I didn't want to be there.

No one did. 

But it was me, the least of these standing on the prow of a Dragon 10, spaceship, once designed to ferry us to Mars, but now tasked with investigating the moon anomaly. And possibly my celestial coffin.

For weeks, scientists had scrambled for answers while the world fell into chaos. Humanity, desperate for answers, did what it always did: it turned to worship. Old gods found new followers, and new gods were born out of chaos. Faith became a currency, traded for comfort and meaning. Humanity was going to worship something. Old texts were being dragged to the surface, new religions were being born. Old conspiracies found new life, fresh cults emerged overnight, and the Cult of Luna surged to prominence, their doctrine chilling in its simplicity: the moon is alive, and its awakening is divine judgment.

No one knew what was going on. The moon, our constant companion, the anchor of tides and time, was no longer something we could take for granted. Destroying it wasn't an option. We needed the moon—but what do you do when something you need becomes the very thing that might destroy you? 

Governments couldn't hide it, couldn't explain it away to an unsuspecting populace. Fear was rampant. Social media was abuzz with every change, every crack that surged. Telescopes remained glued to the sky as the world held its collective breathe.

Then there was me, the least of these, the expendable one being sent up. 

The lamb to the slaughter.

In the name of science of course.

I am a janitor, literally the least knowledgeable brain on the campus.

The Dragon 10 lurched as it entered lunar orbit, bringing me back to reality. I felt the faint tug of gravity—or maybe it was just my imagination. I had no clue what half the readouts on the console meant. The only thing I understood was the blaring red warning light that kept flashing STRUCTURAL STRESS DETECTED. 

I was alone on this damned ship.

Below us, the moon loomed like a wounded animal. Massive cracks webbed across its surface, glowing faintly with a light that didn't look natural. Chasms had opened, their edges glowing with a brilliant yellow radiance. Pieces of the moon hung in orbit around it, fragments large enough to pulverize entire cities if they fell to Earth.

"Control, this is Dragon 10," I said into the comms. My voice sounded thin and shaky, even to me. "We're in position. What's the next step?"

Static. 

"Control?"

Nothing.

The glow from the moon intensified.

I don't know how to describe it. It wasn't just light—it was alive. It rippled and pulsed, spiraling out of the cracks in the lunar surface like tendrils of smoke. But smoke doesn't move with purpose. Smoke doesn't watch you. 

The ship trembled, the hull groaning as if something was pressing against it. The warning light flashed faster. I scrambled to strap myself into the nearest seat as the entire cabin shuddered violently around me.

Then I felt it.

Not the ship. 

Not the moon. 

It.

A presence. Enormous and warm, not malicious—at least, not yet. 

It was vast and alien, like an ocean reaching into my mind, probing, searching. My thoughts weren't my own anymore. They were being peeled apart like layers of an onion. It wasn't speaking to me, but I understood it all the same. It was searching, studying me as if I was no more than a tablet.

The ship shuddered again, and through the viewport, I saw the surface of the moon begin to shift. The cracks widened, spilling more of that alien light into the void. Entire chunks of the moon's crust began to lift, suspended as if gravity had simply given up. The tendrils of light whipped between the floating fragments like a storm gathering strength, pulling the pieces into an orbit of their own.

What am I?

"I don't know," I shouted. "Please."

But it wasn't a plea. Not really. The words felt feeble, pathetic, as the presence in my mind sifted through them like grains of sand. My memories—the scientists, the mission briefing, the panicked decision to send me, to not waste brilliant minds—flickered and rearranged themselves, scrutinized by an intelligence that didn't belong to this world. Or maybe it did. Maybe it had always been here, dormant under the crust of our pale satellite.

It was unnerving. I could feel it rifling through my thoughts, prying them open and exposing them to its cold, alien curiosity. Then came the flood of understanding—the math, the physics, the horror of what the moon's disintegration would mean for Earth. My brain regurgitated the facts without my permission: the tides, the axial wobble, the chain reaction that would unravel every delicate balance we relied on to survive.

The least of these indeed. The tone of which it spoke into my mind was authoritative, disgusted with the scientists who'd sent me on my way.

I trembled in my seat, the smoky tendrils curling around me and through me. The movement caught the beings attention again.

You are afraid, it said, the words curling through my mind like a gentle wind. I understand fear. I do not wish to harm you, the voice continued, almost apologetic. I have no understanding of why I am awake, of what has brought me to this form. I do not wish to destroy you.

I froze. Was this really happening? This was no god of destruction. This was... something lost. Something confused.

My brain in that moment latched onto the Cult Of Luna. Boy were they in for a surprise.

They worship the moon? the voice interrupted my thoughts. It is nothing but a shell.

The light from the moon seemed to pulse more gently, as though echoing the voice's tone.

"I... I don't understand," I whispered, my throat dry. "You're asking me what you are? How can you not know?"

I am waking, it responded, a tremor of uncertainty rippling through the words. But I do not know what I am, or how to be. The others before me have... have shaped the world in their own image. They used me as a tool. I am destruction in their hands. Now I am free, but I do not know how to be free. How to be something more than what I was made to be.

I felt it then, the weight of its isolation, the confusion in its vast mind. A god, born from the depths of the cosmos, and yet utterly alone, unsure of what to do with its newfound power.

What am I supposed to do now? it asked, and I felt a strange sympathy flood through me. Not for the destruction it could bring—but for the struggle it faced. It had been locked away for eons, and now it was thrust into a world it didn't understand.

I swallowed hard, feeling an empathy I hadn't expected. It was so... human. So vulnerable.

Technically I was supposed to be dead at this point. I was doing pretty good.

"I can't tell you what you are. But I... I can tell you that you don't have to be what you were made to be."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of its uncertainty. For a moment, I wondered if it even knew what I meant. If it could understand. But then, there was a soft flicker in the light from the moon, as though it had heard me. The energy surrounding us slowed, the dangerous crackling dissipating slightly.

I am the devourer, it said. I've never woken up alone before. I... I can choose? The voice seemed almost fragile now, as if testing the idea. I can... choose what I become?

"Yes," I breathed, not sure where the certainty was coming from. "You can. You just have to decide."

I choose life.

I opened my eyes. The green hills surrounded me, it was warm. I was no longer on the Dragon 10.

"What is this place?" The voice startled me out of my own revelry. A boy no older than five stood next to me. His tanned skin and black hair looked vaguely familiar. 

"I plucked the memory of him," he said out loud. "I think he was a friend."

I nodded, my voice thick. He was a friend, one who had passed too soon from this world.

He turned and pointed up. The moon looked normal, all the cracks were gone.

"I chose life," he said again, his voice for a split fraction of a second reminding me that he held infinite power in the palm of hands. Then he ran down the hill away from me, laughing as he tripped and fell and went rolling. 

I laughed too, my own laughter was alien to my ears. It had been a while since I'd been  this long in the sun, no care in the world. I am a janitor hanging out with a godling, who used to be a devourer. Except he chose life. Nothing was every going to be the same for me.

What was *I* supposed to do now?