The Abandoned Luna's Journey to Power Chapter 183: Astra's Writing

Cindy's POV:

After the meal, I placed the paper and pens Adam had prepared on the table.

It was a thick leather-bound notebook and a fine pen.

"Astra."

I pulled him onto my lap—even though he was already eight years old, years of malnutrition had left him as light as a cat. Holding him took no effort at all.

I took his left hand, thin and slightly twisted. It was his dominant hand.

"Tell me," my voice trembled, "these past three years ... how did you escape? How did you end up here?"

There was a far more terrifying question buried in my heart. If he were alive, why didn’t he come home? Why didn’t he go to the academy or the Duskfang Pack to find me?

But I didn’t dare ask.

Astra stared at the pen, his gaze distant.

It seemed like he hadn’t touched something that represented learning and dignity in a very long time.

He reached out, trying to grip the pen.

But the hand that once wrote beautiful letters was now stiff and weak.

His fingers had been beaten and frostbitten for years. The joints were swollen and twisted, unable to make fine movements.

The pen slipped from his hand again and again.

He grew anxious. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Frustrated whimpers escaped his throat.

"Relax. Don’t rush," I said quickly.

I wrapped my larger hand around his small one, steadying the pen for him.

"I'll help you. Write slowly. We have plenty of time."

With my help, he finally managed to put down the first shaky stroke.

Even the simplest words were painfully difficult for him.

Every line was a battle with his uncooperative hand. Every stroke trembled.

Looking at that scarred hand, I completely lost control. A tear fell onto the page, spreading a dark blot of ink.

Astra stopped writing.

He lifted those dry, claw-like hands and awkwardly wiped my cheek, brushing away my tears.

Then he waved his hand at me, meaning—Don’t cry, it's not painful.

My heart hurt even more.

He lowered his head again, gritting his teeth like a soldier heading into battle.

Three minutes passed.

At last, a few crooked, crawling words appeared on the page:

"Looking for Aunt Cindy."

The moment I saw those words, it felt like a bolt of lightning struck the top of my head.

My body folded in on itself as a huge, ripping wave of grief tore up from deep inside me.

I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming, but my tears spilled out like a dam breaking, blurring everything in front of me.

Looking for Aunt Cindy.

Looking for me.

Those words hooked into a sealed memory in my mind like a barbed blade.

Three years ago, on the eve of that nightmare, I had written home because I was worried about the Battle of Evernight Gorge.

Astra replied to my letter.

In that letter, he asked in his childish voice, "Aunt Cindy, can I go to Wolf Martial Academy to visit you? I miss you."

I was getting ready for battle, overwhelmed and distracted. I answered without thinking, "Anytime."

I thought it was just a child talking, normal clinginess, and I never imagined this child—this foolish child—would take it seriously.

He left home to come find me.

Because he wanted to see me, he escaped a massacre that should have killed him—only to fall into a deeper hell.

"It’s my fault..." I choked out, breaking down. "He was trying to find me..."

If it hadn’t been for me, he would’ve died with his people that day. It would’ve hurt—but it would’ve been over.

Because of these words, he lived on, suffering through hell for three years.

"Cindy, breathe! Look at him!" Diana shouted inside my head, trying to pull me back. "He’s writing. He’s telling you what really happened!"