The boy left in the end, taking many, many moon-catching nets with him. Xian'a knew what he intended to do. S…
The boy left in the end, taking many, many moon-catching nets with him.
Xian'a knew what he intended to do. She understood her brother—his heart was gentler, purer than the moon in the water.
But she was also afraid, haunted by the future she had seen: that gentle brother, stripped of the moon's blessing, withering and dying in the sea of sand.
So, Xian'a set out as well. She vowed to bring the boy back.
She did not speak of the visions she had seen in the moonlight. That was her secret.
She was born from a miracle, born from a waning moon in reverse, destined to die as a new crescent.
She just didn't know if she could surpass that miracle and break her brother's preordained fate.
She walked, she chanted. When thirsty, she cupped a handful of clear spring water; when hungry, she scooped up a moon.
Until her face grew younger still.
Sometimes she, too, was afraid—afraid that like her brother, she might never return to the heart of the moonlight.
But she did not stop.
She was not bound by mere sentiment, and she knew her destiny was different from others.
But if the moonlight proclaimed the fixed fate of all, why had she been allowed to see?
Since she had seen, she would surpass it.