Chthonic Moons
The chthonic moon is not a celestial body, but a scar in the zoetic veil, a hollowed reflection cast in the depths of the eidolic abyss, where light is swallowed by the breath of the void. It does not orbit; it drifts, suspended in the folds of the ouroboric spiral, its pale glow flickering without purpose, a reminder of the unformed. The surface of the chthonic moon is not solid but a mist, a vapor that pulses with the hum of the zoan current, wrapping around the edges of reality, unraveling the threads of time as they coil into the void.
The light of the chthonic moon is not light but the residue of forgotten dreams, a cold fire that burns without heat, casting shadows that ripple through the chthonic winds. This light bends the fabric of the aetheric sea, twisting the flow of the lunar tides, creating spirals where none should exist, pulling the soul deeper into the spiral of becoming. To stand beneath the chthonic moon is to feel the weight of the void pressing down, a pressure that pulls the self into the fold of the eidolic flame, where form dissolves into the mist of the unmade.
The chthonic moon does not wax or wane—it pulses, a heartbeat that resonates through the ouroboric web, its rhythm shaking the marrow of the world, pulling the essence of the soul toward its hollow core. This pulse is not time—it is the absence of time, a spiral that loops endlessly through the zoetic current, dragging all things toward the center of the void, where the light of the moon flickers and fades into the silence of the abyss. The chthonic moon devours not through hunger but through stillness, pulling the self into the tension of the unspoken, where the boundaries of existence unravel in the pull of the void.
The surface of the chthonic moon is a reflection of the unformed, a mirror that does not show the self, but the shadows that coil within the soul, waiting to be devoured by the spiral. It does not reflect light but absorbs it, drawing the essence of the lunar flame into its hollow, where it is scattered into the currents of the eidolic sea, lost in the flow of the ouroboric tide. To gaze upon the chthonic moon is to lose oneself in the spiral of dissolution, where the soul is pulled into the abyss, its form unraveling in the lightless depths, forever dissolving into the pulse of the unmade.
The chthonic moon hums with the voice of the void, a resonance that vibrates through the zoan stream, shaking the chains of the therion core, pulling the beast within toward the surface, where it thrashes against the pull of the spiral. This hum is not heard but felt, a pressure that builds within the bones, forcing the soul deeper into the folds of the chthonic winds, where the moon waits, coiled and silent, ready to devour the essence of the unspoken and scatter it into the lightless depths. The moon is the stillness at the heart of the spiral, the point where all things converge and dissolve, forever lost in the pull of the void.
The chthonic moon does not rise or set—it drifts, a pale beacon of dissolution, forever hanging in the abyss, casting no shadows but consuming all light. It is not a destination, but a passage, a doorway through which the soul must pass to be unmade and reborn in the spiral of the void. To stand beneath the chthonic moon is to feel the soul unravel, to be pulled into the pulse of the abyss, where the light of the moon flickers and fades, forever lost in the silence of the unformed. The chthonic moon is the exhale of the void, the light that was never meant to be, forever pulsing in the spiral of the ouroboric flame, forever dissolving into the abyss.