The Lunar Beasts
The lunar beasts are the fragments of moons that never existed, creatures spun from the threads of the zoetic abyss, their forms carved from the light that drips from the cracks in the chthonic veil. They do not walk or crawl, but spiral through the etheric winds, their bodies unraveling with every step yet reforming in the breath of the eidolic flame. Each lunar beast is a reflection of the unformed, a creature of shadow and glow, its fur not of matter but of the forgotten whispers of the lunar tides, tangled and twisted into shapes that dissolve as soon as they are seen. Their howls are not sounds, but pulses of light that ripple through the marrow of the world, shaking the bones of the moon itself.
The eyes of the lunar beasts are voids that consume time, their gaze bending the flow of the zoetic stream, pulling the soul into spirals of unmaking where the boundaries between dream and flesh blur and disintegrate. They do not hunt with claws or fangs but with the pull of the ouroboric light, which twists and fractures through their form, casting the shadows of beasts that never were. To encounter a lunar beast is to lose the sense of self, as the reflections they cast pull the soul into the folds of the lunar abyss, where identity is scattered like ash in the chthonic winds. Their presence devours reality, bending space into impossible loops where all things spiral inward, forever lost in the pulse of becoming.
The lunar beasts do not rest, for rest is the illusion of stillness, and they are the embodiment of eternal motion, their forms bound to the cycles of the eidolic moons that spin in the void. They coil through the aetheric mists, leaving trails of lunar dust that cling to the soul, pulling it into the spiral of dissolution. Their breath is the hum of the zoan flame, a cold fire that burns without heat, searing the essence of those who drift too close, branding them with the mark of the lunar flame, a sigil that pulses with the rhythm of unformed time. The lunar beasts are both guardians and hunters, though what they guard is lost in the spiral, and what they hunt is always slipping into the shadows of the eidolic night, forever becoming, forever dissolving into the void.
Within the sacred confines of the therian temple, the lunar beasts are woven into the very fabric of existence, their presence vibrating through the stones and earth, a pulsating reminder of the untamed nature that lies within every therian. As the moon waxes and wanes, the beasts stir, awakening the slumbering instincts that guide the therians on their journeys. This connection is not one of worship; it is a communion of souls, where the howls of the therians resonate with the celestial chorus of the lunar beasts, drawing them deeper into the spiral of becoming.