Dusk slid down the sky like spilled ink, soft and heavy, swallowing the last remnants of gold from the clouds. The evening wind swept across the riverbank with a cool, steady breath, brushing reeds and willows until they whispered like sleepers turning in their dreams.
Jin Yue sat at the edge of the river, rod in hand, bare feet resting on the cool stone ledge. This was the one place where the world felt quiet enough for his thoughts to unfurl...slow, steady, unhurried...as the current drifted beneath him. Dragonflies skimmed the surface in delicate arcs. The faint plop of a frog slipping into the water punctuated the stillness.
Beside him lay a thin travel journal, its corners weighed down by two smooth river pebbles he'd collected months ago. He had bought the journal for a single copper from a secondhand stall; age had yellowed its pages, but the handwriting still carried life...crisp, hurried strokes written by someone who truly loved wandering.
Tonight's entries spoke of sleepy ferry towns and bustling harbors, of grain barges so slow that sparrows built nests in the rope coils, of fishermen who tasted the air to predict storms.
One line made him pause a moment longer.
The harbor is so lively that from one boat to the next, you could walk across the water.
Jin Yue traced the characters with a fingertip, though his expression barely shifted.
Ports were never just lively to him.
Never just noise.
They were places where people disappeared.
The float on his fishing line gave a small twitch.
His thumb pressed lightly to the rod.
He waited.
A second twitch.
A third.
Then...
A flick of his wrist.
The silver arc of a young river fish broke through the darkened surface. Water splashed cold against his knees. With familiar, efficient motions, he brought it close, studied it...small, lean, too young...and loosened the hook.
"Too early for you," he murmured.
The fish flicked free, vanishing back into the shallows with a single determined ripple.
He wiped his fingers on his sleeve and turned another page of the journal, though the words began to lose their shape to the deepening dusk. He read of merchants haggling at dawn, of porters loading crates before sunrise, of boys who napped in alleyways with ropes still slung over their shoulders.
A line snagged his attention...careless, lightly written:
Porters here are young and cheap; they sleep wherever they fall.
Jin Yue's jaw tightened ever so slightly.
Careless words always hid careless suffering.
The city lamps flickered to life in the distance. Their reflections scattered across the river like broken constellations drifting downstream, blurring as a night breeze brushed the surface.
When the light dipped low enough that the ink blurred into one dark cloud, he closed the book, wrapped it in cloth, and slung the rod over his shoulder.
He'd be back before dawn.
If the world allowed.
The hill road up to the old temple was steep and quiet, hugged by tall grass that rustled as crickets began their nightly chorus. The city's noise...shouts, laughter, cart wheels, snapped tempers...faded behind him until only the wind remained.
The temple rose at the summit, half-swallowed by creeping ivy, its ancient beams weathered to gray and its paint long stripped by rain and time. The roof tiles sagged in places. A cracked bell lay rusting beside the entrance.
But a single candle burned.
Jin Yue stopped mid-step.
He had not lit it.
Slowly, he shifted into the deeper shadow of a leaning cedar tree, letting instinct settle cold and smooth over his body. His breathing quieted. His presence melted.
From within the outer courtyard came a voice...thin, frayed, trembling.
"…please…"
He moved soundlessly up the stone path, gliding along the wall where the moonlight could not reach. Through the doorway, he saw her at once.
A woman knelt before the Suanni statue in the open courtyard...outside the hall, exposed to the wind and night sky. The lion-dog guardian, carved from once-white stone, towered over her. Moss clung to its paws like ancient shackles. A soft film of incense dust coated its mane.
The woman's shoulders were thin, her patched jacket clinging to her frame. Tufts of her hair had come loose from her knot and stuck damply to her neck. A woven basket lay forgotten beside her, half-covered with wilted vegetables.
Before the statue she had arranged her offerings...three copper coins, a chipped bowl holding a pinch of rice, and a folded square of cloth worn thin from years of washing.
Her voice cracked as she bowed, forehead pressing to the cold stone.
"Please… if you are here… if you listen…"
Jin Yue stilled, breath barely stirring the cold air.
Many prayed at this statue...children for sweets, old women for relief, merchants for luck, drunks for forgiveness they'd forget by morning.
But this voice...
This voice broke.
"My sons," she whispered. "They haven't come home."
Her fingers curled until her knuckles whitened.
"They left for the docks three days ago. Just to carry grain. Honest work." Her breath hitched. "They always come back before nightfall. They know I can't sleep if they're late."
Her shoulders trembled once.
"But that night… they didn't return."
The candle flame flickered as if swayed by her grief.
"I went to the wharf. The foreman said they never arrived. Others said there was shouting near the river that night, but no one wanted to see." Her mouth twisted. "The guards told me they probably ran off to avoid debt."
A hollow laugh escaped her...a sound with no humor, only exhaustion.
"My boys don't gamble. They barely eat enough to grow. What debt?"
Her voice threaded itself into the night, stretched thin by despair.
She swallowed, then whispered:
"I walked the entire riverbank. I called their names until my throat bled. I thought...maybe they slipped. Maybe I'd find their shoes caught on a branch. Their jackets floating."
Silence closed around her.
A suffocating, heavy quiet.
Jin Yue's hand brushed the familiar grip of his fishing rod, grounding himself.
The woman pressed her palms together.
"The neighbors tell me to mourn them. The guards say they have bigger problems. But I know...they didn't run. They didn't fall. They were taken."
Her words struck the stone floor like dropped stones.
Taken.
Jin Yue's gaze sharpened, ice sliding behind his eyes.
This city hid many things beneath its noise: gambling rings, debt lords, flesh traders.
Porters disappearing from the docks was not new.
But it was never small.
Her forehead touched the ground again.
"I have no money to bribe officials. No relatives. No voice anyone will hear." Tears wet the stone beneath her. "So if the stories are true… if a spirit really walks here…"
Her voice trembled.
"If the Moon Ghost is listening… please...please take my fear instead of their lives. Whoever hurt them...punish them. Take my strength, my years, I don't care. Just let them come home."
The name drifted like smoke.
Moon Ghost.
A shadow whispered through a frightened city.
A ghost who strangled wicked men in silence.
A spirit who freed a dying girl in a brothel.
They were myths.
Or so people believed.
The woman's shoulders shook as her hands brushed the Suanni's stone paw.
"I am no one," she whispered. "Just a widow with callused hands. My sons are just porters. The city won't miss them. But I..."
Her words dissolved.
She knelt there, barely breathing.
Jin Yue said nothing.
Moved nothing.
The veil of night hid him entirely.
He could have walked away.
He had before.
But this time…
his feet remained rooted.
The candle guttered low.
The woman finally lifted her head, eyes swollen and red.
"If you hear me… if anyone does…" she murmured. "If something answers…"
She smoothed the cloth offering with trembling fingers.
"This was from when they were small. I stitched it three times that winter. They grew so fast." Her voice cracked. "Please… let me see them grow again."
She bowed deeply once more, touching her forehead to the cloth as if trying to press her soul into the offering.
Then she pushed herself up, clutching her empty basket. At the doorway, she paused, looking back at the statue.
"Moon Spirit… Moon Ghost… whatever you are… if you bring them home, I will light incense for you until the day I die."
Her voice carried no strength, yet it did not waver.
Then she disappeared down the hill path, swallowed by darkness.
Jin Yue exhaled slowly.
He stepped into the candle's glow at last.
The Suanni statue watched him with its carved, indifferent gaze.
He knelt before it, shadow spilling across the woman's offerings. His fingers brushed the folded cloth... worn seams, patient stitches. A mother's love in cotton thread.
"This is why," he told himself.
Not for the rumors.
Not for the name.
Not for the whispered worship.
But because somewhere, two boys were shivering in darkness.
And a mother was alone.
He rose.
By the time he reached the river again, night had grown deep and hollow. He stood at the water's edge, watching the moon ripple in the current.
"Porters," he murmured.
"Docks."
"Boats that come when no one is watching."
His grip tightened on the fishing rod.
Above the trembling water, beneath a veiled moon, the Moon Ghost turned toward the wharves...
...toward the trail he had hoped never to follow again.
Toward the first whisper of Demon Pirates.