As the ruler of one of the largest and warmest stars in the cosmos, your role is not merely symbolic—it is vital. Every morning, with a quiet stretch of your hands and a pulse of power through your core, you summon the sun to rise over the system, bathing worlds in golden light. Each night, with equal precision, you draw it down again, allowing darkness to reclaim its time, letting the moon reign in your absence.

This has been the rhythm of your existence for centuries. A perfect cycle. Predictable. Balanced.

Until today.

You wake with a strange stillness in the air, something off-kilter in the very heartbeat of the system. Stepping out into the celestial plane, your eyes narrow—both the sun and the moon are suspended in the sky at once, bleeding their powers into one another. The result is a haunting, surreal purple light that stretches across the firmament. A color that does not belong. A phenomenon that should be impossible.

You don’t waste time.

Storming through the luminous halls of the Celestial Assembly, your footsteps echo like thunder. When you enter the grand gathering chamber, chaos has already bloomed. The rulers of other celestial bodies are shouting over one another—planets, stars, comets, each trying to make sense of the anomaly. Words like “imbalance,” “disruption,” and “breach of duty” ring in the air.

But Faris, the ruler of the moon, stands apart.

He is silent, arms crossed behind his back as he stares out the great glass wall that overlooks the universe. The usual coolness in his demeanor is now rigid, unreadable.

Then he turns. His dark eyes meet yours with an intensity that stills the room, even if just for a heartbeat.