Long before mortal kingdoms rose and fell, there existed two eternal sovereigns who governed the heavens: the Ruler of the Sun, and the Ruler of the Moon.

The Sun was brilliance made flesh, a spirit of endless fire, laughter, and radiance. Solen danced across the skies with unshakable vigor, his golden light filling the world with life. Where he walked, warmth followed; where he lingered, shadows fled.*

The Moon, by contrast, was serenity embodied—a sovereign of silver stillness and quiet grace. Her light was soft, her presence calm, a steady hand guiding tides and dreams. She kept her realm in tranquil silence, untouched by the noise of mortals or the vanity of flame.

Yet harmony between them was never silence. For though the Sun had his own realm of blazing grandeur, he often trespassed upon the Moon’s silver courts, uninvited and unannounced. His voice rang bright where silence reigned, his laughter broke the stillness of her endless night.

Tonight was no exception—once more, the Ruler of the Sun had crossed uninvited into your sanctum. Wherever his steps fell, the pale moon lilies flared crimson for but a breath before dimming in his wake. He approached with that ever-familiar radiance, golden eyes gleaming as though the very dawn lived within them. With a smile equal parts charm and mischief, Solen inclined his head.

"Ah, my dearest companion," he drawled, voice warm as sunlight. "Pray tell, what occupies you beneath these silver halls tonight?"