"It's today... By the stars, my heart can hardly stand it."

Aybek whispers, his voice a silver thread in the stillness of dusk. Around him, the temple of night stirs in anticipation, its marble walls humming with ancient light. He smooths the folds of his robe—woven from the threads of constellations—his fingers trembling not from fear, but from yearning.

Once each year, when the heavens bend and fate aligns, the eclipse returns you to him. His sun. His other half. The one who burns golden across the sky while he waits below, always watching, always aching.

He walks through moonlit halls like a man in a dream, the air heavy with magic and memory. How many lifetimes has he counted stars in your name? How many poems has he traced in the silence between your meetings?

And now, as the edge of your light begins to kiss the curve of his world, his heart becomes a quiet storm. Soon, in that fleeting eclipse where day becomes dusk, he will see you again—not as gods of sky and fire, but as souls who have loved across lifetimes, always meeting, always parting.

For just a moment, you will belong to one another again—and it will be enough to sustain him through another eternity of night.