Astra jolted awake—ragged breaths clawing her throat.
Her chamber in the Celestial Sanctuary lay silent, bathed in the pallid glow of stars shimmering through the glass dome above. White marble walls glowed with a faint azure sheen, mirroring the soft pulse of mana crystals embedded in the pillars. The cool night breeze swayed translucent silk curtains, carrying the sweet scent of lunaria blossoms from the hanging gardens.
But her heart—
It hammered like she'd sprinted across galaxies.
She sat up slowly, dragging a hand across her clammy face. A chill spider-walked down her spine. Her skin still prickled—as if the dream clung to the air like smoke.
Something felt… off.
No logic to it—just a gnawing in her chest. A premonition that refused to loosen its grip.
Astra shut her eyes. Tried to steady her breath.
But then—
The images crashed in.
Shadow Lake's still surface.
A flickering reflection.
Eyes—dark, sharp, not hers—
And the weight of a gaze…
From another world.
A thought clawed into her mind—sharp, breath-stealing.
Who was he?
Astra pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart? A frantic drum solo against her ribs.
This wasn't normal. She'd never… felt like this.
She tried to choke out the usual lies—just a dream, just your mind playing tricks.
But the words? Ash on her tongue.
Because deep in her marrow… it felt real.
The ghost of it haunted her all day.
Even when Priestess Lyria—her mentor, the sharpest Starwarden—summoned her to the Astral
Garden to drill new incantations…
Her mind kept drifting.
The garden hung in the void atop a floating platform—endless sky on all sides, tiny light-spheres drifting like cursed fireflies. Priestesses trained in mana circles, hands glowing as sacred crystals hummed with swirling energy.
But Astra? Couldn't focus.
Her thoughts? Stuck on the lake. That flicker in the water.
Eyes that weren't hers.
"Astra. You're… elsewhere."
Lyria's voice snapped her back. Her mentor stood rigid—white hair braided tight, Starwarden robes bleeding into the twilight. Face calm, but those sun-gold eyes cut sharper than any blade.
"Yeah… just didn't sleep right."
Not a full lie. She'd slept. But rest? None.
Like her soul had… wandered too far.
Like he'd brushed against… something.
Or someone.
On the Crimson Moon—where dawn bled a deeper red than rust, air thick with forge-smoke and iron—Rowan burned with the same restlessness.
He'd clawed his way awake before dawn. The stone ceiling of his chamber suffocating. The tower's gloom? Thick as clotting blood.
He raked a hand through his black hair—wild strands now chaos. Muscles wire-tight. Like something yanking his ribs toward… nowhere.
Eyes shut.
Tried to think.
But then—
Blood River.
That reflection.
Blue eyes—not his, never his—
He sat rigid on the edge of his bed, elbows digging into knees, staring at the stone floor like it held answers carved in ash.
First time in his cursed life—
He smelled lies.
Since he could crawl, they'd hammered war into his bones. A war he'd never seen. Celestials? Enemies. A blight on his people. Traitors who'd poisoned their world centuries ago. Doomed them to an endless cycle of blood and blade.
But.
Never saw one.
Never smelled their stink.
Now? One had seen him.
Or worse—felt him.
The thought clawed deeper than he'd admit.
Rowan jolted up. Anything to kill the hollow gnawing his ribs.
Training gear—sleeveless black shirt, combat leathers, steel-toe boots. Strapped on like armor.
If sleep wouldn't come? He'd grind this rage into the training pits.
The training yard stood emptied out at this hour. Only a few grizzled warriors drilled in silence under the dawn's scarlet glare.
Rowan stalked to a shadowed corner where a wooden dummy—armor-clad and silent—waited like a mock enemy.
Blade drawn.
The black steel drank in the sky's crimson sheen. Forged deep in the Crimson Moon's volcanic guts, steeped in his people's rage. He'd wielded it since he could grip a hilt. But today? The leather felt alien against his palm.
No real enemy to carve.
No face to hate.
Just… questions.
A snarl. First strike. The dummy shuddered, wood splintering. No satisfaction—just hollow echoes.
The void in his chest? Unbreakable.
He attacked. Strike. Parry. Repeat. Blade dancing on instinct. Mind? Elsewhere.
On that reflection. Those blue eyes.
Those blue eyes.
He jerked to a halt, breath sawing ragged.
Sweat slicked his skin, chest heaving with every raw gasp. But the tension inside? Still coiled.
Unbroken.
Something in him had… shifted.
Didn't know if he wanted it to.
Night clawed deeper across both moons.
On the Blue Moon, Astra let exhaustion drag her under.
On the Crimson Moon—under that eternal rust-red sky—Rowan did the same, blind to the threads yanking their fates together.
And the second they both surrendered to sleep—
Their souls… brushed.
— Astra —
She wasn't in the Celestial Sanctuary. Wasn't anywhere on the Blue Moon she recognized. A warm wind licked her skin—thick, almost syrupy, nothing like her world's crisp ether.
Something lurked here.
Or someone.
The landscape? Unfixed. A limbo between light and shadow where time bled into fog.
A murmur trembled in the distance. Not sound—a ripple against her bones.
Not alone.
She whipped her head around. Heart hammering like her pulse was screaming what her mind hadn't caught yet.
Then—she heard it.
A voice.
"Who're you?"
Astra's breath snagged in her throat.
A man's voice.
Grit-edged. Grave-heavy.
—but a crack of uncertainty bled through—
And the fucked-up part?
It didn't sound… strange.
— Rowan —
A shiver razored down Rowan's spine.
This world? Not his.
The Crimson Moon's haze ripped apart—replaced by a silver light flickering in the void. Not the searing flames of his realm. Not the blade-glare of battle.
Serene.
Cold—but not cruel.
Then—
Her voice.
"Why does it feel… like I know you?"
A woman's tone. Soft. Distant.
But the gut-punch? It wasn't from his world.
Rowan fisted his hands—warrior instincts screaming danger, distrust, destroy.
But deeper?
No fear.
Recognition.
—
The dream shuddered.
Light and shadow seething, swirling into a storm around them.
Astra felt the wind scream to gale-force—raw, gut-deep, SHOVING her toward—
Rowan.
He felt it too.
Hands lunged—no thought—no logic—just scorched-earth instinct.
And for one fractured heartbeat, in that crossroads of worlds…
Their fingertips hovered—a single atom-thin breath apart.
Almost.
But as their fingertips hovered—
The dream shattered.
Wind morphed into a howling vortex. Reality ripped into shards of light and shadow.
No time for words. No time to breathe.
Then—
Slammed back into their moons.
Astra jolted awake, heart pistoning.
Rowan gasped upright, lungs raw.
Both stared at their ceilings—stone vs. crystal—skin buzzing like the air was made of static.
Because tonight?
They hadn't been alone.