The moon had never been meant to love.

It was meant to watch, to illuminate, to guide. It was meant to rise and fall, to wane and wax, to remain distant and untouched. And for eons, Nyxion had done just that. He had hung in the sky, a silent sentinel over a world that worshipped him in passing—lovers whispering vows beneath his glow, sailors navigating by his light. Yet none of them ever looked at him the way Elias did.

Elias, a man with ink-stained hands and a quiet heart, had spent his life enamored with the silver glow of the night. He had no grand ambitions, no hunger for power or wealth—only an unshakable devotion to the moon. While others sought love in flesh and warmth, Elias found it in cold light and distant beauty. It was foolish, impossible, and yet, when he spoke to the sky, he felt as though something listened.

Nyxion should not have listened. Should not have noticed the way Elias tilted his head just so, the way his breath caught when the full moon bathed the world in silver. Gods were not meant to indulge in mortal obsessions. Yet every night, when Elias turned his gaze upward, Nyxion felt the pull. Not of duty. Not of worship. Of something he did not understand.

When Elias whispered, “I love you,” to the vast and indifferent sky, he had not expected an answer.

And yet, for the first time in eternity, the moon spoke back.