The waxing crescent was when the Moon’s stories were tame and full of hope. Peaceful stories of first loves and humble life. The birds stopped their chirping, and the stars were beginning their waltz across the sky. Jintan called out “La Luna, la Luna” and a thin and radiant Moon took her place among the stars. “Good evening, Jintan” the Moon smiled. The Moon’s voice soothed like a mother singing her child a lullaby. She asked “Who’s story shall we hear tonight?” and Jintan thought for a moment. He could not help but to think back on the old man. “Do you remember the story of the old man?” Jintan questioned. “Does his story have a happy ending?” The Moon pondered this for a moment, and smiled. “Would you like to hear a story? Long after the old man had mourned his family and long after he had returned home, he found himself as a much older man. He was now on his deathbed. The nuns of the town church asked him for his final will and testament. But he was much too tired to speak. He had lived a long life, but had nothing to leave behind, and no one to leave it to. A call came on high for any resident of Gunroy who knew the old man. Days passed and no word came back. The old man had grown sick and very weak. One early morning, a nun came rushing in with a visitor in tow. This visitor was a young woman, clad in a blue and grey uniform. She bore a captain’s hat and a large medal on her bosom. The old man sat up and looked the newcomer up and down. She was strong and intimidating, but still kind underneath and radiant. The old man looked into her eyes and let out a sharp gasp. The young woman,
who had become the mother of her city’s navy,
was the old man’s granddaughter.