There was a time when the four walked in harmony.
The Fox, born of dusk and dawn, whose steps shimmered between laughter and mystery.
The Sun, fierce and unwavering, whose light carved truth into the bones of the world.
The Moon, serene and watchful, whose silence calmed the tides and softened the night.
And the Dragon-guardian of the deep balance-whose breath wove life into the sea and skies.
They were not gods, but they were known.
Not rulers, but revered.
Each a keeper of something vital.
Together, they were balance.
Together, they were whole.
But something else stirred.
A whisper. A shadow. A hunger.
It came not with thunder, but with stillness.
A silence so deep, even the stars forgot how to sing.
The Dragon-once steady, once kind-began to change.
Its voice turned strange.
Its dreams grew quiet.
And in its eyes, there was no recognition-only reflection.
The Moon first sensed the shift.
"He no longer looks at the sky," she said. "Only beneath it."
The Fox watched closely, fire dimmed. "He doesn't speak in his own voice anymore."
The Sun burned, uneasy. "Something wears his name."
And the Dragon...
The Dragon no longer slept.
It hunted not for food, but for light.
Devoured not lands, but moons.
Smaller ones, forgotten ones-slivers of silver that cradled tides and tides of dreams.
No one knew why.
Not yet.
In the end, they confronted him at the edge of the sea-
the place where the world once began, where dusk met dawn and memory flowed like waves.
The Dragon stood tall, wings heavy with stormclouds, eyes glazed in obsidian.
"Why?" the Moon asked, voice trembling like tide on sand.
He didn't answer.
Only a voice-not his-echoed back:
"He is gone. I remain."
The Fox stepped forward. "You... are not the one we knew."
And for a moment-just a heartbeat-
something flickered.
A memory. A name. A sorrow.
But the shadow clamped it shut.
They fought.
Sky split. Sea screamed. Stars fell like rain.
And when it ended, they could not destroy him.
Because they loved him once.
Because some part of him still reached out, buried beneath the silence.
So they did what they must.
The Moon wept silver chains.
The Sun forged seals of flame.
The Fox gave its own spirit as the final lock.
Together, they bound him-not in hatred, but in mourning.
To the deepest part of the eastern sea, where even light forgets how to swim.
They believed they had stopped him.
But they never asked why.
Never saw the shadow that curled beneath his skin.
The ancient presence that had slipped through the cracks of the stars-
the one that whispered not to the Dragon... but through him.
And so they named him the Moon Eater.
But the truth was far darker:
He never hungered.
He was fed.
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