The moon had a habit of showing up uninvited.
People pretended it was polite. Romantic. Gentle. They wrote poems. They sang songs. They said things like moonlight heals the soul. All nonsense.
The moon was rude.
It watched you sleep. It remembered things you forgot. It waited for birthdays.
Especially the eighteenth one.
Anaya knew this because the elders had reminded her every year since she was twelve. Always smiling. Always calm. Like dentists before pain.
Do not worry, child. The moon only watches.
Yes. And tigers only observe.
She stood barefoot in the courtyard, toes cold against stone that had not warmed since dawn. Incense smoke curled around her ankles like it was trying to read her future. It smelled of burnt herbs and old secrets.
Her mother adjusted the red thread on Anaya wrist for the fifth time.
"It is tight enough," Anaya said.
"It must be exact," her mother replied. "Rituals fail when people get lazy."
Anaya nodded. People always blamed rituals. Never the people who made them.
Around them, the house buzzed with preparation. Brass lamps. White flowers. Too many relatives pretending not to stare. Everyone loved ceremonies. They loved rules. Rules made life feel like a straight road instead of a cliff.
Anaya did not feel festive. She felt like a parcel waiting to be shipped.
"Smile," her aunt whispered. "Today decides everything."
That was not comforting. That was a threat with perfume.
Anaya smiled anyway. Girls learned early that smiling was cheaper than arguing.
At the center of the courtyard stood the Moon Basin. A shallow bowl carved from stone older than memory. No one remembered who made it. Everyone remembered what it did.
Blood went in. Truth came out.
Simple trade. Unfair pricing.
The elder priest cleared his throat. He did this before every important moment. As if the universe needed a warning.
"Tonight," he announced, "the moon will witness Anaya birth into adulthood."
Birth. As if she had been waiting in a cupboard all these years.
Anaya glanced at the sky. The moon was already there. Pale. Round. Watching. It looked bored.
She thought of all the normal mistakes people her age made. Choosing the wrong career. Trusting the wrong person. Falling in love with someone who did not deserve it. Small disasters. Manageable disasters.
This felt larger. Like signing a contract without reading it.
The priest gestured. "Step forward."
Anaya obeyed. Because that is what good daughters did. Step. Bow. Bleed politely.
The blade was ceremonial. Thin. Sharp. Beautiful. Designed to hurt just enough to matter.
"Just a drop," the priest said kindly.
People always said that. Just a drop. Just a minute. Just obey.
The blade kissed her palm.
Pain bloomed. Sharp. Clean. Honest. Blood slid into the basin.
The world inhaled.
The incense died. Lamps flickered. Someone gasped.
The basin did not glow. It did not steam. It did not sing like in the stories.
It went dark.
Not shadow dark. Deep dark. Like something opening its eye.
Anaya heartbeat stumbled.
"This is not normal," someone whispered.
The moonlight shifted. It bent. It leaned toward her.
Anaya felt heat under her skin. Not pain. Not yet. More like memory waking up late.
The priest stepped back. He did not do that usually.
"Enough," her mother said sharply. "Stop the ritual."
The basin cracked.
A sound rolled through the courtyard. Low. Alive. Like stone remembering how to scream.
Anaya staggered. The world tilted. She reached out and grabbed nothing.
Then a hand caught her wrist.
Warm. Steady. Uninvited.
"Easy," a male voice said. Calm. Almost amused. "You look like the ground moved."
Anaya looked up.
She did not know him. That was the first problem.
He was tall. Dark hair. Eyes like he had seen too much and found it disappointing. He wore travel clothes. Dust on his boots. A stranger. An outsider.
Outsiders did not touch girls during rituals.
"Let go," she said.
He did not. He looked at the basin. At the cracks. At her bleeding palm.
"Oh," he murmured. "So it is you."
That was the second problem.
"Do you know him," the priest demanded.
The man smiled slightly. Not friendly. Not cruel. The smile of someone who knew the ending.
"No," he said. "But the moon does."
The ground shook.
People screamed. Rules scattered. Relatives forgot their lines.
Anaya tried to pull free. Her body betrayed her. Heat surged again. Stronger. It rushed toward the point where their skin touched.
The man inhaled sharply. His fingers tightened.
"That confirms it," he said softly.
"Confirms what," she snapped.
He leaned closer. Too close. Close enough that she could smell rain and iron and something old.
"That your life just stopped being simple."
The basin shattered.
Stone exploded outward. Moonlight poured in like a flood. Symbols burned into the ground. None of the elders recognized them. That terrified them more than fire ever could.
The priest fell to his knees.
"The Moonborn," he whispered. "Impossible."
The word hit Anaya like a slap.
Moonborn.
A story told to scare children. A myth blamed for wars. A bloodline erased for good reasons.
The man released her wrist.
"If you are smart," he said, already stepping back, "you will run."
"Why," she demanded.
Because people always ran for stupid reasons. Fear. Panic. Tradition.
He met her eyes.
"Because they will either crown you," he said, "or cut you open to see how you work."
Guards poured into the courtyard. Spears up. Voices loud. Thinking slow.
The moon above flared bright.
Anaya chest burned.
Something inside her answered.
And somewhere deep in her blood, something old smiled.
*****
The moon did not blink.
The stranger did not run.
And Anaya realized the ritual had not failed.
It had just finished something much older.