CHAPTER 401: RAYMA’S MEMORIES

Rayma~

I was alone when the first heartbeat echoed through the void.

There was no sky, no earth, no time—just me and the silence that stretched endlessly. I remember touching that silence and feeling it shiver beneath my hand, trembling like a frightened child. That was when I realized I could shape it. That I could make something beautiful from nothing.

I created light first—not for warmth, but because I was tired of the dark pressing against me. The light burned my hands, but it danced, too. It shimmered, alive, and I laughed. It was the first sound that had ever existed—my laugh—and it echoed across eternity.

Still, even with all that brightness, I felt hollow. What good was creation when there was no one to share it with? So I reached deep into the light and pulled out a fragment softer, gentler. I whispered to it, gave it a shape, a name, and a soul.

"Be the calm to my storm," I told her. "Be my Moon."

Her eyes opened—silver and soft like starlight caught in water. Her voice was the faintest hum, like a lullaby before words were invented.

"Moon? I like it. But what shall we do, Rayma? This place is so... empty." She said, as if she’d always known my name. "You look lonely."

I smiled, almost shy. "I suppose I was waiting for you. Together, we’ll fill it," I promised, pulling her close. She laughed then—oh, that sound. It filled the emptiness, wrapped itself around the new light, and suddenly the void didn’t feel so endless anymore.

We danced through the stars that night—though there were no stars yet. I made them just to see them sparkle in her hair.

For ages, it was only us—me and my Moon.

Then came our children.

The first time Moon told me she was expecting, I felt something new—fear. "What if they aren’t like us?" I’d asked, pacing the edge of the newborn sea. "What if I make them wrong?"

She had placed her glowing hand on my face. "Then we’ll love them anyway."

And we did.

Our first child was born radiant—so bright that even I, creator of light, had to shield my eyes. His laughter broke the dawn for the first time. "You’ll be the sun," I told him. "My eternal brightness." He beamed, literally, and every flower turned to follow him.

Sun grew quickly, his laughter booming like thunder. "Father, watch this!" he’d shout, hurling beams of light to form nebulae. Moon would applaud, her eyes sparkling. "You’re magnificent, my little sunbeam!"

Our second child arrived shrouded in shadow. When he cried, the stars blinked out for a moment. Moon held him close despite the chill that came with him. "He’s beautiful," she said, ignoring the darkness curling around his small fingers. I named him Shadow, eternal darkness. He was quiet, thoughtful—a little too aware of the world around him.

Shadow was shy, often hiding in the folds of the void. "Mother, why am I not bright like Sun?" he’d ask, his voice trembling.

Moon would hug him tight. "Because you’re special, my love. Darkness holds secrets, dreams, and rest. Without you, the light would blind us all."

I tried to encourage him. "Come, Shadow, let’s play!" I’d create pockets of twilight for him to explore, but he clung to Moon, a crybaby at heart, fearing the vastness.

Our daughter arrived last, clear and luminous like crystal. She shimmered into existence, her form translucent and pure. "She’s just like you, Moon," I said, awe-struck as she giggled, her laughter like rippling water.

"Selena," Moon declared, kissing her forehead. "Pure as moonlight."

Selena was adventurous, darting between her brothers. "Sun, race me! Shadow, hide and seek!" she’d call, bridging their differences with her clarity.

We were a family, whole and harmonious. "Rayma, what now?" Moon asked one day, as we floated amid the stars we’d begun to scatter.

"Now, we create worlds," I replied. With our combined essences, I shaped Earth—a blue-green jewel spinning in the cosmos. "It needs life," I said, infusing it with my neutrality.

First, the elves: graceful beings of ancient forests, attuned to nature’s whispers. I watched as the first elf awoke, her eyes wide. "What is this place?" she asked the wind.

"Your home," I answered in a breeze. "Live in harmony."

Then demons: fierce, passionate creatures of fire and shadow, embodying raw power. A demon lord rose from volcanic ash, roaring, "Who calls me forth?"

"I, Rayma," I thundered back. "Use your strength wisely."

Humans followed: adaptable, curious souls with hearts full of potential. The first man blinked at the sun. "Why am I here?"

"To learn, to grow," I told him gently.

Finally, animals: from soaring eagles to burrowing moles, a symphony of instincts. A wolf howled at the moon—our Moon—and she laughed. "They honor me!"

These four species were the foundation. Later, experiments—crossings of essences—birthed more: fairies from elves and air, vampires from demons and humans, werewolves from humans, animals and moonlight’s touch. But in those early days, everything was good. Our children helped shape it all.

"Look, Father! I gave the humans fire!" Sun boasted, his light igniting hearths.

Shadow added mysteries: "And I gave them night, for dreams."

Selena wove clarity: "And I, the moon’s phases, for reflection."

Moon beamed at them. "You’re all wonderful. Rayma, our family has made a paradise."

But paradise cracked. It started with a playful argument among the children, high above Earth. Sun, ever bold, teased Shadow. "Why so gloomy, brother? Brighten up!"

Shadow, sensitive as always, retreated into a dark nebula. "Leave me alone!"

Selena tried to mediate. "Brothers, stop! Mother, help!"

Moon floated between them, her voice soothing. "Children, remember: balance is key. Sun, your light is strong, but Shadow’s darkness is needed. Shadow, don’t hide—embrace your role."

But tempers flared. Sun hurled a beam of intense light, meaning to jest. "Catch this, Shadow!"

Shadow countered with a wave of darkness, absorbing it wildly. "No, you catch mine!"

The forces collided, unstable. Selena screamed, "Stop it!"

In the chaos, the energies ricocheted, striking Moon. She gasped, her form flickering. "Rayma!"

I rushed to her, horror gripping me. "Moon! No!"

Her light dimmed, cracks forming in her crystalline essence. "My loves... it was an accident..."

The children froze, eyes wide. Sun sobbed, "Mother, I’m sorry!"

Shadow wailed, collapsing into himself. "What have we done?"

The world dimmed. Even the oceans held their breath.

I don’t remember falling to my knees, but I remember the cold that followed. My children stood frozen, their faces twisted in horror. Sun’s brilliance dimmed; Shadow’s form flickered like dying flame. Selena’s sobs echoed through the mountains as she clung to her. "Mama, stay!"

I gathered Moon’s body in my arms, but she was fading—her light turning to mist. "Rayma," she whispered weakly, her hand trembling against my chest. "Forgive them. They didn’t mean—"

"Don’t speak," I begged. "I’ll fix this. I’ll bring you back. Just stay with me."

Her lips curved into that same soft smile that had once lit the void. "You can’t create love twice, my heart. Let them live. Watch over them."

And then she was gone.

I tried anyway. I spent centuries trying.

I shaped new Moons from fragments of her light, each time hoping I’d hear her laugh again, see that spark in her eyes. But every one of them came out... wrong. "Who am I?" the first asked, her glow too faint.

"Not Moon," I sighed.

Some too cold, some too bright, some empty altogether. They looked like her, but they weren’t her. They never would be.

In the end, I sent them away—to other worlds, other skies.

"Be light where I cannot," I told them. "Shine where I no longer belong."

But when I looked up and saw them scattered across the heavens, my heart broke anew. I couldn’t bear to see their glow without feeling her absence.

So I turned to my children. They had changed, too.

Sun refused to shine fully, his warmth tainted by guilt. Shadow withdrew, wrapping himself in his own darkness, building worlds beneath the surface. Selena tried to mend the rift, but even her light dimmed beneath the weight of grief.

Watching them suffer was worse than losing her.

One night, as they wept before me, I made my final decision. "You were born of love," I told them. "You deserve peace. I will give it to you."

Selena looked up, her eyes glistening. "Father?"

I smiled through my tears. "Forget me. Forget her. Forget this pain. Live as guardians of what remains."

They didn’t fight it. Perhaps they were too broken to try. I placed my hands upon their foreheads, whispered the old words, and watched their memories dissolve like mist.

When it was done, they stood there—empty, innocent once more. I kissed Selena’s brow. "You’ll be the earth’s only moon," I told her softly. "Let my love for your mother live through you."

And then I disappeared. Into solitude. Into silence.

I lived quietly after that. The centuries blurred together. I watched civilizations rise and fall. I tended a small garden at the edge of the world. The creatures I once made evolved, forgot me, made their own gods. I didn’t mind. Peace was enough. Peace, and the memory of her.

Sometimes I would look at Selena hanging in the sky, glowing softly over the oceans, and whisper, "Goodnight, my Moon." The wind would answer with a sigh that almost sounded like her laughter.

I thought that would be my eternity—quiet observation, watching from the edges.

Until I found him.

It was a stormy night when I saw the boy lying half-buried in the mud. He was barely breathing, his skin as pale as the moonlight filtering through the clouds. The air around him reeked of poison and fear. Hunters’ marks were burned into his wrists—demon hunters.

I knelt beside him, brushing the wet hair from his forehead. "What a sad little star you are," I murmured. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t wake.

Something in me stirred—a deep ache I hadn’t felt since Shadow was a child. The same fragility, the same quiet cry for love. He reminded me so much of my son it hurt to look at him.

I could have looked into his essence right there—seen his past, his future—but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I only felt his pain, and that was enough.

"I won’t lose another one," I whispered. I carried him home through the rain, shielding him with my cloak. The world had forgotten who I was, but that didn’t matter. To him, I could just be Rayma—a man with a small cottage and too much loneliness.

When he woke, he called me "sir" at first, shy and uncertain. Later, "Rayma." And one day, "Dad."

That word cracked something inside me I thought was long dead.

He never knew why I smiled so softly each time he said it.

I didn’t tell him about Moon, or Sun, or Shadow, or the centuries I’d spent chasing ghosts.

I didn’t tell him that saving him had saved me, too.

Sometimes, when he sleeps by the fire, I sit beside him and study the light on his face. He’s grown stronger, happier, but I can still see the sorrow lingering in his dreams. He doesn’t know it yet, but his pain is a key—one that could shape his future, perhaps even the balance of everything again.

And though I promised myself never to interfere, I feel it happening already. Fate is moving.

So, as Star wept under the oak, I knew: uncovering his past was key to his future. Yet my own history? That remained locked in my heart, a solitary vigil.

I look out the window at Selena shining above and whisper, "Looks like our story isn’t over yet, my love."

The wind sighs through the trees, soft as her voice once was, and I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the fire and the memory of love hold me through the long, eternal night.