100% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? - Chapter 290

Chapter 290: Chapter 290 – Moon Beasts
A long time ago…

Before the Millennia War scarred the Big World, before the Thousand Races even existed—

There was only the world, and those who existed to watch it.

On the far side of the moon’s quiet where light cast no shadows and form was only a suggestion, there existed the Moon Beasts.

They existed as custodians of pause.

Where the Big World surged with motion and consequence, its moon served as its counterweight. It’s a place where unresolved echoes could settle.

The Moon Beasts were part of that balance. They absorbed what the world shed. Unspent intent, abandoned dreams, and moments that never became action.

They had no bodies in the way mortals understood them. They drifted as impressions… cycles of awareness loosely bound by moonlight and memory. They did not walk. They did not speak.

They endured.

Most observed without attachment. They felt without clinging. They watched until observation itself dissolved back into rest. Memory was unnecessary for their purpose.

Among them, one lingered.

She wandered farther than the rest, drifting close to the moon’s edge where the Big World could be seen clearly.

She was curious.

Curiosity among Moon Beasts was not forbidden. It was simply unnecessary. Most observed until observation faded back into rest. They felt without clinging. They watched without remembering.

She did not.

She noticed repetition. She recognized deviation. She remembered what should have been allowed to fade.

And the Big World drew her attention.

Beneath the moon’s pale arc, humans lived with unbearable intensity. Their lives were brief, uneven, and loud.

They built knowing their works would break. They argued over meanings that shifted with time.

They loved fiercely. They grieved just as fiercely. And somehow, they carried both forward.

She watched them for a long time.

They were inefficient, contradictory, and reckless.

And yet, they changed.

That was what unsettled her.

Humans did not repeat themselves perfectly. They learned. They failed. They regretted. They forgave.

Loss did not dissolve into silence, it reshaped them.

She wanted to understand that.

So she attempted something no Moon Beast had ever needed to do.

She gave herself form.

Not a true one. Her existence resisted definition. But she shaped a body that approximated the inhabitants below.

A young woman’s silhouette. Flesh that breathed unevenly at first. Eyes that lingered too long on motion. A voice that learned by listening rather than speaking.

In doing so, she stepped into causality.

She walked among humans.

At first, it was peaceful.

They gave her names for sensations she had only known as abstractions. Warmth, hunger, loneliness. They laughed around firelight and spoke of tomorrows they would never reach. She learned to sit beside them without speaking, and they accepted her silence without suspicion.

But humans were complicated.

They fought one another over land, over memory, and over stories that refused to agree with themselves.

And when the seasons turned cruel… when floods came, when sickness spread, or when the ground trembled beneath their feet… they searched for something to blame.

They found her.

Someone noticed that she changed when she thought herself unobserved.

Someone followed.

Her true nature was never meant to exist beneath daylight. When it was revealed, it fractured something delicate in the human gaze.

What they could not name, they named monster.

What they could not control, they named calamity.

They accused her of disasters she had not caused.

And so… she fled.

She was wounded not only in form, but in understanding.

She hid where sound thinned and thought slowed. She tried to loosen herself back into moonlight and to return to formless observation.

But the Big World did not release what it had already touched.

That was when she met him.

He did not chase her away. He did not raise a weapon.

He found her near a riverbank. Her borrowed body was half-unraveled and moonlight bled through places that should have been solid.

He approached slowly as one approaches something injured and afraid, and when she recoiled—

he stopped.

He tended her wounds. He did not ask what she was.

He only asked whether she was in pain.

She watched him closely, waiting for the moment when understanding would turn into fear.

It never did.

When she revealed her true state, he only looked… and nodded.

“So that’s how you are,” he said.

That was all.

They became companions in a way neither could easily define.

He taught her strength. Not the kind that overwhelmed, but the kind that endured. He spoke of restraint, of choosing when not to act and of allowing the world to finish its motion before touching it again.

When her borrowed body strained against her nature, he helped her reshape it. Not into something human, but into something that could survive the Big World without erasing the quiet she came from.

He called the result Lunarian.

When she asked him one evening what kind of woman he admired, he considered the question longer than expected.

“Maybe a quiet one,” he said at last.

She remembered that.

She practiced silence not as absence but as presence without intrusion. The space where change could occur without tearing itself apart.

Even when words fell away between them, they remained close. Silence never became distance.

One day, she returned to the moon to teach.

Because the moment she stepped into the Big World, something irreversible had happened.

The Moon Beasts were no longer untouched observers.

By entering causality, she had anchored the moon itself to consequence. The passive cycle that once absorbed discarded moments without judgment had gained reference.

The Moon Beasts began to remember.

At first, it was subtle. Then came curiosity. Then intent.

And she understood what that meant.

Her choice had altered their fate.

The moon could no longer remain only a sink for excess stillness. Its inhabitants were beginning to accumulate meaning, whether they wished to or not.

And so she taught them.

She told the Moon Beasts of weight, of touch, and of consequence. Of the pain and beauty of being able to act and be acted upon.

Curiosity spread. Then thought. Then intelligence.

The man helped her again.

Together, they gave the Moon Beasts bodies.

Not human ones.

Lunarian ones.

Forms that could endure reality without abandoning their origin, anchored by beast cores.

For the first time, all the inhabitants of the moon could touch… and be touched.

She guided them to the Big World slowly. Humans learned to understand them. The Lunarians became the first beings to be called monsters not as enemies, but as companions who were different, yet present.

They opened the door.

From then on, monsters were no longer feared simply for what they were, but judged by what they chose to be.

They lived that way for a long long time.

Longer than humans usually allowed themselves peace.

Until… the world broke.

The Millennia War came like a scream that never ended.

And stillness, for the first time, was no longer enough to protect what she loved.

•••

Eirene opened her eyes.

For a long moment, she did not move.

The ruins around her remained unchanged but she was not the same being who had entered them.

Memory had returned.

The past did not crash into her. It settled.

She remembered the moon before it was bound by consequence. She remembered the Big World before it learned to scream. She remembered hands that had tended her wounds without fear, and a voice that had spoken to her as though she belonged.

She remembered why she had chosen stillness.

Eirene drew a slow breath.

She sat upright. Silence gathered around in recognition.

Then the ruins responded.

The ancient runes brightened along broken walls. Cracked formation lines reconnected. Dormant mechanisms hummed once as if confirming a long-delayed answer.

Eirene felt the shift immediately. A subtle pressure spread outward from her presence.

Her aura rose.

Stillness flowed through the ruin’s interior like a tide reclaiming a familiar shore. Dust stilled mid-descent. Loose fragments settled into equilibrium. The ruin aligned itself around her, every chamber responded as though she had never left.

As though she had merely been late.

Eirene lowered her gaze to her hands.

They did not tremble.

The guilt she had carried for so long no longer pressed against her chest. It had not vanished, but it had found its place.

“I remember,” she said quietly.

Her voice did not echo.

The words were absorbed.

She remained seated for a time, allowing the memories to finish arranging themselves.

She closed her eyes once more.

When she opened them again, the hesitation that had lingered in her expression was gone. What remained was clarity, tempered by loss and sharpened by understanding.

Eirene rose to her feet.

The ruins did not resist her movement. Pathways cleared where none had been moments before. Sealed passages relaxed their hold. Ancient locks yielded without being touched.

She took a single step forward.

The Big World waited beyond the ruin’s threshold.

Eirene paused.

She had returned to the Big World.

And this time, stillness would not simply endure.

It would answer.