Moon Evans – Journal Entry
August 4, 2025
Location: Rooftop Garden, Early Morning

The city never really sleeps. It only exhales—slowly—between one suffering and the next.

Last night, I went to Mercy General. Not as a patient. Not even as a monk. Just as someone who could help.

The Harbinger’s Gift hums quietly in my hands now. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t roar. It’s soft, like warm water trickling over cracked stone. When I reach out to someone in pain, the Gift responds without hesitation. I didn’t think it would feel this natural. I suppose the human body still recognizes kindness, even when it comes cloaked in the unnatural.

The ICU was quiet. Machines beeped, and I listened to their rhythm like prayer bells. I touched no one who was awake. A woman recovering from surgery, a girl barely holding on to her breath, a man whose bones were tired from fighting cancer. I didn’t do miracles. I just… nudged nature gently back toward balance. The rest is up to them.

I wonder what the nurses thought, this morning, when they read the charts. Will they chalk it up to luck? Medicine’s margin for mystery is shrinking, but still—maybe they'll just be grateful.

There is a temptation to do more. Stay longer. Fix what’s broken in this city. But I know where that road leads. Even healing can become hunger, if you let it define you.

So I left before sunrise. My hands still warm.

For now.

—Moon