Chapter 32
Night arrived without permission.
There was no sunset in the Ink Plane—only a gradual deepening, as if the world decided that light had spoken enough. Ink-clouds thickened overhead, folding into themselves like pages being closed by an unseen hand.
Luna felt it first.
Not fear.
Not danger.
Loneliness.
She slowed her steps. Dino noticed immediately and stopped beside her without asking.
"The sky here feels… close," she said.
"That's because it's listening," Dino replied.
Above them, the moons shifted.
The White Moon drifted lower, pale and gentle.
The Red Moon pulsed faintly, like a restrained heartbeat.
The Silver Moon fractured into reflections of reflections, watching from angles that shouldn't exist.
They were closer now—not protecting, not threatening.
Mourning.
Luna placed a hand over her chest. "Why do they look sad?"
Dino didn't answer right away.
Instead, he removed the bamboo at his waist not drawing it, merely resting his palm against it. The silver-black surface remained dull, unassuming, like something that had chosen obscurity on purpose.
"Because they remember," he said at last.
"Remember what?"
"A time when gods still asked questions."
They continued walking.
The road dissolved beneath their feet, replaced by a shallow sea of ink. Each step rippled outward, forming symbols—religious sigils, prayers, blasphemies, names of gods long erased, names of humans no one remembered.
Luna watched one ripple linger longer than the rest.
A simple phrase formed in broken letters:
> If immortality is eternal, why does it feel so fragile?
She swallowed.
"Dino," she asked quietly, "do you regret being immortal?"
He stopped.
For a moment, the world thought it had asked too much.
"No," Dino said.
Then, after a pause, "But I regret learning too early that death isn't what makes life precious."
She looked at him.
"What does?"
"Choice," he answered. "And the courage to stand by it when eternity tries to erode it."
The ink sea stilled.
From its surface, figures rose—not hostile, not divine.
Pilgrims.
They wore the symbols of countless faiths: halos cracked in half, demon horns bound with scripture, crowns melted into rosaries, prayer beads soaked in blood.
They knelt—not to Dino.
Not to Luna.
But to the moons.
"Is this… religion?" Luna whispered.
"This is what remains after gods leave," Dino said. "People kneel anyway."
One pilgrim spoke, voice shaking.
> "If gods exist, why are they silent?"
Another followed.
> "If they do not exist, why does the universe still punish us?"
Luna stepped forward.
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't draw her scythe.
She simply spoke.
"Maybe gods were never meant to answer," she said. "Maybe they were meant to be questioned."
The pilgrims froze.
The moons trembled.
Dino looked at her—not surprised, but… proud.
A third pilgrim laughed bitterly.
> "Then what is faith?"
Luna thought for a moment.
"Faith," she said, "is choosing kindness even when no one is watching. Even when heaven is empty."
The ink sea began to evaporate.
The pilgrims faded—some smiling, some crying, some angry enough to vanish violently.
Only one remained.
It looked up at Dino.
> "Heartless one," it said. "You kill without blood. You walk without worship. You love without chains."
Dino met its gaze.
"Yes."
> "Do you feel nothing?"
Dino answered honestly.
"I feel everything," he said. "I just refuse to let it rule me."
The last pilgrim bowed—and dissolved.
Silence returned.
Luna exhaled shakily. "That was… heavy."
Dino nodded. "The Ink Plane specializes in truths people avoid."
They walked again.
Ahead, the land rose into black terraces carved with lunar cycles. Each step forward caused a different moon to brighten.
The Mirror Moon reflected Luna—not as she was, but as she could have been: crowned, distant, alone.
The Corrupted Moon showed Dino standing over a universe without stars.
Neither lingered.
As they reached the terrace's summit, Luna suddenly staggered.
Dino caught her instantly.
"I'm fine," she said, breathless. "Just… dizzy."
The moons tightened their orbit.
Something unseen brushed past them.
Testing.
Measuring.
Far away, someone failed to pull a trigger they thought would end a princess's life.
Dino's eyes darkened—not with anger.
With certainty.
"They've chosen," he said.
"Chosen what?" Luna asked.
"To be remembered," Dino replied.
She smiled faintly. "That's unfortunate for them."
He helped her sit, the two of them gazing up at the moons.
For a moment, Dino spoke—not to Luna, not to the world, but to the silence itself.
> "Immortality isn't about living forever.
It's about enduring long enough to understand why you shouldn't."
The moons dimmed—accepting the truth.
Somewhere beyond the Ink Plane, the first thread of an assassination plot tightened.
And somewhere even farther, beings who called themselves gods felt… uneasy.
Because for the first time in a long while
the moonlight did not belong to them.
End of Chapter 32