Moonbound by Animeclo

Chapter 1 - The Silver Mark

The first time Kagome had encountered something strange was at thirteen. She'd heard of funny folklore and bedtime stories. She'd even had a phase a few years prior of deep diving into all things fantasy — dragons, fairies, mermaids, the usual suspects. Her shelves had been crammed with borrowed library books filled with ancient myths and magical creatures, some of which she wished were real and others she feared might be.

But by thirteen, she'd grown out of it. 

Mostly.

The summer day had been harsh, even now it blanketed the forest around her in a thick, humid warmth. The sky above always remained cloudless, the kind of blue that felt as if it were endless, and the trees whispered to her along with the sound of cicadas in the wind. Her long-sleeved shirt clung to her back with sweat, and even if it gave her a slight relief from the unforgiving heat, she'd never dare to roll her sleeves up. Not with what they hid, the small, unnatural mark nestled on the inside of her wrist, like the moon had kissed it. 

Her parents had finally allowed her to go into their local town unchaperoned. No concerned parent watched over her shoulder, and no village elders stopped to talk to the family unit for what felt like hours, always commenting on how she had grown up so fast. It was her first official taste of freedom, making her feel ten feet tall and weightless. 

Earlier that day, she had met her friends at the summer markets. They'd dared each other to be bold and brave and try the fried scorpions at one peculiar food stall, laughed at the eccentric fortune tellers, and played enough carnival games to wear the day thin. Kagome had worn a fat, sleepy-looking orange cat plush, which she now carried under her arm as an adorable badge of honour. 

When the group's plans had ended a little earlier than planned, Kagome took full advantage of the opportunity to wander off and explore some more, riding the high of an unsupervised adventure. The markets' noise slowly faded behind her as she followed along a pathway in the forest that bordered the town's eastern side. Her sandals brushed against the soft, too-green grass and half-buried stones. 

Kagome looked around in awe as the world around her slowly changed. Shadows grew longer, the sun dipped low, and the air felt cooler as it moved past her. 

Gentle and rhythmic, a sound, a quiet hush of water reached her ears. 

Curiosity pulled her from the worn pathway as her feet now crunched with each step, disturbing the fallen leaves and soft moss as the forest thickened and the sound grew louder. The trees grew taller here, stranger, their trunks narrow and bark pale like bone. Then, through a large tangle of growth, she found it. 

A waterfall.

Spilling from a small crevice in the dark, rock wall above, the water glinted in the fading sunlight as it tumbled into a still, glassy pool below. The sound was soothing, like a lullaby.

She slipped off her shoes, the water too inviting to ignore. Slowly, she dipped her feet in and let out a quiet sigh. Her plush cat sat beside her, slumped and soft. 

The water's chill was bracing against her skin. Kagome exhaled, letting her shoulders relax as she soaked in the quiet surrounding her. It should have been peaceful until she noticed she wasn't the only person there. 

Across the clearing, on the right-hand side of the water's edge, stood a boy. Half covered by the shadowed trees, she couldn't determine many features of his, but he was taller and older than her. He looked around sixteen, maybe a little older, yet something about him felt ageless. And as she stared at him, both unmoving, it was as if he could read her mind, see all the questions that danced around her mind, and he moved. Kagome's breath paused as he stepped into the moon's dim light. 

He was beautiful, in the way of marble statues or moonlight on ice.

Long silver hair rippled loosely down his back, too perfect to be real. Golden eyes gazed into her own, glowing faintly in the dim light.  

He didn't speak.

And he didn't move any further.

Just… watched her.

Kagome's heart jolted. "Who… who are you?" she asked, voice small.

He stepped toward her, and she stood as quickly as she could, grabbing her discarded shoes and plush. 

"Are you– lost?" But still he said nothing. His eyes stayed firmly locked onto hers, and it wasn't curiosity or even murderous intent in his eyes. It was familiarity. 

Kagome's skin prickled, and the hairs on her arms stood up before it happened. 

A sudden, searing pain burst out from beneath her sleeve. She gasped, dropping her possessions and clutching her wrist. The crescent moon mark, hidden there since her birth, for the first time, flared to life, glowing a soft, otherworldly silver. The pain was blinding, sharp and raw, heightening with each passing moment. 

Kagome fell, her scream sounded in her ears, but the forest didn't echo back. The world didn't answer. She dropped onto the forest floor, scraping her knees raw and clutching her hands at the dirt and moss. Her vision fractured as she struggled to manage the pain that now wrapped around her. She gazed up, and the boy still stood staring, unmoving even in her time of need. 

Her vision fractured further.

Stars. 

Shadows.

A black sun rising in a silver sky.

The forest around her began to dissolve as the trees stretched into darkness, the water song fading slowly into silence. Kagome's body was no longer her own as she fell onto her side, still clutching her wrist, suspended in a cold, weightless space where time had unravelled. 

And still, the boy stood, watching, closer than before but still far away. 

No longer obscured by shade or distance, Kagome blinked hard, breath ragged as she forced her eyes a little higher, off the mossy forest floor and up at the silver-haired boy. Not because she had the strength, but because he was impossible not to notice. 

He looked the same. And yet… not.

He was beautiful in a way that made her bones ache, but now, with his face closer, she could see it clearly; he was upset. 

His jaw tightened, as if he were clenching back words he desperately needed to say. His golden eyes, glowing faintly, were shadowed by something more than moonlight; they were filled with frustration and a quiet kind of grief beneath that. 

He tried to take a step forward but stopped, his hand curling slightly at his sides as if bound by invisible threads. 

His gaze didn't just watch her now; it pleaded. For the briefest, flickering second, Kagome swore she saw it: the slightest tremble in his brow, the hesitation in his throat, like he was silently asking for forgiveness. 

He wanted to help her. She felt it. She knew it. 

But he didn't move. 

Couldn't. 

The pain in her wrist surged, a second wave crashing through her body, burning white-hot. Her mouth opened in a cry she couldn't voice. Tears sprang to her eyes — not from fear, but confusion, from the overwhelming feeling of being seen and abandoned all at once.

He remained there, watching her fall and never turned away, but never reached for her either.

And just before the last thread of consciousness unravelled, she saw his lips move—not aloud, not a whisper. Something shaped only for her, breathed into the air like a promise or a curse:

"I'm so sorry."

Then came the voice. It wasn't spoken but still voiced from somewhere deeper, something only between them, not to be shared with anyone outside their minds.

"Soon, little moon."

And as her world went black, he walked away.

 -

She woke to silence, but not as a young girl. 

She was older now, and it had been seven summers since that night. 

The mark on her wrist hadn't flickered since—not a single time, not when the moon was full, her blood ran hot with fear, or her thoughts wandered back to him. The pain, his voice, the memory of what happened—all of it had gone dormant, like a bad dream buried under time and routine. 

But yet…

She often found herself stealing glances at her wrist when the world turned quiet, waiting for something to happen, listening, expecting. 

She had never told anyone about what had happened that night. Not her parents, brother, or even Sango. She had walked home shaken and scraped, her shoes hanging from her fingers, the plush cat forgotten near the waterfall. Her heart had felt too large for her chest, and her hands didn't stop shaking. But when she had returned to her home, something inside of her had forced her still. She had smiled. Said she had been tired and came home early, using small excuses for her appearance, letting her mother fuss over her bruised knees and allowing her father to ruffle her hair. 

She never knew why she had lied. She only knew deep down that some things weren't meant to be spoken aloud. 

The soft scent of rice and eggs roused her from drowsiness. She rolled out of bed, showered, pulled on a simple outfit and padded downstairs. The kitchen was filled with warm light and the clatter of dishes. Her mother stood at the stove, hair pinned messily in a clip, still in her robe.

"Good morning," Kagome greeted, voice low from sleep.

Her mother gave a soft smile, pointing to the table. "Morning, sweetheart. Breakfast's hot." 

Kagome grabbed a bowl of rice, added some sides, and slid into her seat at the table across from Souta, who was currently mid-plea.

"—but I have to go alone this year! Everyone's going without their parents!" he said, practically vibrating. "Come on, Mom, you let Kagome go to her first Ashen Moon festival alone when she was thirteen ! I'm sixteen ! That's three whole years more responsible!"

Kagome raised a brow, amused. "Are we talking about the same person who glued his shoes to the ceiling last week in a 'physics experiment'?"

"That was science," Souta muttered matter-of-factly, mouth full of rice.

Their mother gave a long-suffering sigh. "Kagome was different. More cautious. Less impulsive."

Souta turned to Kagome and grinned wickedly. "Except for that one night. You know. The one where she came home pale and twitchy and wouldn't talk to anyone for like, three days?"

Kagome froze mid-chew, and the room followed after her, stiffening. Their mother paused, slowly turning from the stove with narrowed eyes. Souta faltered, sensing the sudden shift.

Kagome smiled thinly and broke the tension. "That's because I realised fried scorpions are a terrible life choice."

Their mother sighed again and shook her head. "You can go without us," she said to Souta. "But only if Kagome chaperones."

Kagome gave a slight shrug. "Fine by me." But as her brother beamed triumphantly, they exchanged glances—a quiet agreement. She would let him go off with his friends. She'd pretend to chaperone, and he'd pretend to be watched, preserving the illusion for her mother's wary heart.

It was now midday as Kagome wandered through the cobbled paths of her small hometown, a wicker basket looped over one arm. She was gathering supplies for the shrine: bundles of fresh herbs, a restock of candles, and new bedding for the guest rooms that would be filled for the festival.

The town was small, not rich, not poor, nestled between mountains and mist, hugged by silver-needle forests and sleepy roads. The bigger cities lay beyond the river, loud and glittering, but Kagome had never longed for them. Here, life was quieter. Rhythmic. Familiar. Her family ran a local shrine just above the town, tucked into the hillside where moss grew thick and the air smelled of incense and pine. During the biannual festivals, the shrine welcomed those seeking blessings, spiritual cleansing, or shelter. The work was busy, physical, and unrelenting — but Kagome liked it. She liked the grounding of it—the ritual.

Her younger brother, Souta, now in the last years of school, helped where he could, though his heart wasn't in sweeping floors or polishing prayer bells. He dreamed of the cities, the fast lives, digital noise and chaos. He always said Kagome was too peaceful . The streets were already alive with motion. Vendors were setting up their stalls. Children dashed past with streamers. Colourful paper moons hung from balconies, and strings of glowing lanterns were strung between buildings. The air smelled like citrus, ink, and celebration.

"Kagome!" She turned and smiled as Sango jogged up, her apron dusted with flour. She worked at her family's tea house just off the main square, and judging by the smell clinging to her, had just been elbow-deep in baking.

"Let me guess," Kagome said. "You burnt the lemon cakes again."

Sango groaned. "Only the first tray. My mother acted like I'd declared war on the ancestors." They fell into a steady step together as they spoke.

"How's shrine prep?"

"Busy. We're hosting four families this year."

"You always get the mysterious guests," Sango teased. "Watch them all be cursed." Kagome snorted. As they reached the fork in the street, Sango lingered. 

"Oh — and I saw Miroku earlier," she added, pretending to sound casual and, as always, failing miserably.

"And?" Kagome nudged her.

"He asked if my family was still doing the evening tea service tonight. I said yes and then immediately walked into a broom closet."

Kagome laughed. "Progress."

Sango groaned, burying her face in her hands. "He'll never notice me."

"He will. Eventually. He's– slow." With a smile, they said their goodbyes. Kagome watched her disappear into the crowd, back towards the tea house, before turning back herself toward the hill that led home. But halfway up the path, she stopped.

A chill skittered up her spine. Someone was watching her.

She could feel it. That eerie pressure against the back of her neck, that invisible thread pulled taut. But as she turned sharply, determined to catch the culprit, she was met with only the slightly smaller scene of the town before her. The street behind her was empty, save for swaying lanterns and the rustle of late summer leaves.

She lingered a moment before brushing it off, but the feeling didn't fade, even as she kept walking.

-

By the time Kagome reached the shrine, the sky had melted into a canvas of velvet orange and purples. Stars blinked faintly through the last hues of gold, and the crescent moon—sharp and watching—had risen, silver and clean. In her room, she changed slowly, brushing her fingers over the fabric of her festival robes—soft indigo silk, adorned with silver thread that shimmered like constellations. Delicate moonflowers bloomed across the hem, and her sash had a subtle iridescent sheen, like dew in moonlight.

When she stepped out, her mother stood in the hall, eyes warm but distant. "You look beautiful," she said softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from Kagome's cheek. "Just like your grandmother when she wore that robe."

Kagome smiled. "Thank you." Souta bounded down the steps behind her, already halfway out the door.

"You coming or what?" She turned, but not before her mother pulled her into a sudden, tight embrace. One that lingered longer than it needed to.

"Be safe tonight," she whispered. Kagome didn't say anything. But she nodded, and her mother let her go.

-

The streets had transformed into something out of a dream. Lanterns floated above every roof, bobbing gently in the breeze, their pale blue and silver lights casting strange shadows on the cobblestones. Silk streamers and paper moons drifted from strings, and pale mist curled around the base of shrines lit with flickering candles.

Most people wore masks—some playful, some elegant, some strange—kitsune faces, owl masks, half-moons, and veiled mystery. The scent of sweet rice, grilled meats, and spices hung in the air, mouthwatering and warm.

Children ran between booths shouting with laughter. Bells jingled with each toss of a ring or flick of a paper fan. Musicians played haunting, winding melodies that echoed through the streets like forgotten lullabies. As Kagome and Souta walked, they passed stalls bursting with hand-painted charms, sugar candies moulded into stars, and paper fortunes written in gold ink.

"This is the same moon cycle from seven years ago, you know," Souta said, mouth full of skewered meat. "Ashen Moon Festival always falls around this time, but not exactly like this. Blood moon. Eclipse. Same pattern."

Kagome raised a brow. "You've been researching?"

He shrugged. "Curious. There's this old folklore, from the mountains."

She paused a moment, intrigued. "Tell me."

He grinned. "It's dumb."

"Entertain me."

"Alright, so…" he licked his fingers clean. They say this festival isn't just for warding off evil spirits. That's the official version. The real story's older. It says that this festival was once a binding ceremony—a celestial pact between two lovers from different realms. The moon marked them. But it also cursed them, dooming them to find and lose each other again and again."

"Tragic," Kagome murmured.

"Romantic," Souta said with a mock swoon. Then he glanced at her sideways. "Have you ever figured out what happened to you that night? You were different after." Kagome's stomach tightened.

She looked away. "No. I just got lost and scared. That's all. It was dark, and what I saw was probably just my mind playing tricks on me." Souta looked unconvinced, but before he could prod further, his friends came rushing up the road, calling his name and waving.

"Looks like my chaperone duties are over," Kagome said, smiling faintly.

He gave her a quick side-hug. "You're the best." As he disappeared into the crowd, Kagome took a moment for herself. She wandered past food stalls and charm trees, pausing at a booth selling pressed moonflowers and velvet fans. The town glowed with light and laughter. A gentle warmth filled the air, but deep in her chest, something coiled — a thread pulled taut.

"Hey!" Kagome spun around, looking for whoever was trying to call to her.

Sango stood a few feet away, grinning towards her . She wore a midnight-blue robe dotted with embroidered fireflies and a delicate silver eye mask pushed up to her forehead. "Took you long enough."

"You look amazing."

"So do you. As always. Where's the rascal?" She jerked her chin to Kagome's left, knowing she was usually always on chaperone duty. 

"Off with his delinquent friends." She smiled and they wandered off together, pausing to try candied plums and moon-shaped mochi. Sango pointed out Miroku, who was helping with a shrine performance, and sighed dramatically.

"I think I'll die unloved."

"He was staring at you." Kagome whispered as they scurried away, her friend pulling at her arm.

Sango gasped. "Really?"

"No. But now you're ready for the possibility." They both laughed, but as the laughter faded, that feeling returned.

That weight. That presence.

Kagome slowed. Her skin prickled. She turned — slowly this time, trying not to be obvious — scanning the crowds beneath the swaying lanterns. And then she saw him.

Tall. Still. Masked. A half-mask of silver obscured the top of his face, but his long silver hair, stillness, and how he looked at her—as if he'd known her a thousand lifetimes—froze her blood.

It was him.

Older now. Sharper. He looked like something pulled from the stars and carved into form — too striking to belong here, too composed to be mistaken. He was watching her. Again. Her breath hitched, heart stopping.

"You okay?" Sango nudged her, dragging her attention from the man. She blinked at her friend wordlessly before looking back.

Gone.