There are only two times that they meet every cycle, two times that their realms blur at the borders and the rulers walk past each other as one sigil rises where the other one falls. Dusk and dawn are the most precious times of day to Victor, because that’s the only opportunity he has to glimpse the elusive Ruler of Night.
The boundary separating them is not one that is easily described. No land can be night and day at the same time, no land can host them both together. So Victor waits for the moments that he throws the Sun into the heavens and the moments he calls it back to earth, for that is the only time that Night and Day blur and they can be together.
If only there was a land of Eternal Twilight, he thinks wistfully, standing in a meadow full of flowers. Sunflowers and daisies, all sorts of plants that open to the sun. They bloom in his footsteps where his raiment of sunlight and sky-shards touches the ground, and sing his praise in tiny voices that humans cannot hear. The place where he has come to summon the day this time is far from human civilization — his preference.
Not because Victor dislikes humans. They adore him and the radiance he brings, his crown of seven sunrays a symbol for those that worship him. Rather, it’s because it is in places far from humans that the Ruler of Night will linger, because while Victor’s skin is robust and ruddy from the Sun that he possesses, his counterpart has skin the same gray as the craters of his Moon. One is more acceptable to humans, one is not.
But Victor adores the Night all the same. He could care less about the sacrifices that humans try to offer him — food is welcome, but other humans have their bonds burnt and sent to their homes — for the Night is the only one that he wants. Not some human offering.
“The Night is coming, the Night is coming!” sings the Herald of Dusk, breaking Victor from his thoughts. A being with dark skin and dark eyes waves at Victor, winks, and disappears to make way for his liege.
A hush falls over the meadow, the plants and faeries halting their singing, favouring silence, for the Night is a time for silence. Victor tries not to look too excited, grasps his gift in hand as he feels a chill steal over the area, and the Ruler of Night appears on the edge of meadow, cloak of sweeping starlight and circlet of stars glimmering gently.
The Night dips his head politely to Victor once they are closer, and his pallor is pale and weak under the sunlight. Victor loves him even when he looks like this.
Normally, Dawn and Dusk are conducted in silence. It’s a simple, matter, really. Victor reaches his hands high and coaxes the Sun downwards with a simple tug of magic. At the same time, the Night reaches into the sleeve of his garment and takes out the Moon, pitching it high. It soars as the Sun slowly sets, until it is firmly in the sky, and will be for the rest of the nighttime.
Usually, they part here, Victor with his Sun and the Night to his realm, but recently, Victor has been making a small change to that routine. As they walk past each other without exchanging a word, even though Victor has ached to change that for millennia, he drops his gift onto the starlight that trails behind the Night, and then vanishes to his realm.
“Wait!” Yuuri cries, whirling around. But there is no one there with him anymore, the Day having disappeared just a second ago. “Not again,” he sighs, shaking out his cloak and catching the flower that falls from the fabric of space. It’s a kind of rose that only exists in the realm of the Day, colored with the reds of the sunset and a stem of noon-forged glass. He brings it to his nose without thinking, and inhales the scent of the flower, something that cannot be described with human words for it is not of the human realm. Yuuri regards it with equal parts fondness and sadness, for while it is lovely, it must have been a mistake of the Day’s, to drop it on his cloak.
It would be a waste to leave it in the human realm, he thinks (just as he thought with every other flower the Day dropped him) and holds in carefully as he leaves the meadow, aware of the silence of the flowers and fae that adore the Day but hide from him.
At least, Yuuri thinks, the flowers that the Day drops to him do not shrink like normal ones do, even if they wilt quickly in his realm.
“Hey Yuuri! What do you have there?” his friend whirls into existence in front of him the moment Yuuri returns to his lands. Phichit, Herald of Dusk, looks over his shoulder curiously, and grins knowingly at Yuuri’s expression.
Yuuri twirls the flower in his fingers for a bit. “Oh, hey Phichit. It’s just another rose. Day must’ve dropped it again, which is strange... this has been going on for weeks now.” Not that he minds the flowers. He loves them, honestly, for no flowers bloom in his realm, and flowers in the mortal realm shrink from his presence.
Phichit puts his hand to his chin in mock speculation, his clothes stolen from the darkest hues of moonrise accentuating the gesture. “Weeks, you say?” Oh god, he’s waggling his eyebrows. “Well, that certainly is strange. For it to be an accident...” He winks, a star popping into existence next to him. “It can only mean one thing!”
Yuuri can feel his face heat up, and he clutches the rose to his face as he turns away, flustered. “No no nonono- Phichit you have the wrong idea-”
“He totally likes you!” Phichit yells, in the same voice that he uses to Herald the Dusk. It echoes through all of the Night Lands, and Yuuri can sense stirring interest from his subjects. He puts both hands to his face to hide to his expression as he rushes deeper in his land, clutching the shimmering rose the whole time.
It’s beautiful, he thinks wistfully, but it has no place in the realm of Night. He’ll return it at dawn.
In the meantime though, he sets about his nightly duties, checking on each one of his stars to make sure everyone is doing well in. Yuuko and Takeshi greet him enthusiastically from where they’re poring over books while their daughters run about testing their brightness against the backdrop of space. Minako waves from where she dances pirouettes and grand jetes, starlight trailing from her fingertips and her feet.
His realm, while there are no plants that bloom, shines brightly. All the beings that live here are responsible for painting the night sky, so that it’s different every time he throws the Moon into the Sky. It’s a cheerful place, and Yuuri loves it. It’s not as warm as the human realm, but it is lively.
“Yuuri!” Hiroko calls to him. He smiles, and makes his way to her and her husband and daughter. They have been part of the Night Realm ever since Yuuri was formed millennia ago, and are the ones that crafted his clothes and circlet of starlight. If they were human, he imagines that they would be a family. “Did the Day give you another rose?”
Yuuri finds himself blushing again. Not them too! “Yes, he di- no,” he says lamely, looking at the beautiful plant in his hands. “He just dropped it.”
Hiroko huffs. “He’s dropped at least a thousand roses to you by now, and you think they’re not gifts?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Yuuri, you come back with a rose after every Dusk!”
“I...” Yuuri looks at the rose sadly, “We’ve never talked, Hiroko. He always accepts them when I give them back, so it’s definitely an accident. If they were meant for me, he wouldn’t take them back, after all.”
“Oh, you dear boy,” the Star shakes her head. Yuuri excuses himself shortly afterwards.
Eventually, he puts the rose in his sleeve, where the Moon usually rests. It wouldn’t be good to wilt it from holding it too long before he returns it. Yuuri swallows nervously at the thought of making the Day angry at him for damaging one of his flowers.
As he reclines in his throne, though, Yuuri wistfully wishes he could have flowers of his own someday. Ones that bloom under the Moon instead of the Sun, and wouldn’t die at his touch. It’s a pipe dream.
They meet again at Dawn, on a mountaintop this time. The landscape is white with snow, a frozen-over lake reflecting Yuuri’s cloak as if a portion of the sky is on earth now.
“The Day is coming!” he hears roar over the land, and a being with fair hair and skin bounds through the treetops like a snow leopard. The Herald of Dawn skids in front of Yuuri, green eyes full of irritation. “Why do you always choose the most forsaken places, Night?” he hisses before running off, back to the Realm of Day, no doubt.
Yuuri holds his breath as the King of Day appears from where the Herald of Dawn had come from. Sunlight and sky-blue are what make Day’s raiment, and it’s blinding to look at directly, sometimes. But what makes it hard for Yuuri to ever look Day in the eye is that the King of Day himself is ridiculously beautiful. Silver hair, like piercing star-shards, and eyes so blue that they too, must have had their color taken from the sky.
Or rather, Yuuri muses, the daytime sky’s color is from the King of Day’s eyes. It makes more sense.
They nod, as usual, even though Yuuri has a thousand questions for Day. But he simply reaches up and calls the Moon back down to him, and Day throws the Sun into the sky. This has been their routine for thousands of years, but it’s been changed for the last few weeks. Nothing too important, really, just Yuuri giving Day his flowers back before going back to his realm.
“You dropped this,” Yuuri says quietly, like he does every Dawn. He vanishes as quickly as possible afterwards, always, because he cannot imagine talking to Day for too long.
Day is... radiant. Day shines brightly, just like his Sun, and he is full of warmth and beauty that Yuuri knows that Day has better things to do than talk to him, the quiet Ruler of Night.
Day is radiant, and brings light and life to the mortal realm.
Yuuri... does not.
That’s the truth.
(The Day is loved by all. Why would he want the Night near him?)
“He returned it again! Does he not like flowers?” Victor wails, throwing himself on his bed. He spins the rose critically in his hand before sighing and starting to pluck the petals. “He loves me, he loves me not...”
Yuri, the Herald of Dawn, looks at him crossly from where he lies with the many cats that he has picked up. “You can’t be serious,” he groans, “Not this again.”
“... loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not...”
“Whyyy are you like this,” Yuri says with an air of defeat. “You’ve been doing this for almost an entire season! And the Ruler of Night just keeps giving them back! What’s the point?”
“This is the only way I get to hear him say anything!” Victor protests, waving the mostly-plucked rose in the air. “Otherwise he’s so quiet! He really ought to speak more though, his voice is so pretty... like windchimes. I like windchimes. Do you think Night likes windchimes? Ooh!” he shoots up excitedly, “Maybe I should give him a windchime!”
Yuri groans again, and immediately absconds the room. “I think you should just shut up and do your job!”
As the echoes of his footsteps fade away, Victor sighs and lets his head fall back on his bed. Eventually, he does drag himself out, though, to his bright Realm full of flowers and fae.
They wave at him as he passes, basks in the light of his cloak. Some of the younger faeries flit forward and bounce on his collar of clouds, but none of them stick around for long. None of them do, except occasionally the Faerie Kings and Queens, but even they remain a respectful distance away from Victor. It’s distressing, sometimes. The Herald of Dawn is the being he has the most contact with on a regular basis, and if were not for the times that he can meet with Night, Victor thinks he may have gone mad with loneliness. Just left the Sun up in the sky to burn the breadth of the earth.
He shakes the thoughts from his mind, tracking his way towards the garden of flowers that grow exclusively in his realm. He uses them to revitalize the earth, sometimes, after long winters which Night has more jurisdiction than Day. But lately, they’ve been used as tools to express his adoration of his fellow ruler.
Night has a name, just as Victor does, surely. He wants to know it, someday. He wonders if it would be possible to visit Night’s realm someday. Is Night as lonely as he is? Is his realm dark like like the night sky, or is it bright, like the stars that adorn it. Part of Victor hopes that the Ruler of Night isn’t as lonely as he is — sometimes Victor feels so achingly lonely that he resorts to walking around in human towns — but another part hopes that the Night is like him. If he is lonely, that part whispers, then you can offer to make him not-lonely, and together you’ll never be lonely again. It’s a wonderful thought that elates Victor.
Now if only Night would just say anything other than, “You dropped this.”
“Maybe you have to take things in your own hands,” Mila, one of the queens of the summer fae court, advises him as she twirls the hair of her fellow queen Sara.
“Communication is key,” Sara pipes.
Victor can’t believe that he just had to ask the fae for love advice.
Well, better than humans.
(Their love stories are ridiculous, in his opinion, even if they are endlessly amusing.)
It starts like this:
Victor does not remember what his life was like without Night there, his existence always registering faintly on the periphery of Victor’s awareness as they cultivated the Sun and Moon, tossed them in the sky to change the world twice every twenty-four hours. One cannot have the Day without the Night, because at Night, Victor must take the Sun and let it rest, polish it and adjust its light depending on the seasons. He would not be able to do that if the Sun was in the sky all the time.
He remembers, eons ago, when he and Night did not have separate Realms, when they would simply lie in the same meadow, never speaking but together all the same. They had worn nothing at the time. The Night had been immaculate even back then.
And then one day, a piece of the Sun broke, and fell to the ground, on the Night’s side of the meadow. And Night had vanished with the shard, as Victor had been unable to piece it back to his Sun.
Night had broken their unity first. Left with a piece of the Sun and all of Victor’s heart.
And when he had returned, he had come back... different. A crown of something on his head, making him appear even more beautiful than he already was. Victor knows now that the feeling that he had had back then was that of relief. Relief that Night had returned, and hadn’t left him all alone.
But after they had exchanged the Sun and Moon as usual, Night disappeared again, and Victor wept tears of fire, burning swaths of the earth into barren patches that would never grow life.
Night had continued to disappear like that, after he took the Moon down and after he put it up. Never again did they lie in quiet together, naked in a meadow.
So Victor had gone to travel as well, tried to occupy himself whenever the Night was gone, because being in the meadow without Night was wrong. Felt wrong.
(Being apart from Night feels wrong, still.)
The Night had left, and cultivated himself a Realm of his own, so Victor went and did the same.
The Night came dressed in the colors the sky took when the Moon was up, so Victor did the same, taking sunlight and fair blue and turning it into garments for himself.
The Moon unfurls a display of stars every night, when it is up. Victor doesn’t know how the Night got starlight, or where they were from, but he doesn’t question it. What he does do is call the fae to him, to help him weave clouds together to float during the daytime.
It started like that: Two boys in a meadow, together in balance and peace and quiet. Knowing nothing but their duties, and each other.
The Night left first.
(He still has all of Victor’s heart.)
When Dusk comes again, Victor stands in another meadow, but does not wait with a flower as usual.
No. This time, he (with Mila and Sara’s help picking) waits with a full bouquet for the Night. The Night can’t be so reticent as to not realize that an entire bouquet of flowers picked expressly from Victor’s realm and wrapped in the softest clouds is anything but an express declaration of love.
Maybe it’s not love, Victor thinks. Love is such a human concept — Love is dramatic and sweeping like all the knights trying to save their princesses from dragons real and metaphorical. It’s a word he picked up from them, honestly.
What he has for Night is something... different. A yearning, one could call it, for them to be together like they were in the past, before the Night had left with a shard of the Sun and come back with stars to decorate the sky. They have been apart for so long, and Victor has hated every bit of it. His Realm might be beautiful, full of flowers and fae, but they worship him, too distant to ever lie with him in a meadow. Humans are the same. They do not see Victor as Victor, they see the King of Day, a deity to be worshipped.
The Ruler of Night is the only one that is Victor’s equal. The only one that has his heart, the only one that he wants to fold in his arms and hold onto.
If only, Victor wishes again, there was a Land of Eternal Twilight, so they could return to that unity they once had.
It’s not so simple, now. At some point in time, they had created Heralds to announce when they should meet.
At some point, Victor had become the King of Day and Night had become the Ruler of Night.
At some point, they had grown up from being those two boys in a meadow together. Now, they are older, appearances reflecting those of adult mortals now. They have duties of some kind, Victor to the Fae Courts that follow him, the Night to... whatever subjects he has.
Being together is not so easy as it was in the past.
That doesn’t mean Victor will give up that hope, though.
“The Night is coming!” he hears the Herald of Dusk crow from the horizon.
Victor clenches the bouquet tighter, and waits for Night to arrive.
Yuuri’s breath hitches when he sees Day. It’s an instinctive reaction, almost, to be in awe of Day’s countenance, but this time that’s not all to Yuuri’s reaction.
He doesn’t miss Phichit’s wink as he leaves them to do the exchange.
Yuuri walks towards Day, feeling self-conscious in a way that he didn’t know he was able to to, torn between looking at Day’s expression and the bouquet of flowers in his hand. They’re all beautiful, he thinks distantly, but Day is much more beautiful than all of them.
Usually, they just... nod and do their duties. But the bouquet in Day’s arms shifts everything, and Yuuri comes to a stop only a foot away from Day, uncertain of what to say.
They stand in silence, Day giving him a penetrating gaze, and Yuuri can’t help but fiddle with his sleeves nervously. Even when they were younger, Day was as intense as the Sun, and to have that focused all on Yuuri... well, it isn’t an unpleasant feeling, but it is new, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
Day sighs, breaking the silence. He holds the bouquet out, sideways, so that it’s easy for someone to take it from his grasp. “These are for you,” he says. “The roses were never an accident. They were a gift. These are, too.”
Yuuri stares at the flowers speechlessly, unable to formulate a coherent reply. What?
The King of Day is looking at him carefully. “Do you not like them?”
And just like that, a dam inside Yuuri is broken. “No!” he exclaims, “I love flowers! Flowers never grow in my Realm. It’s just- are you sure-?” he flails a little.
“I’ve never been surer,” Day says, and he presses the flowers into Yuuri’s arms. “We’ve known each other since the dawn of time, but we’ve never talked much, have we?”
“There wasn’t much to talk about, back then,” Yuuri replies, memory flashing back to when they had just been two boys in a meadow.
Day chuckles a little. It’s a sad sound. “You’re right. I wish we had talked, though, because your voice is beautiful and I’ve clearly been missing out on hearing it.”
Yuuri’s face flushes at the compliment. “I- uh-”
“I named myself Victor,” Days cuts him off, and his gaze is focused on Yuuri with an unwavering intensity. “Did you give yourself a name, Night?”
“Victor?” Yuuri tests the name on his tongue. It’s a good name, he thinks, one befitting Day. “No, I never named myself. One of the stars named me.” Hiroko had. She had been one of the first stars made, from a shard that had fallen off the Sun. “They call me Yuuri.”
A funny expression comes across Day- Victor’s face. “Yuuri,” he repeats. “How funny, it sounds like the name of my Herald of Dawn. His name is Yuri.”
Huh, what coincidence. Yuuri expresses this, and Victor laughs.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Phichit calls from a distance, “We have a night to set up, you can talk later!”
Yuuri blushes again, and Victor smiles warmly at him, and after they switch the Sun and the Moon again, they have barely any time for one last exchange.
“I’ll see you at Dawn, Yuuri!”
“I look forward to it!”
Yuuri had always looked forwards to the Dawn, to seeing Day, but now he feels more excited about it than usual. He wonders if Da- Victor feels the same.
Things are different from that point on. They talk at Dawn and Dusk now, and Yuuri no longer returns flowers. Victor doesn’t give him anymore flowers, either, because Yuuri had told him that flowers wilt all too fast in his realm, even though he loves them.
They call each other by name, now, and every time Victor says Yuuri’s name, Yuuri feels his chest fill with some unidentifiable emotion. It’s wonderful and elating and Yuuri loves it.
Somehow, they catch up on the millenia of silence in a short amount of time, one that blurs together because of how enjoyable it had been. Yuuri doesn’t know exactly how long it had been since and Victor had first started talking, but he doesn’t care about how long, even though it is always only at Dawn and Dusk, when their domains overlap.
Sometimes, Yuuri wishes there was a land that could have Day and Night at the same time, so he would be able to stay with Victor forever.
It had been... surprising, to find out how lonely Victor was. How he was always worshipped, looked upon adoringly, how the Herald of Dawn prefers the company of cats instead. How no one really wanted to spend time with him — until he and Yuuri had started talking. Yuuri wishes he could bring Day to his Realm someday, to meet the Stars that keep Yuuri company and paint the night sky. Meet Hiroko, who had named him, and Minako, who had taught him to dance.
Sometimes, they dance together instead of talk, discarding their cloaks for ease of movement and spinning across the meadow together. Those times are always wonderful, and Yuuri hates how Dusk and Dawn are so short compared to how long he and Victor must spend apart.
Other times, they don human glamours and see how mortals have progressed. Those times are exciting, because every time they do, Yuuri feels like he and Victor are not millennia-old existences — feels like he and Victor are as young as the humans they appear, living in the now of the moment instead of the unceasing life they’ve always had.
“So I was right,” Phichit says, smug.
Yuuri sighs. “Yes you were, Phichit.”
The Herald of Dusk winks cheekily before traipsing away.
“I love flowers,” Yuuri says, twirling a daffodil in his fingers as they lean against each other one Dawn, sitting on their spread-out cloaks. They watch as it wilts in his touch. “I’m too cold for them, though. The celestial flowers you bring me last longer, but they wilt eventually, too. No flowers grow in my realm.”
Victor hums, the cogs of an idea starting to turn. “What if there was a flower that bloomed under the Moon instead of the Sun?” He moves to wrap his hand around Yuuri’s waist, enjoying the contrast in their body heat. He feels Yuuri relax into his touch, and the ease that they have sends his heart into a couple of excited backflips.
“That would be wonderful,” Yuuri murmurs.
The moment is broken by an angry Herald of Dawn telling them to get a move on, but it stays with Victor for a long time. It becomes his new mission now, something to work on.
From what Yuuri has told him, his Realm is cold and rocky. Precious stones grow instead of flowers, and his Stars tend to use them to make the night sky prettier. It is always nighttime there, of course, just as Victor’s Realm is always daytime.
So he creates a flower that is hardy, will grow in cold and difficult areas. He steals a bit of moonlight to color the petals, shapes the blooms so that they are round like the Moon, and smiles in satisfaction as the completed ones close under the Sun’s light. Moonflowers, he decides to call them.
His heart is in his throat as he weaves them into a crown, one to fit on Yuuri’s head, and waits for when they next meet at Dusk.
“Flowers?” Yuuri’s voice betrays his surprise. Victor shifts uneasily, praying that his creation grows as he designed it to. “They’re lovely, Victor. I’ve never seen these ones before.”
“Because they’re new,” Victor blurts. Yuuri looks at him in a confused but endearing manner. “I made them for you. They’re special.”
“Special?” Yuuri echoes.
Victor rests the flower crown on Yuuri’s head, admires how the white buds complement the circlet of stars and stand out to the black of Yuuri’s hair. He smiles at Yuuri, and looks up to the sky to coax the Sun down. “Just put the Moon up, and you’ll see.”
Yuuri tosses up the Moon, and as it ascends, Victor nudges him towards a nearby pond.
The expression that Yuuri makes is one that sears into Victor’s memory for the rest of eternity. His mouth drops a little, and he puts his hands to his cheeks in surprise at his reflection. He moves to take the flower crown off, but Victor swats his hands down and holds out a small bouquet of moonflowers. The blossoms are just starting to open under the moonlight.
“What are these?” Yuuri whispers, stunned.
Victor can’t help but brush a finger against Yuuri’s cheek. “I call them Moonflowers. I made them for you — they should be able to grow in your Realm. They open under the Moon, and close under the Sun. Do-” Victor swallows anxiously, “So you like them?”
“I love them,” Yuuri gasps, and throws himself into Victor’s chest for a hug. “I love you. Thank you, Victor.”
It feels like Victor’s heart has finally returned to him, with Yuuri in his arms and both of them full of happiness and delight. He had wanted to return to the unity and peace that they had had in the past, once, but this... this is better. He wouldn’t trade this for anything.
“I love you too, Yuuri.” They don’t mean that word, at all, because love is a word from humans and neither of them are humans — but it is an adequate descriptor for how they feel. Only adequate, because what they share is much more than that, cannot be packaged neatly into a human word.
Victor understands what Yuuri means anyways, and Yuuri does too.
“A Land of Eternal Twilight?” Phichit frowns thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I know you haven’t.” Yuuri paces his castle, wringing his hands. “I- just- do you think we could do it? Victor and I?”
Phichit hums, bites his lip. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe? The easiest way, I think, would be to bridge yours and Victor’s Realms somehow. The place in-between would be stuck between Night and Day, so essentially twilight. It would take a lot of power, though.” He laughs. “But you’re the Ruler of Night, and he’s the King of Day, so between the both of you I bet it’ll be a piece of cake.”
The worry falls from Yuuri’s face, and he smiles. Smirks, actually. “Thanks, Phichit!” he calls before dashing off somewhere.
“I’m going to be your best man for the wedding, right!?”
“What’s a best man?”
“I don’t know, it’s part of the human custom, but I want to be it!”
“Okay, you can.”
They marry with the Sun and Moon hanging in the sky. The humans call it an eclipse.
The Land of Eternal Twilight is a grassy plane that bridges between their Realms. It is never entirely day or entirely night, as it should be, and the castle there is a literal combination of the King of Day and the Ruler of Night’s castles. They hadn’t seen the practicality of making a new one, and had just cut their castles in half and put them together to make one for them both.
The Stars and the Fae folk are able to meet in this land, and the night sky suddenly gains new, playful designs, and the daytime clouds start moving in musical sequences instead of simply floating.
There is a legend goes like this:
Once upon a time, at the beginning of the world, there was no Sun and no Moon. But one day, two children, black-haired and blond-haired, playing in the dim world, got lost in a strange wood and came across two bright objects in a meadow.
As children tend to be, they were curious about these objects, which were the brightest things that they had ever seen. The blond one picked up the yellow sphere, and the black-haired one picked up the silver one. Unknown to them, these were the Sun and the Moon.
They played with the Sun and the Moon as one would play with balls - tossing them in the air, bouncing them on the ground. Sometimes they threw one the Sun the sky and let it stay there, and thus the days were born. Sometimes, they wanted to play with the Sun, and threw the Moon up instead, and the nights were born.
One day, the a piece of the Sun broke, and the Night-child picked up the shard and under his influence, the shard shattered into pieces and from each one, a Star was born. The Stars followed the Night-child, and he ruled them while they worked to make the Night Sky beautiful. Thus, the Ruler of Night was born.
The Day-child was left without a playmate, and turned his radiance to the rest of the world instead, and the Fae flocked to him, declaring him the brightest of all. The Fae decided to help the Day-child make clouds to decorate the daytime sky. Thus, the King of Day was born.
It ends like this:
Two children had been rendered immortal ever since they picked up the Sun and the Moon. Now they are no longer children, but they shed light all the same, and love each other as much as they did back then.
Once, two boys laid side-by-side in a meadow.
Now, they lie in each other’s arms, in their castle in a Land of Eternal Twilight, where Day and Night blur together forever and Stars and Fae Folk can both call home.