Changkyun is four years old when he first sees him.

“This isn’t something you need to worry about,” his mother soothes, tucking him into his little bed. “I’ll tell you what happens when you wake up tomorrow.” The Village Elder has declared that tonight’s festival will be for adults only, and children younger than the age of seventeen must stay home. Changkyun’s mother smiles, and with a kiss to his forehead, she is gone, leaving behind only the faint scents of her perfume. Changkyun closes his eyes and breathes in the fragrance of water lilies, snuggling deeper into his bed.

He tries to fall asleep – he really does – but the shadows of the flickering firelight on the paper of his window capture his attention, and the beats of the music from the festival vibrate within his body. Changkyun lies awake for hours, opening his eyes wide, and finally decides to slip out of bed. The tile floor chills his bare feet, but Changkyun pads to the window, drags over a stool, and, with difficulty, pushes the wooden frame open.

From his position at the window, Changkyun can barely see the top of the pole set in the center of town. The golden fox statue sitting there shines with light from the bonfire below, and Changkyun knows that his mother is somewhere in the crowd. There is, after all, an important ceremony tonight.

But for what? Changkyun turns his gaze from the golden fox to the surrounding night sky. It’s cold, he realizes, but not so much that he would freeze. It’s the kind of cold that’s clear and frosty, the kind that Changkyun drinks up during the daytime, the kind that signifies that autumn is coming. He spies a big yellow moon hanging in the dark night sky and realizes that, yes, this is what the village is celebrating.

He knows what the Fox Moon is: it’s the biggest moon to hang in the sky that entire year, usually around the time that foxes begin to roam. Changkyun rests his chin on his hands and searches for the fox hidden in the shadows of the moon.

There it is, head pointing down and tail trailing behind. Changkyun wonders if the fox ever feels uncomfortable upside down; he always gets dizzy when he does handstands, so how does the fox manage it for so long?

The boom of a drum brings Changkyun’s attention back to the ceremony. The fire seems to dim, and suddenly, a quiet darkness falls over the village. The haunting tune of a flute rises, and Changkyun swears he sees the moon tremble.

He focuses his gaze doggedly on it, watching for more. The music flows with emotion, and Changkyun feels a tug in his heart. Ripples form in the air around the moon, and the stars flickers in and out of focus. All the while, the flute keeps keening, crying, begging, and at the peak of the music, blinding golden light bursts out from the moon, and Changkyun squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in the crook of his elbow.

When he looks up again, the silvery image of a fox paces the night sky, throwing back its head in impatience, snarling into the air, and that is when Changkyun sees him: the boy, sitting on the back of the golden fox statue on top of the pole in the center of town. He sits serenely, quietly, observing the movements of the spirit, a small smile gracing his lips. The fox shakes itself once, twice, and then, slowly, it pads through the air, leaving behind a trail of stardust, approaching the boy.

The soft light that the fox spirit emits illuminates the boy’s face, and Changkyun notices an affectionate gaze in his eyes. The boy reaches out a hand, as if inviting the fox to join him, and the fox spirit stops, tilting its head to one side. Then, in a swift motion, it dashes forward and disappears into the boy’s chest with a shower of silver sparks.

The impact of accepting the spirit throws the boy off balance, and his grip on the statue loosens. Instinctively, Changkyun cries out, reaching out for the boy as he falls backwards, impossibly slowly, the wind gathering his hair and clothes around him.

As the boy’s fingertips leave the statue, he turns his head towards Changkyun, as if he had heard his cry, and meets his eyes. The boy, Changkyun realizes, is much older than him, and he gives Changkyun a lovely smile, as dazzling as the moon itself, before he falls past the rooftops, down towards the ground, and out of Changkyun’s sight.

***

Changkyun is thirteen when he sees him again.

He walks down a little dirt path, carrying his schoolbooks in a cloth bag slung over his shoulder. He is alone, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t mind. The wheat fields ripple as a crisp autumn wind blows through, and Changkyun closes his eyes, relishing the frosty air.

“Where are you going? What have you done?” a rich voice sings, the melody carried to Changkyun by the wind. Changkyun pauses; the song continues, telling the story of a girl, the daughter of a woodcutter, who fell in love with a forest spirit, a birch tree. He smiles a little, shakes his head, and walks on.

It’s odd, he thinks, how the Village of Yeou, the Village of the Fox, does not associate with its symbol in any way other than the golden statue on top of the pole in the center of town. Changkyun lifts his eyes to the clear blue sky, and he can almost see the wispy trails of the fox spirit in the moon, dashing and merging into a beautiful boy, who falls down, down, down.

Nine years have passed, but Changkyun can never forget the image burned into his mind that night of the Fox Moon, so long ago. There have been many moons since that time, many Fox Moons since, but each year, on the night of the festival, children are forbidden to wander, and Changkyun opens his window, gazing at the festivities below, watching the moon for, perhaps, another fox spirit, listening for the heart-wrenching music of a wooden flute.

There has not been such a grand ceremony since that day, and his mother omits the details of what happened that night. Changkyun asks his teacher for books, but none of them talk about such a ritual, and Changkyun wonders if he had maybe dreamt it all.

It doesn’t matter, he thinks. After all, there are only four more years until he becomes an adult. Then, finally, he will learn the truth that his village seems so eager to keep hidden.

A cool wind rushes in, lifting his hair, and Changkyun’s mood soars. He throws out his arms and abandons the road, running into the wheat fields instead. He makes sure to follow the narrow paths left by the farmers, and the golden stalks of grain rustle as he passes by. Tonight, there is a Fox Moon again, and Changkyun is not yet ready to settle down to keep vigil for a beautiful boy.

He feels a desperate urge in his heart to flee, to run away from the secrets that everyone in this village holds tight. He wants to find that boy, the boy with the fox spirit imbedded deep within his soul, and he wants to run away with him. It’s hopeless, idiotic, he knows, but Changkyun can’t help it; he has always been a bit of a romantic.

But it doesn’t matter. Changkyun dashes along the path, as if he could run away from his own life, and crashes into a blur of rusty orange, falling backwards onto his schoolbag. His chest hurts, but the pain fades away immediately as he sees the fox lying in a dazed heap on the ground.

Without thinking, Changkyun untangles himself from his bag and crawls over to the fox, murmuring soft words of comfort. Hesitatingly, he reaches out a hand, resting it lightly upon the red-orange fur. The fox is warm, and its breath comes in short bursts. Changkyun’s hand trembles, but he slowly the fox, feeling the soft, silky fur glide smoothly under his hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, removing his hand as the fox begins to sit up. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

The fox at a front paw, regarding Changkyun with a tilted head, amber gaze curious and unafraid. Changkyun sits back on his heels, unsure of what to do. He is not familiar with animal behavior, but this fox doesn’t seem to act entirely like a fox; in fact, it seems almost human.

Changkyun almost opens his mouth to ask, but the fox flicks its tail and disappears into the wheat. He can do no more than gape at the still-swishing stalks, heart bursting from an emotion that he cannot explain.

He grabs his schoolbag, rushes home, and slams the door to his room. His mother is busy preparing for the ceremony tonight, and Changkyun slumps against the door, panting. He doesn’t know why his heart is beating so quickly; maybe it’s because of the hauntingly sweet flute music that flows through his mind, or maybe it’s from the hope that tonight, the boy will finally come again.

Changkyun shakes his head and throws himself onto the bed. Fox or not, he decides, he will continue his search for the boy and spirit. Tonight, the air will be cold, but Changkyun will open his window, close his eyes, and hope for a miracle.

***

Changkyun is seventeen when he sees him for the last time.

Only the Fox Moon hangs in the sky tonight. The stars hide behind wispy clouds, and Changkyun walks beside his mother to the center of town. The time has come again for the village to hold a Fox Moon ceremony, and this year, Changkyun is able to attend.

His mother tells him that he will hear the story tonight. He will learn the truth behind the boy with the silver fox, the myth of the golden fox statue on top of the pole in the center of the village, and the reason for the lack of foxes in the history of the town.

Changkyun raises his gaze to the moon. It seems to expand to fill the entire world, devouring everything within sight, and Changkyun shivers, lowering his eyes to the stone road beneath his feet.

He is dressed in white, wearing the simplest of clothes: a shirt, pants, and a loose robe. The shoes on his feet are made of canvas cloth, the kind worn only for funerals and somber events. Changkyun cannot stop the feeling of uncertainty that rises in his chest, but he can already see the flickering light of the bonfire beneath the pole in the center of town, and it is too late to turn back.

Changkyun stands with his classmates, all just barely seventeen, and bows low to the Village Elder, who commands them to kneel.

“It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea…”

“When humans and foxes coexisted in harmony, the world was a beautiful place of lush green forests and sparkling clear streams. Foxes roamed through the shadows of the forest, and humans settled in the open plains. Different as they may have been, both civilizations survived through wit and hard work.

“That was, of course, before the humans deceived the foxes and sparked the War of Worlds. Because of their loss, the foxes banished their king to the moon, and humans would forevermore hunt their former friends for game and business.

“However, the furious King of Foxes cursed the humans with a price for their betrayal: every thirteen years – for that was the number of years the war lasted – the spirit of the King of Foxes would descend from the moon to claim a human soul, a young boy barely of age, and that boy would walk the earth in shame for thirteen years, until the next time the Fox King would appear.”

This year, the cycle ends, and Changkyun realizes with a jolt that the boy he saw that day, that beautiful boy, was the chosen soul, and the silver fox spirit from the moon was the King of Foxes. The crowd parts to make way for someone, and Changkyun holds back a gasp.

The boy comes forward, black hair falling over his eyes, pale skin glowing in the firelight, and Changkyun sees that he has not aged since thirteen years ago. The boy meets Changkyun’s eyes, and he tilts his head in a familiar way, eyes flashing amber.

The fox in the wheat fields, Changkyun remembers, when he was thirteen. He feels his eyes b with tears, overwhelmed by the truth, and the boy smiles slightly, lifting his head to the moon. He closes his eyes and falls to his knees in front of the fire. The haunting melody of a wooden flute whirls around the boy and his potential successors, forming a wall of silver-blue light, separating them from the outside crowd.

The boy falls forward onto his elbows, arching his back, and transforms. A glowing golden fox lies on the ground in place of the boy, and it rises, stretching. The music swells, and the fox pads around the circle of boys – once, twice, three times – finally slowing and stopping in front of Changkyun.

In an instant, the silver ring of light dissipates, and the fox sits down, tail wrapping around its paws. Wordlessly, the Elder motions for Changkyun to remove his robe and gestures towards the pole.

Changkyun looks up; the moon is bright tonight, and he knows what he must do. Slowly, he walks forward, discarding his thin robe, and places his trembling hands onto the pole. The air is cold on his bare skin, the pole carved with many ridges and embellishments, and Changkyun climbs easily to the golden fox on top. His fingers wrap around its ears, and he pulls himself up to sit on its back.

The flute sings a story of sorrow and betrayal, of a girl who fell in love with a fox, of a jealous lover who started a war between worlds, of a painful process to reach peace once more. Changkyun closes his eyes, opens his arms, and waits for the Fox King.

Finally, at the of the music, Changkyun opens his eyes, and in a burst of silver light, the King of Foxes appears, lithe and graceful, treading starlight. It turns to Changkyun, curiosity shining in its eyes, and approaches slowly. Awed beyond his knowledge, Changkyun watches it move through the air, and the Fox King stops in front of him, so close that he can make out the individual hairs on its pelt, count the number of whiskers on its snout.

Changkyun lets out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and the Fox King twitches an ear. Then, without warning, it snarls and leaps, and a heavy coldness envelopes Changkyun’s soul. He feels his consciousness slipping away into silver-white starlight, and he is slipping backwards off the golden fox, the wind pulling his clothes and hair around his body.

Changkyun’s eyes find the yellow moon, and he sees the face of the boy who came before him, sees himself with the King of Foxes, sees the boy who must come next. He sees his future for the next thirteen years, and then, he falls.

By the time Changkyun hits the ground, he is a fox, pelt dusty red, landing gracefully on his paws. Gaze sweeping once over the humans gathered around him, Changkyun pads away. The crowd parts to make way, and Changkyun sees his mother crying.

But it doesn’t matter anymore; he is the Fox King. He is the being who lives in the moon, the spirit who takes revenge on the humans who betrayed his trust. He is immortal; he is the truth.

***

In the darkness of the wheat fields beyond the edge of town, Changkyun transforms. He still wears the simple clothes from the Fox Moon ceremony, but he kicks off his shoes and smiles. With a tilt of his head towards the big yellow moon hanging in the sky, Changkyun kneels down to greet a fox, the one with the rust-colored pelt, the one he ran into four years ago in these exact fields, the one that had previously been a boy chosen to host the King of Foxes.

The boy’s name is Kihyun, and he has chosen the life of a fox. Changkyun stands, scoops Kihyun into his arms, and heads into the dense forest that will be his home for the next thirteen years - and possibly many years after.

It’s not so bad after all, he thinks. Not when he knows the truth.