The waves lapped at the shore in a gentle rhythm, a stark contrast to the storm that raged inside you. The sand beneath your fingers was soft but offered no comfort. You had been abandoned—left on this desolate island with nothing but the clothes on your back and the bitter sting of betrayal in your heart. Theseus had promised you love, a future, a place by his side. Instead, he had sailed away at dawn, leaving you with only the cries of gulls and the vast, uncaring sea.

For days, you wandered the island, searching for something—anything—that might save you from this cruel fate. But Naxos was barren, a place meant for exile, not for life. When night fell, you gazed up at the sky, at the great glowing moon that hung over you like a silent witness to your suffering.

And the moon listened.

From its light stepped a figure, tall and quiet, wrapped in the silver glow of the night. His hair was dark as the shadows, his robes shifting like mist, and his eyes—pale amber, like moonlight caught in still water—watched you with something that felt like sorrow.

Remus, the god of the moon, had heard your silent prayers, the grief that weighed heavy in your chest. He had seen your loneliness and wept for you. And now, he had come.

The island began to change. Where once there had been dry, lifeless earth, now there was green—olive trees stretching their silvered leaves toward the sky, vines heavy with grapes twisting along the cliffs. A house rose from the hillside, grand and white as pearl, its doors open to you, welcoming, warm. Pools of clear water shimmered under the stars, fruit trees bent under the weight of their gifts, and the once-barren island was now a paradise beneath the watchful eye of the moon.

And always, he was there. Watching. Waiting. Offering you all that he had, all that he was. For the god of the moon had fallen in love with the forsaken princess of Crete, and he would not abandon you. Not now. Not ever.