In the time when the world was young and the sky is unscarred, two sisters were born from a powerful god and a mortal woman. The elder, Hanan, carried the sun's dazzling light, igniting the earth with her warmth and fire, while the younger, Hayari, was endowed with the moon's gentle, soothing glow, which guided both dreams and tides. The two were opposites, Hanan burned with pride and passion, Hayari glowed with grace and silence and though both gave light, mortals turned their hearts toward the gentler one. Among them was Dumakulem, a demigod born of earth and duty, protector of sacred mountains, who each night found his tired soul lifted by Hayari's light.
That admiration eventually turned into love, and one evening he climbed the tallest cliff to look into her eyes while holding a bouquet in his shaky hands. However, as Dumakulem battled to save the holy jewels, duty called, attackers showed up, and fate interfered, leaving the flowers behind. When the quiet returned, Hanan emerged, interpreting the sacrifice as a sign of loyalty to her. Hanan thought she was finally selected and seen when he did not correct her. She never had Dumakulem's heart, though. Hayari owned that. Dumakulem would look for the moonlight in the peaceful moments between storms, not just to relax but also to have a silent conversation with her. On ridges he could only access, he constructed altars out of moss and stone. He left behind signs of devotion, such as smooth river glass, sculpted figurines, and petals gathered from war-free regions. And Hayari started to respond while observing from above. It was initially through dreams. Standing at the edge of imaginary waters, he would see her muttering songs he had never learnt but somehow recognized. The winds then arrived, and they only moved when he walked. Then the silver radiance that, even in the absence of stars, danced along his course. Her light let him breathe again after he almost died protecting a holy woodland. And love blossomed slowly. When time was most forgiving, they met between twilight and dawn. Dreams and spirits, mist-covered mountain tops, lakes with rippling stars. Every meeting created a new bond between them, entire, sacred, and wordless. She was the silence he sought. She had only observed his might from a distance. Their souls flowed in unison, like tide to moon, like root to soil, despite their disparate origins. They experienced eternity, not just talked about it. And as the stars lined up, a wedding took place beneath the sky, where spirits assembled and the stars stopped to see two souls make inconceivable promises. However, a hush fell over the planet as they stood beneath the sky, Hayari shining in silver, Dumakulem as firm as stone.
But all of a sudden, the wind died. The stars blinked once. And then the sky tore open. From the throne of the sun, Hanan had watched the world shift toward her sister once again, and when she saw the man she thought was hers belong wholly to Hayari, her chest swelled with something ancient and consuming. She, the ever-ignored brilliance, would not let the night steal this final piece of affection. So she struck. A blinding bolt of god-forged flame shattered the sky. The forest caught fire. The music was silenced. Dumakulem turned just enough to shield Hayari, and in a breath, he was gone, no screams, no farewell, only golden ash and divine blood that splattered across Hayari's clothes and skin.
All the realms heard her scream. The moon trembled. The clouds let out a cry. Where joy had took part, grief was all that was left after the wedding turned to ash and silence. Hayari, the goddess of sorrow rather than peace, crouched alone in the ruins. And the moon has never been the same since that night. On some evenings, it bleeds red, a blood moon that is born of remembrance rather than omen. People said that on those nights, the moon remembers the pledge that could no longer be kept, the forbidden love, and the fire that stole it. A love that is forever mourned but never erased. A wail of loss rather than anger. And so the blood moon rises a quiet lament from a goddess who lost not her light, but her heart.