Part II — Son, Mistake, Hope
After the smoke settled, silence fell like judgment.
Bodies—both human and not—lay in the ash.
The survivors whispered his name like a curse and a prayer.
Kai stumbled through the wreckage, half-blind from the afterglow of his own power.
He fell against a shattered mirror—one of the old Veil relics, cracked but still faintly luminous.
The reflection wasn't his.
A woman stood within the glass, her skin pale as moonlight, hair cascading like liquid silver. Her eyes glowed with the distance of stars that had seen too much.
"Mother of wolves…" he breathed.
The Moon Goddess smiled faintly. "Names are human comfort. I have only gravity."
Her voice was not sound but pressure—gentle, infinite, pulling at every cell.
"Kai Moon," she said. "My son. My mistake. My hope."
His fists clenched. "You call this hope? You let them twist everything. Turn faith into hierarchy. You hid the truth under crowns and bloodlines."
Her expression didn't change. "All light creates shadows. Even mine."
"Then maybe it's time the shadows burned back."
Her gaze softened, but only slightly. "Be careful what you ignite. Fire does not choose sides."
The mirror dimmed. She was gone.
Kai stared at his reflection — the wolf flickering behind his eyes — and whispered, "Neither do I."