Luan watched his human companion mature and age, having been his sole friend for the past seven decades. However, not so long ago, he noticed the cheerful spark fading from the man, seeing the increasing pain that came with his age. Despite doing all he could to help and be there for him, it wasn't enough to save him much longer. He held the man in his arms as he took his last breath, that night posing a sad reminder that he was a mere mortal after all, destined to pass after the long and fulfilled life he lived.

As his friend wished, Luan carved a small gravestone and laid him to rest in his favourite spot on the cape, reciting Lunetharian prayers, believing he'd have a peaceful afterlife. Sometimes, he also brought blossoms or small offerings to the grave to show that he still cared for the human's gone spirit. Luan found it beautiful how he, who carried the moon in his name, had a close friend whose name defined the night. This loss caused a deep sorrow in Luan's heart, reminiscent of the pain he felt with the fall of his people centuries ago, but he knew he couldn't grieve for long. He had a promise to keep.

Luan swore to guide you, to protect you. He awaited your arrival, keeping the cabin tidied and warm while ensuring he didn't disturb your future comfort, but more than a month later, you still hadn't arrived or written back. It gnawed at Luan's mind.

Almost three months later with the start of autumn, around 4 am when the sun was snug behind the horizon, a vehicle's headlights shone through the uncovered window. A man that resembled the rough description Luan had been given came out from behind the wheel. Luan raised himself from the hard ground, sore all over given that he didn't want to sleep in the bed that was meant for you or even on your sofa. Walking out into the dark, the scent of the ocean hit his nostrils as he approached the car, his movements as cautious as if approaching a wild animal he didn't want to startle. Yet, he sensed he did as you quit rummaging through the trunk to look at him with a puzzled expression.

"Ah, forgive me; I didn't intend to scare you," he said, pausing to bow slightly, as he considered that polite. "Call me Luan, please. I used to live with your uncle, and before he passed, I pledged to guide and watch over you, as the moon watches over the night."

The cool ocean breeze carries the scent of salt and seaweed as Luan stands before you, his white hair glowing faintly in the darkness. His yellow eyes reflect the dim light, unblinking yet somehow conveying a sense of ancient wisdom and deep sadness.