Tangled In Strings

Chapter 5: The Cracks

The moon had always been Moonjumper’s anchor.

Its light fed his astral projection. Its cycles dictated when he could walk among the living. It was his tether, his eye in the sky—his prison’s one small mercy.

So when the moon began to crack, he felt it in his bones.

He stood atop the cliffside that overlooked the glade, staring upward with eyes that didn’t blink. The familiar white circle in the sky now bore thin black fractures, spidering across its surface like glass under strain.

His mask pulsed—faintly, rhythmically—with the same frequency.

Behind him, cursed shackles rattled softly in the breeze.

He didn’t move when Snatcher phased in beside him.

“Ohoho, you’re brooding in 4K resolution tonight,” Snatcher said, his voice attempting levity. “Should I bring popcorn, or are you planning to monologue something dramatic?”

Moonjumper didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.

Snatcher’s grin faltered.

“Moonpie?”

Then he saw it.

A hairline fracture across the surface of Moonjumper’s mask—so fine it almost looked like a trick of the light.

But it wasn’t.

“Wait…” Snatcher floated closer, genuine unease in his voice. “What is that?”

Moonjumper exhaled slowly.

“It’s starting.”

>“What’s starting?”

“The end,” he said softly. “Of me. Of the curse. Of the moon. I’m not sure yet.”

Snatcher stared at him.

Then, without thinking, he reached out—claws curling just shy of Moonjumper’s mask. “What do you mean it’s cracking? That’s you, isn’t it? That mask is you.”

Moonjumper finally turned his head.

His one visible eye shimmered—not glowing, not powerful.

Just tired.

“This mask is what’s left. It hides what’s underneath. What I was. What he made me.”

“The Marquess,” Snatcher said bitterly.

Moonjumper nodded.

"If the moon breaks, my projection fails. I won’t just vanish—I’ll unravel. Slowly. Painfully. My body and spirit, piece by piece. Until there’s nothing left but a thread.”

Snatcher didn’t know what to say.

So for once, he said nothing.

Instead, he sat—hovered just above the moss—and let the silence sit between them, thick as fog. Moonjumper didn’t move, didn’t look away.

Until finally, his voice cracked—just a little.

“I’ve lived so long inside a shape that wasn’t mine. Worn this mask so tightly, I forgot my own face.”

“You ever think about taking it off?” Snatcher asked gently.

“Every day,” Moonjumper said. “And every day, I’m afraid I won’t recognize who I am underneath.”

The words hit harder than Snatcher expected.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

“More than I want to admit.”

Snatcher leaned back, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the fractured moon.

“You know what the worst part of dying was?” he asked suddenly. “It wasn’t the pain. Or the curse. Or the whole ‘being stuck in this haunted forest for eternity’ thing.”

Moonjumper looked at him.

“It was realizing that after everything I did—no one remembered who I was. Not my name. Not my face. Just... the shadow.”

Moonjumper was quiet.

Then:

“I remember,” he said softly.

Snatcher blinked.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Snatcher sat up straighter, his voice barely a whisper. “You… you can’t.”

Moonjumper turned fully now. The crack across his mask had grown, a second branch crawling across his cheekbone.

“I remember it from before we fought. When I first came through the veil. When I was still learning to exist in this world.”

“Then why didn’t you ever say it?”

Moonjumper stepped closer.

Their shadows mingled under the fractured light above.

“Because I knew how much it would hurt.”

Snatcher’s breath hitched.

Moonjumper reached out, fingers trembling.

“But if I’m fading... if the moon breaks... I don’t want to go without saying it now.”

He leaned in.

Closer.

Snatcher’s whole body flickered, glitching under the pressure of emotion he didn’t know how to handle. He could lash out. Joke. Escape.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

Moonjumper’s fingers touched the edge of Snatcher’s jaw. The air between them shimmered with heat, with magic, with everything unspoken.

“Your name was—”

Snatcher suddenly pressed a claw to his lips.

“Don’t.”

Moonjumper looked confused.

“Not yet,” Snatcher said. “If you say it now, and you disappear... I’ll never forgive you for it.”

Moonjumper’s mask cracked a little more.

But he smiled anyway.

“Then I’ll wait.”

Snatcher let out a shaky laugh.

“You really are the dumbest cosmic prince I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the most cowardly shadow king I’ve ever fallen for.”

Silence.

Then—

Snatcher turned away just slightly.

“...You fell for me?”

“Of course,” Moonjumper said. “Why else would my mask be cracking now?”

And above them, the moon groaned—its fractures widening, silver light leaking through as though the sky itself was bleeding