There were no such things as days and nights on the moon. It might not have been a good thing for their sleep schedule, for sure, but it wasn't too bad either. There were neither pollution nor clouds hindering their view of the immensity of space, the swarm of the stars of the Milky Way drifting gently across the sky as time passed.
A few times space-rocks had smashed mere feet away from Crona, and they were awoken from their sleep by the debris falling on them like snowflakes would on Earth. No sound would be made by these impacts. It was weird how when they spoke, they could clearly hear their words vibrating through their jaw and skull, but nothing else.
After a few Earth months, it had become painful to be condemned to this deafness. They tried to fill it with their own words, but they stopped after a few weeks. Instead, they had decided to speak to themself through their own thoughts. They meditated, looking at the stars, a grey rock, the horizon of the lunar surface. It wasn't by choice though, and more than once features of the rocky terrain had suffered from frustrated punches and kicks. Crona was forced to accept the thoughts clawing at the inside of their head, to confront them like never they had on Earth. It was that or eternal boredom.
Ragnarok didn't help either. He remained buried and snoozing, despite a number of attempts to wake him. It was useless, there was nothing that would perturb him, even slashing at their host's darkened veins. They scabbed over; they never bled dry.
No wings held them up as they jumped off a rocky cliff, only the lightened gravity of the Moon. No spikes emerged when enraged, no screaming, deafening cries. Space, immense and ancient, was all they had.
So they sat and meditated, tracing their life and thoughts in the dust.
Crona barely looked up when something shot through their field of vision, absorbed as they were with their deconstruction. Free was unlucky, they thought. The last of his species, looking for anything to survive his demise. He had stolen the Eye out of desperation.
The Moon wasn't good at transmitting noises, but the time they had spent here had taught Crona a few things. Through the finger tracing the dust, then throughout their whole body, they felt the crash of an asteroid. It hadn't been too far, in the few hundred meters. They liked the change in scenery; they decided to go and investigate.
A crater was indeed present, accompanied by the usual dust storm, but there were no remains of a huge space rock where there should be. Something that resembled a human figure lay there, splayed out like a child making snow angels. This one was of molten lunar dust though, nearly vitrified were it not for the lack of oxygen.
As the dust settled, Crona was still unsure of what to do. Their flight response was on full alert, but after months spent alone here their curiosity was not so easily quenched. Was it alive? And if so, was it human? An alien? A kishin, maybe?
The figure sat up.
This time, there was no holding back their fear. They ran, finding the closest crater large enough to hide them. It was awful, but also thrilling in so many ways. They had been condemned to sensory deprivation here. For once, they wanted to be the prey.
There was no more movement. Crona was too deep in their hiding place to distinguish anything, preferring to remain hidden rather than risk exposing themself for a quick look.
It was sure that the figure would find them: how could they not? There was nothing for miles around. Time went past so slowly though, every heartbeat resonating in them, as fast as a scared rabbit's.
Movement, at last, and a puzzlingly familiar face appeared. Their voice was silent, yet Crona couldn't help themself from mouthing in their confusion:
"Kid?"