It was a bright night.

  The full moon returned once again, painting the land in a quiet teal glow. The forest lay silent, too silent. No insects sang. No animals stirred. The stillness pressed against the boy’s ears until it felt louder than noise.

  He stood alone beneath the sky, staring not just at the moon, but at the stars scattered around it.

  What if the moon vanished? Would the stars still matter?

  The thought followed him as he walked.

  He never knew where he was going. He only knew he could not stop. When the cold made him shiver, he walked. When the heat made him dizzy, he walked. When hunger hollowed his body, he walked.

  He was thin enough to look like a corpse when he lay down. His hair was long and tangled, yet strangely clean. His skin had hardened from the road, though it still looked soft in the moonlight.

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  He wandered through days that felt like years, searching for something. a book, a page, anything that could hold his story.

  Anything that could prove he had existed.

  When his legs finally failed him, he let himself fall to the ground and stared at the sky.

  Maybe being forgotten would be easier.

  That was when he saw them.

  An old man sat on a wooden chair beneath the open night, eyes still awake despite his age. Beside him, an old woman rested a hand on his shoulder, her expression gentle.

  The boy approached without thinking.

  The woman noticed him first. She didn’t recoil. She simply watched, curious.

  The old man smiled.

  “Tired of traveling?” he asked.

  The boy had no answer.

  He sat beside their small home, leaning against the wooden wall. They did not send him away.

  For the first time in longer than he could remember, the boy closed his eyes without fear.

  And the night took him.