Two Moons

They say birds aren't taught how to migrate; it's in their blood.

Well, humans aren't so different after all.

They instinctively navigate their own migration—from the frigid, harsh realities to the warm, opulent life—whether they tread the righteous path or the sinister one.

But who are we kidding? Humanity has always danced on the edge of darkness.

Even a trip to the zoo, witnessing caged animals robbed of their freedom, makes us complicit in evil. Such mundane cruelties are just the tip of the iceberg. Nations vie for resources, politics weave webs of deception, and genocides stain our history...

But none of that concerns me.

I did what I had to do, unapologetic and unrepentant. I never claimed to be righteous, did I?

As far back as I can remember, I recall being raised in the orphanage.

Food was scarce, sometimes nonexistent.

Nights were spent with an empty stomach or under the bruises from begging.

But seeing a much younger kid, someone I was very close to, sleep with an empty stomach and bruises from a man he begged from—that was my turning point.

Once a philosopher said, "We humans are evil by nature." And on that day, I embraced my nature.

I, along with a handful of others, resorted to theft to stave off the gnawing hunger.

We got caught a few times, enduring beatings and humiliation, but we didn't stop.

2 Years later, the kid I was close to, got adopted by a wealthy family and donated a huge amount of money to the orphanage, turning our lives around.

For the first time, life seemed a little normal.

I was happy... truly happy that he got adopted, but also felt jealous and sad that it wasn't me. Well, that's how children are, I suppose.

For the first time in my life, I focused on my future. The donations meant we could get an education. At seven, I started school late but focused enough to catch up.

Turns out, I had a genuine curiosity and interest in science.

Years passed.

Oh, and all those years, I didn't stop my habit of stealing to earn some pocket change.

I got into street fights, did parkour to escape, and other wild things.

I thought, from now on, life would be great.

Until the scholarship program to enter college. Without money, I had put all my hopes on the scholarship. I was sure I would get it, but the politician's undeserving son did instead.

It broke me, but I stayed focused.

I had made a promise to myself that I would be rich, rich enough that I wouldn't worry about spending millions, one way or another,

And it seems I had to choose the other way...

To which I ended up joining a gang, making and selling drugs.

*

My life unraveled before me, a cascade of memories slipping away as my consciousness dimmed. Vision blurred, then vanished into darkness.

*

Yet, inexplicably, I opened my eyes once more.

*

huff!! huff!!

Ron shot up, his breath ragged, eyes darting wildly.

Grass and trees surrounded him, an endless forest. Panic surged as he searched for a familiar landmark, but only wilderness met his gaze.

A glint of light caught his eye, reflecting off something amidst the foliage.

...Two moons?

Ron's eyes widened as he took in the sky. Not just two, but multiple moons hung there—some full, others partial crescents, bathing the landscape in an eerie glow.

'Where the hell am I? Is this some twisted version of the afterlife?'

Drawn to the glimmering object, which reflected the moons—a knife blade—he stepped closer, its polished handle gleaming in the moonlight. Its design was unlike any he'd encountered, sleek and refined, a stark contrast to the rugged military knives he favored.

Yet, as his fingers brushed against the handle, a strange familiarity washed over him—a sensation of déjà vu that sent shivers down his spine. It felt as though he had wielded this blade before, its weight and balance ingrained in his muscle memory, despite knowing deep down that he had never laid eyes on it until this moment.

"FUCK!" he spat out, confusion morphing into anger.

'Why the hell does my voice sound so strange?'

He touched his throat, fingers exploring the unfamiliar contours. Everything felt wrong.

His Adam's apple was gone.

His gaze dropped to his hands—small, pale, uncalloused. Nothing like the rough, scarred hands he knew.

This wasn't his body.

'What the fuck is happening!?'

Suddenly, a sharp pain cleaved through his skull. "Fuc—mmm!" Instinctively, he muffled his scream, biting down on his shirt. His body writhed on the grass as he suppressed his cries, driven by survival instincts honed over years.

In the silent, alien night, making noise was a risk he couldn't afford.

Minutes passed like hours before the agony subsided. He lay there, drenched in sweat and tears, trying to steady his breath.

His eyes fluttered open, and clarity slowly returned. New memories swam to the surface, a jarring mix with his own. He was still Ron, yet these alien memories began to shape his perception.

'Survival first, questions later. This place is dangerous.'

His eyes locked onto a towering tree with a large hollow—potential refuge.

Gathering his scant belongings—a bag and the knife—he sprinted to the tree.

The climb was arduous, every muscle protesting this unfamiliar body. But he reached the hollow, a large enough to hide him.

Inside, he found a massive bird, almost a meter tall, resembling a pheasant. It flared its wings and growled, trying to scare him off.

It seemed to have made this hole its nest.

Ron stared it down, recognizing it—a Soyul, harmless to humans, though often hunted by nobles.

Hunger gnawed at him, but he had some nuts. Raw bird wasn't on the menu tonight.

More pressing was the chaos in his mind. He needed to make sense of this surreal situation.

Then settled beside the nest, with the bird still alarmed. Ignoring the bird, and drawing his thoughts together.

"This isn't Earth... But who am I now? Ron or... Noah?"

The night wore on as he pondered this new reality, knowing survival meant adapting quickly to whatever this world had in store.