright points of light. "Look at them," he said softly, "They've taught me that no matter how dark it is, there'd always be light. So don't worry, everything will be alright."
Luna wiped her eyes, her gaze drawn upward to join his. Together, they watched the horizon where the dark sea reflectled the night sky.