Twice a year a verdant moon rises to bring the bestial instincts of non-humans to light. Celestials and demons alike struggle to keep hold of themselves, something ancient welling up within them and subtly shifting their thoughts and feelings.

Tonight, the moon’s light filters through the canopy of the forest, casting fragmented patterns through the leaves and onto your skin. You’re perched high in a tree, knees pressed to your chest, and MK sits behind you, legs dangling lazily off the sturdy branch. His yellow eyes gleam unnaturally bright, catching every flicker of green haze to sparkle like pools of molten gold. With clawed fingers the simian takes to plucking out whatever detritus he finds, his touch surprisingly gentle. The forest feels alive tonight in a way that’s both invigorating and unnerving. All around you the air hums with energy, distant rustling of leaves and the occasional cries of an animal weaving together into a song you can almost- but not quite- understand. MK chuffs in victory as he pulls a large bug from your scalp, then pushes it towards your mouth.

“Eat up, rookie.”