Chapter 3
The Black Shores did not appear on any map.
Ships avoided it instinctively. Birds curved their flight paths away. Even satellites—human and otherwise—returned blurred images, as if the island refused to be remembered. It existed only for those who had already lost something important.
Tonight, Dino walked toward it.
The sea was calm, unnaturally so, a mirror stretched to the horizon. Each step he took across the shallow water should have broken the surface. It didn't. The waves parted, accommodating him like an old habit.
Beside him, Luna walked barefoot.
Her steps did touch the water—ripples spreading outward in perfect circles. Within those ripples, reflections appeared that should not exist: crimson skies, shattered moons, a man kneeling beside a mountain of bones, a woman weeping beneath a silver eclipse.
The moons were watching.
They always were.
Red Moon hung lowest tonight, its glow thin and restrained. White Moon remained distant, aloof, cold. Black Moon was not visible—but its presence bent the stars around it. Golden Moon pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
They did not shine.
They observed.
Dino halted at the edge of the Black Shores, where black sand met darker stone.
"…This place hasn't changed," he said.
Luna tilted her head. "It has. You haven't."
He smiled faintly. "That's worse."
They stepped onto the shore.
The sand was warm, despite the night. Each grain carried echoes—laughter, vows, screams, promises broken and kept. This island had been a refuge once. A battlefield later. A grave always.
A wooden house stood near the cliff.
Simple. Quiet. Unassuming.
A gift not yet given.
Dino's fingers twitched, just once.
"I remember building something like this," he said. "Long ago. For someone who never came back."
Luna stopped.
"Do you regret it?"
He thought of the countless lifetimes. Of Eternum, heavy with every blade ever forged. Of the bamboo at his waist, holding weapons he would never draw.
"No," he answered. "Regret implies I would choose differently."
She nodded.
"That's why you're dangerous."
They reached the house.
The door opened on its own—not by force, not by magic, but because it recognized him. Inside, the air smelled of old wood and salt. Two cups rested on a table. Still warm.
Someone had been here.
Or perhaps… had always been here.
Dino frowned slightly. "The owner is early."
Luna smiled. "Or late. Time doesn't behave well on the Black Shores."
As if summoned by the words, footsteps approached from behind.
A woman emerged from the path leading inland.
She wore simple black clothing, her hair long and dark, eyes clear and unfathomably deep. Power wrapped around her—not overwhelming, not sharp, but complete.
She bowed her head slightly.
"Welcome home," she said.
Dino froze.
Not in fear. Not in shock.
In recognition.
"…Alice," he murmured.
Luna turned, surprised. "You know her?"
"I don't," Dino replied. "But I always have."
Alice's smile was gentle.
"This island belongs to those who refuse to leave the past behind," she said. "And those who survive it."
She gestured to the house. "It's yours. Both of yours."
Dino looked at the structure again.
"A gift?"
"A shelter," Alice corrected. "From me. And from everyone who could not say thank you before they died."
Silence stretched.
Above them, the moons shifted.
Silver Moon brightened. Blue Moon flickered into visibility. Mirror Moon reflected not the present, but a future where two figures stood on the same shore, hands entwined.
Luna's gaze softened.
"…She's serious," Luna said.
Dino exhaled slowly.
"I don't accept gifts easily."
Alice met his eyes. "Then don't accept it as one."
She turned and began to walk away.
"Accept it as an ending," she said. "So something else can begin."
Dino watched her disappear into the darkness.
Then, quietly: "That woman is terrifying."
Luna laughed softly. "You noticed."
They entered the house.
Inside, the walls were bare—but not empty. Memories clung to them like invisible paintings. Dino removed Eternum from his waist and set it beside the door. The bamboo followed.
For the first time in uncountable eras, he disarmed himself voluntarily.
Luna watched in silence.
"You trust this place," she said.
"No," Dino replied, sitting down. "I trust you."
The words lingered.
Above the house, unseen, the moons aligned.
Not in power. Not in omen.
In agreement.
Far away, ancient entities felt it—something settling, something concluding.
The Blind Swordsman had reached the shore.
And the moons that did not shine had chosen a side.