When he was a very little boy of just eight years, Endymion had been gazing at the constellations with his father as he often did. Then his father had pointed to the white jewel perched in the sky amidst a sea of stars and said, "Beware, my son. Beware the White Moon."
Little Endymion, who had always had a certain fondness for anything that pierced the terrifying dark of night, asked his father why. His father had darkened then, and he had no moon to light the way. It scared the young prince, and his father's words were therefore burned into his memory.
"Do not be bewitched by the light of the moon, my son. The women of the White Moon are not like the women here. Up there, they govern, holding the more able men in their sway through trickery and magic. We are the one planet who stands against them, and thus, we are their one desire. Therefore, take heed and beware, or these devil women will be the doom of us all."
Endymion had nodded, never forgetting.
When he was a headstrong teenager of a great sixteen years, Endymion was lounging at a creek during a hunt with his four guardians. Kunzite, their leader, was crouched next to Endymion, sharpening the tips of his arrow. On a whim, Endymion had glanced up at the sky and caught sight of the moon’s light. Kunzite, who knew him well, did not have to follow his gaze to know what he was looking at.
“You should be wary of looking at the moon,” Kunzite advised him. “It will lead you to desire things you cannot have.”
Endymion, who had never been told much of the White Moon save that it was forbidden, was intrigued. He asked Kunzite to explain what he meant. His face had grown distant then, as if recalling a memory he had not thought on for many years. Endymion could not tell if it pained him or gave him joy, but Kunzite’s voice took on a tone that the prince had never before encountered.
“The women of the White Moon hold a gem of light known as the Silver Crystal. It is a very powerful, very sacred stone that gives them and their subjects immortality. They liken themselves to the beings of heaven and walk about as goddesses, trailing glitter at their feet. They do not need this eternal life in their perfect world and withhold it from those that need it. They drive a wedge between our people and theirs, forever reminding us of what we cannot have.”
Endymion regarded Kunzite strangely, wondering at this manner he had not seen before. He then asked his friend and advisor if he had ever been there for it sounded as if it had.
Kunzite had laughed and glanced up at the moon with his familiar wry smile. “I have, and would that I never return.” He paused. “This distance is reminder enough of what I cannot have.”
Endymion had frowned, never forgetting.
When Endymion was a young man of twenty-five, he went to the tomb of his father to pay the fallen man his yearly honors. When he had arrived, he found one other mourner. He knew her only as a fiery upstart with a nasty tongue. He had nearly gone to return another day when she stopped him.
“You should listen to the words of your father, Prince Endymion,” she called. “You disgrace him with the shameless urges of your youth.”
Endymion had whirled on this strange woman, demanding to know the cause of her dishonor towards him at his father’s grave. She had turned to him, dark eyes brimming with rage and fists trembling and white. Though he could have easily done away with her, he found himself go still with fear, unable to move when otherwise he would have.
“I have seen you out nights, Endymion,” she spat, advancing on him, violet skirts dragging behind her like blood. “I have seen you look to the White Moon in ecstasy and I know you desire it for its immortality and its cruel women, the very things you were warned against in your youth. That which should repulse you only draws you in. It is treason! To your father and your country! I have seen it, and I will reveal if you do not spurn it.”
“Mark me, Endymion. Turn your gaze from the Moon’s light or your kingdom shall fall in fire and screams and you will have no one but yourself to blame.”
Endymion had watched her go, never forgetting.
But he had gone on as he always had, forever drawn to the moon, watching until the day a goddess came down on a moonbeam. And then he had gone into the light, never looking back, even as his world and theirs was plunged into all consuming darkness.
