The night was a suffocating blanket of darkness.
Ji-Hoon winced as he brushed dust from his wolf-hide tunic, the movement jostling his broken arm. The fox leg tied to it felt heavier than stone. Every cut on his body had crusted over with dried blood, and his hair was a matted nest. But the worst was the smell—the pungent, gamey odor of the wolf fur he relied on for warmth. He'd tried to wash it in the river, a futile attempt to please the ghost in his head, but now the damp pelt leached precious heat from his body.
He was a wild man. Nothing more.
With a final glance into the oppressive dark behind him, he pushed on. Countless stars provided a cold, silent audience to his suffering. The wind needled his skin. Soon, he reached a narrow valley, its daytime beauty twisted into something menacing by the night.
On a nearby hill, a silhouette stood stark against the starfield. Massive, and unnaturally still. It watched him for a single, heart-stopping moment, then spread vast black wings and shot toward the sky, vanishing between the moons.
Ji-Hoon's breath caught. He waited, but the shadow did not return. After a few minutes, he climbed to the hilltop.
He found the spot—a large, flat stone still holding the memory of the creature's presence. He dropped his meager pack of meat onto it and sank down, exhaustion weighing him down more than any injury.
"Does it even matter?" he mumbled to the empty air. "Floating islands… giant animals… this isn't Earth. It's a damn fantasy novel." A sigh escaped him, pluming in the frigid air. The loneliness was a physical ache. "Just survive. That's all that matters. Survive and maybe… find someone."
The angel's words echoed in his memory: "You must become very strong in this world."
"So this is how you make someone strong?" he asked the stars. "By throwing them to the wolves?" He looked around, the silence his only answer. "And where's my helpful guide? Layla? Useless."
He leaned back, the cold stone seeping into his bones. "Hey. Ghost. You there?"
A familiar, sharp pain lanced through his broken arm. He gritted his teeth.
"What now?" Layla's voice was a lazy drawl in his mind.
"Nothing," Ji-Hoon grunted. "I thought a ancient spirit might have some useful knowledge. My mistake."
"You reek of self-pity. It's boring."
Ji-Hoon's jaw tightened. The condescension in her tone was a spark on the tinder of his frustration. "And what would you know about it?" he whispered, the words tight and low.
Her laugh was soft, cold. "I know everything, little criminal. The dirty jobs for money. The family that disowned you. And that girl… what was her name? The one you lost because you weren't strong enough. Or was it because you were too greedy?"
Ji-Hoon froze. The air left his lungs. She had rifled through his memories, found the rawest wounds, and now she was prodding them with a casual cruelty that felt… familiar. It was the same way he used to speak, back when he thought being sharp-tongued made him strong.
"That's your karma," she said, her voice flat. "That's why you're here."
He had no retort. The truth of it was a stone in his gut. He looked up at the sky, at the two moons. "What about them? The moons. What do they do?"
"The moons?" Layla's voice lost some of its edge, turning matter-of-fact. "They are the source of power. The power that all Rankers use comes from one of these moons."
"Rankers?"
"The strong ones. The warriors and kings of this world. Their strength, their abilities—it all flows from either the Silver Moon or the Red Moon."
A new thought, sharp and clear, cut through Ji-Hoon's despair. "So... will I get power from one of them? Will I become a Ranker?"
"You're a criminal with a broken arm sleeping in dirty fur. The Red Moon is the only one that would even look at you. That's your path. Now, stop talking. I'm tired."
Then, true silence.
Gathering the damp fur around himself, Ji-Hoon moved to a more sheltered spot among the larger stones and twisted trees. The pain in his arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat. As the cold deepened its bite, he lay down, his eyes fixed on the blood-red moon.
Tonight, he would sleep under the judgment of two moons, and for the first time, with a sliver of purpose.
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