Birth Of Moon

"Today! The goddess of night will come out from the eggshell!"

The proclamation rang out through the rocky villa, a hallowed enclave nestled among ancient stone formations on the edge of the floating island. Outside, the air was electric with anticipation. Crowds of villagers gathered in the courtyard of the villa, their voices rising in a cacophony of excited chatter. Every face, illuminated by the soft, wan light that filtered through the gathering dusk, shone with a pale, white glimmer—each expression a mingling of hope and sorrow.

As the murmurs swirled about, one refrain dominated every whispered conversation: "Moon will shine now. We can finally leave this place and return back from where we came."

The people longed for the moment when the oppressive weight of confinement would lift, when the celestial event promised deliverance from the endless cycles of exile. They clung to that hope even as uncertainty and lingering sadness etched their features.

In the dim light, some faces betrayed a hint of mischievous curiosity as they whispered amongst themselves, speculating about the transformation that the night's event might bring.

"How will be the moon? Is it going to be boy?" a hesitant voice asked, the question floating on the chilly air like a fragile promise of change.

Another voice responded in a hushed tone, "No, I think, whoever it may be, it will be so domineering here."

Their words blended with the murmurs of the crowd as eyes turned upward to the heavens. The bright, steady orb of the moon shone in the firmament, its light a constant beacon amid the deepening twilight. The collective anticipation grew palpable a charged silence that seemed to pulse in time with the beating of anxious hearts.

From the periphery of the gathering, near an old rock beneath the stoney mountain that stood as a silent sentinel over the villa, an aged figure emerged. His gnarled hands, weathered by countless seasons, gripped a worn walking stick as he crossed the flickering fire and scattered logs of a dying blaze. The cold breeze carried his words over the assembly as he spoke in a resonant, measured tone, "The night is falling."

At once, every eye in the courtyard turned toward him. His presence commanded respect, and the murmurs quieted as the old man continued, his voice imbued with the weight of ancient wisdom.

"You must be well aware that the floating island here stops glowing in every four circles."

His gaze swept over the crowd, each listener hanging onto his every syllable. With deliberate steps, he advanced further into the gathering, his cloak swirling about his ankles in the chilly wind.

Pausing for a moment to let his words settle, he then said, "You must be well aware that in every four phases of time here, we have been asked to remain in the central land of the floating city. The three phases have passed down, and this is the last phase of time here." His voice, though soft, carried a clarity that cut through the murmur of hopeful conversation, instilling in the hearts of his listeners both a solemn duty and a foreboding sense of finality.

The old man's eyes, reflective pools of a bygone era, fixed upon the assembled crowd as he delivered his final warning. "Now the dark is falling, and we must return back to the central island to protect ourselves from the eternal creatures here."

With those words hanging in the frigid air, his figure seemed to blur and dissolve into the encroaching shadows. One moment he was there, and the next, he had vanished as if spirited away by forces unknown.

The sudden absence of this mysterious figure sent a ripple of awe and trepidation through the gathered crowd. In his disappearance lay the hallmark of a legendary presence, a being who existed beyond the realm of mortal explanation.

Almost immediately, as if guided by an unspoken command, the villagers began to disperse. Their footsteps echoed on the cold stone as they hurried away from the eggshell of the Moon, which lay abandoned in the centre of the villa's open area.

The abandoned eggshell, a relic of cosmic rebirth, glimmered faintly under the residual light—a silent promise of transformation that was as much a part of their destiny as the cycles of light and dark that governed the island.

In the wake of their departure, a strange transformation began to sweep over the land. A dark aura slowly crept across the villa and the surrounding landscape—a pervasive shroud that seemed to manifest from the very depths of the night.

This mysterious darkness was known by the villagers to be benign, for it never dared touch any eggs unless the moment of hatching had finally arrived. Yet, even as it skirted harmlessly around the precious relics, its presence was a reminder of the potent forces that dwelled in the shadows.

From the deepest recesses of that impenetrable darkness, the eternal eyes of an ancient creature peered out. Those eyes, cold and unyielding, were fixed unerringly upon the eggshell of the Moon. The creature—an embodiment of eternal menace and sorrow—had long been spoken of in hushed tones.

None had ever dared engage it in battle; its presence was enough to instil a paralyzing terror in the hearts of even the most stalwart warriors. It was said that the creature resided in a pool of sacrifices, a place where lost hopes and broken dreams mingled with the blood of the fallen.

Even the holy leader of the island, a figure of immense reverence and power, was said to harbour a deep-seated fear of confronting the eternal creature. The central region of the island, aglow with an almost unearthly light that never faded, had long served as a sanctuary against such darkness. The brilliance of that light formed a barrier, a protective halo that the dark creature dared not breach, for it would not approach directly while the luminous shield held sway.

Then, as if in response to the rising tension, a radiant glow began to emanate from the very eggshell. Gradually, the light intensified until it filled the sky with an array of breathtaking colours—shades of silver, blue, and soft violet that danced upon the darkness like ethereal flames. The light grew steadily, casting its cool, soothing luminescence over the land, and transforming the heavens into a canvas of celestial beauty.

A collective exclamation broke the silence of the central plane: "Wow! The lady has descended!"

The crowd's voices, though soft and reverent, carried a profound sense of wonder. With each passing moment, as the light from the eggshell spread further across the sky, the entire central land was bathed in the cool radiance of the Moon.

The transformation was breathtaking—a rare and magnificent moment when the land beyond death and life shone with an intensity that belied its usual gloom.

"It's the first time the land beyond death and life is so bright in the night."

Those words, uttered with a mix of awe and disbelief, resonated in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. For a fleeting instant, the island was transformed into a realm of pure, unadulterated luminescence. Every stone, every blade of grass, and every ancient relic seemed to sparkle under the Moon's benevolent gaze, as though touched by a celestial grace that promised renewal and salvation.

Yet, even as the light held its dominion over the central land, an ominous presence stirred on the periphery. Slowly, deliberately, a dark aura began to coil around the edges of the radiant display—a sinister counterpoint to the shimmering brilliance above.

The people, now witnessing this eerie juxtaposition, could not help but feel their hearts tighten with an inexplicable dread. Their eyes, once fixed in rapt admiration on the descending Moon, now darted nervously toward the creeping shadows.

"Look there!" someone called out, their voice trembling with urgency and fear. The exclamation cut through the quiet reverence like a shard of ice. The dark aura was gathering strength, its tendrils of inky black slowly edging closer to the source of light. Though the Moon's glow sparkled with defiant brilliance, the encroaching darkness seemed intent on swallowing that light whole.

In the midst of this eerie confrontation, a figure emerged from the luminous glow. She moved with a grace that belied the tumult of emotions surging within her—a visage both delicate and resolute.

With trembling lips that parted to release a mournful plea, she spoke, "Why can't I move these dark shadows away?"

Her voice, soft and plaintive, resonated with the deep-seated fear of one who had seen too much and understood too little. Her face, partially hidden by a veil of uncertainty, betrayed the inner torment of a soul caught between hope and despair.

In the same chilling moment, the dark aura seemed to coalesce into a presence—an embodiment of malevolence that had long lurked in the margins of legend. A voice, deep and resonant with a cruel mirth, echoed across the darkness.

"Finally, I got a prey from a very long time."

The words, spoken with a sinister laughter that chilled the blood, confirmed the unspoken terror that had gripped the hearts of all who dwelled on the island.

The eternal creature, whose gaze had fixed upon the eggshell since the darkness began its slow advance, now moved with purpose. Its eyes, burning with an unholy intensity, drew nearer to the source of light.

The contrast between the soft, luminous glow of the newly hatched Moon and the cold, predatory focus of the creature created a tableau of eternal conflict—a battle between the forces of light and darkness that had played out on this island for countless ages.

In that critical moment, the land itself seemed to hold its breath. The radiant glow of the Moon filled every crevice of the central island, bestowing life and hope upon the land. Yet, the ever-encroaching darkness—carrying with it the promise of sacrifice and despair—reminded all who watched that the island's fragile peace was perennially under threat.

It was a delicate balance, one forged by centuries of struggle, and now, with the Moon's arrival, that balance teetered on the edge of transformation.

The scene, rich with both celestial wonder and impending doom, encapsulated the eternal cycle of the island—a realm where hope and despair, light and darkness, life and death were interwoven into a tapestry as old as time itself.

The goddess of night, emerging from the eggshell, symbolized a moment of rebirth that would inevitably be shadowed by the relentless hunger of the dark creature. In that interplay of opposing forces lay the very essence of the Land Beyond Time, a place where every moment was steeped in myth, every shadow carried the weight of ancient secrets, and every burst of light held the promise of redemption.

Thus, as the Moon ascended in the sky and its cool, life-giving radiance spread across the central island, the villagers and ancient souls alike could only watch in awe and trepidation.