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Just a few hours, Arias thought.
A few hours, and then I can see them again.
A few hours, and then I can hold them again.
He had been waiting eighteen months for the next full solar eclipse. Eighteen long, patient months marked not by days or nights—those blurred together after millennia—but by the slow, aching pull of anticipation. Partial eclipses came more often, usually twice a year, small mercies granted by the universe. During those, a thin veil would lift just enough for their voices to reach one another. Echoes, really—distorted but unmistakable. Osora always sounded warm, even through the barrier.
It was better than nothing. Better than the long stretches of ordinary time, when Arias could only feel them from afar: the steady burn of their presence, the quiet gravity of their warmth tugging at him no matter how far apart they were. He could sense when Osora flared brighter, when their light dipped just slightly, when exhaustion crept into the edges of their radiance. He could feel all of it.
But on full solar eclipses, the rules changed.
On those rare, sacred days, the shadow aligned perfectly, and a hidden world opened between light and dark—a threshold carved out of stillness and starlight. A place untouched by palace walls or cosmic duty. A place where they could meet.
Where they could exist together.
The Moon fell in love with the Sun. That was a story mortals always loved to tell one another.
But it was true.
Long before he had words for devotion or longing, long before eclipses had names, he had seen Osora for the first time and been utterly undone.
They were incandescent. A being who gave without measure—light, warmth, life itself—spilling endlessly outward, never seeming to ask for anything in return. Arias had watched from a distance then, silver and quiet, convinced he was unseen and unneeded. He thought his feelings were one-sided, destined to remain unspoken for eternity.
Then, millennia ago, the first partial eclipse occurred.
Shadow brushed light. The universe inhaled.
And Arias heard a voice.
He could see Osora clearly in that moment, but not their physical form—brilliant, radiant, framed by gold and flame. They spoke. They spoke into the dark, curious and soft, unaware of who—or what—might be listening.
That was when Arias learned the Sun’s name was Osora.
That was also when he learned that despite being surrounded by planets and stars, despite being the center of an entire system, Osora was lonely.
From that moment on, eclipses became everything.
Every partial eclipse was a conversation. Every full eclipse was a reunion. Over centuries, then millennia, they learned each other slowly and thoroughly—Osora’s gentleness beneath their brilliance, Arias’s steadiness beneath his silence. On full eclipses, the hidden world would bloom open, and they would step into it without hesitation, hands finding hands as if no time had passed at all.
The moments were always brief. Painfully so. But they cherished every second, storing them away like constellations in memory.
The rest of the time, the universe continued as it always had.
Osora remained in the Sun Palace, suspended within fire and gold, warming the system and breathing life into Earth. They carried dawns and summers and growth on their shoulders, radiant and unrelenting. Arias remained in the Moon Palace, his days spent reflecting Osora’s light back toward the world, guiding tides, governing rest and dreams, watching over the quiet hours when mortals slept.
And always waiting.
Today, the waiting was nearly over.
In the Sun Palace, Osora stood at the edge of a golden balcony, light spilling lazily from their skin in radiant waves. They had already dimmed themselves—just enough. Not for the universe. For him.
They knew that while their glow could bring life, it could also be damaging for those who weren’t stars.
Gold and white robes clung loosely to their frame, warm fabric catching the glow of their body. Osora adjusted a clasp at their shoulder absently, then scolded themself. They always did this. Always fussed. As if Arias had ever cared about perfection.
They could feel him drawing closer, the familiar pull steady and comforting. Arias always before them. Always waiting.
Osora rested their hands against the warm stone railing and closed their eyes, smiling.
Just a little longer, they thought.
And then I’ll be there.
The thought alone made their light brighten before they could stop it.
Arias paced the Moon Palace, silver-veined marble cool beneath his bare feet. Pearlescent columns rose toward a domed ceiling that reflected distant starlight, obsidian inlays catching faint glimmers of gold drifting in from the Sun. His navy robes shifted around him like a tide, embroidered with lunar patterns that pulsed faintly with his anticipation.
No matter how many times he met Osora, the feeling never dulled.
Excitement coiled tightly in his chest, sharp and bright. Nerves fluttered alongside it, stubborn as ever. He had once thought that—after centuries—his heart would learn to be calm around them. That familiarity would soften the rush.
It never did.
Year after year, eclipse after eclipse, his heart still raced at the thought of seeing Osora step through the threshold, glowing and smiling like they always did, reaching for him without fear. Loving them all these years hadn't calmed his feelings. If anything, they had only grown deeper.
Osora’s attention was divided most of the time. Their role was vast, essential, immeasurable in its importance. Entire worlds depended on them. Arias knew this. He had always known this.
But still—undeniably—Osora was his whole world.
And in just a few hours, the shadow would fall.
And they would be together again.
The eclipse drew closer, and Arias felt their connection strengthen—tightening like a tide pulled by unseen gravity.
It’s time, he thought.
He reached inward, latching onto the familiar thread that always led him to Osora. Closing his eyes, he focused, letting lunar energy coil and respond. The pull was immediate, steady and sure, as it always was. When he opened his eyes again, the Moon Palace was gone.
He was there.
The hidden world unfolded around him in a breathtaking swirl of gold and silver, obsidian and pearl-white marble, glow and reflection woven together seamlessly. It resembled a temple—open and beautiful, suspended in a sky that shimmered with distant stars—yet neither Arias nor Osora knew who had built it, or how. There were no walls that fully enclosed it, only elegant pillars and archways that framed eternity itself.
Arias had always suspected the truth.
He thought their longing had shaped this place. That their will to meet—repeated across millennia, fueled by devotion and patience—had carved a sanctuary from raw cosmic magic. A space born purely because they refused to let the universe keep them apart forever.
Osora had once smiled and said they liked that theory.
The thought warmed him even now.
A sudden flare of blinding light erupted across the far side of the temple, brilliant as a newborn star.
Arias smiled.
The radiance softened, dimming gradually, and a figure emerged from within it—draped in flowing gold and white robes, fabric catching light like molten sunlight. Osora’s skin glowed with its own living warmth, freckles dusted across their cheeks like constellations, their presence alone enough to make the hidden world feel brighter.
When their light finally settled into its natural, gentle solar glow, Osora opened their eyes.
And when they saw him, their face split into the widest smile.
“Arias!”
They ran toward him without hesitation, joy written into every step. Arias barely had time to brace himself before they leapt into his arms. He caught them easily, spinning them once—twice—just to hear their laughter ring through the temple like music.
Osora clung to him tightly, arms wrapped around his shoulders, face pressed into his neck. They had missed him—he could feel it in the way they held on, in the way their glow seemed to warm him from the inside out. Arias inhaled softly; Osora smelled like heat and clean light, while he, as always, carried the faint scent of salt and ocean spray, a quiet echo of his dominion over tides.
“Hey, love,” Arias murmured, finally pulling back just enough to look at them. “Gods, it’s so good to see you again.”
Their eyes were bright with happiness, burning amber softened by affection. Arias lifted a hand, his thumb brushing gently over their cheek, lingering where faint freckles dotted their glowing skin—details he never tired of memorizing.
Osora didn’t answer with words.
Instead, they grabbed him by the collar of his navy-draped robes and pulled him down into a kiss.
It was eager and unrestrained, full of months of waiting and centuries of longing. Arias kissed them back just as fiercely, one hand firm at their waist as if afraid that if he let go for even a moment, the universe would steal them away again. When they finally parted, breathless, Osora smiled softly.
“I missed you, mi amor,” they said, voice low and sincere.
They didn’t let go, hands still looped around his neck as they pulled him into another kiss—slower this time, deeper, lips parting as they lost themselves in the familiarity of each other. Arias held them close, grounding himself in their warmth, in the way they fit so perfectly against him.
When they broke apart again, both breathing hard, Osora rested their head against his chest, arms still loosely around his neck.
Arias wrapped them up without hesitation, cradling them against him and basking in their light. But then he frowned slightly, noticing the tension in their shoulders. His hand moved instinctively, rubbing slow, soothing circles between their shoulder blades.
“Osora,” he murmured, “you feel tense. Are you stressed?”
Osora nodded, groaning softly as they relaxed into his touch. “Some of the other gods are a pain in my ass,” they said immediately. “It’s always—give more heat, it’s cold, or more energy, shine brighter. It’s exhausting, Ari. Do they even remember I’ve never had a vacation? Ever? Can they just leave me alone and let me do my job?”
Arias hummed sympathetically as they spoke, guiding them toward one of the marble pillars. He sat down first, then drew Osora with him, settling them comfortably between his legs so they could lean back against his chest while they vented. His hands continued their slow, steady movements along their arms and back, grounding them.
“—and Jupiter!” Osora continued, waving a hand dramatically. “He had the audacity to say I slack on eclipse days because I’m ‘distracted by unnecessary things.’ Unnecessary things! I see my husband once every eighteen months! He has eclipses almost daily with his ninety-five lovers. He doesn’t know what it’s like!”
Arias snorted softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head. “What about Saturn?” he asked gently.
Saturn had been Osora’s number one complaint for centuries—especially after mocking their sunspots while bragging endlessly about those damned rings.
Osora huffed. “I refuse to speak to Saturn anymore. I’ll consider accepting an apology in… I don’t know. Seven centuries? One for each ring they won’t shut up about.”
Arias laughed, the sound echoing warmly through the hidden world. He kissed their head again, savoring the feel of their warm skin beneath his hands. “That sounds fair,” he said. “If I could talk to any of them, I’d tell them off for being stupid enough to insult the center of the solar system.”
Osora sighed contentedly. “Anyway. I don’t want to think about those idiotic planets right now. I just want to be with you.”
They interlaced their fingers with his, and Arias’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. His heart warmed as he saw the ring on their finger, catching both gold and silver light.
“How has your work been?” Osora asked softly, voice low with comfort and safety.
“The usual,” Arias replied. “Not much changes. Though I do find joy in messing with the mortals.”
Osora gasped theatrically. “The humans? Oh no. What did you do?”
Arias smirked. “They’ve taken up this thing called surfing in the past few centuries. Every now and then, I shift the tides just a little. It makes them furious.”
Osora laughed brightly. “I can’t even scold you for that. I flare brighter just to watch athletes misjudge a ball.”
Arias chuckled. “It’s not our fault Earth is the only planet with anything interesting happening.”
Osora huffed fondly. “Remember when they sent that metal tin into space and landed it on the Moon? I laughed so hard I almost melted Mercury.”
Osora sighed softly. “Well, those mortals deserve it,” they said, a fond exasperation threading through their voice. “They really had the nerve to think their planet was the center of the universe. Excuse me? I’m the reason any of you are alive. Can I get a little appreciation?”
Arias laughed quietly, the sound low and warm. He dipped his head to the smooth curve of their neck, pressing gentle kisses there, letting his lips linger against their tan, glowing skin. “I appreciate you, mi sol,” he murmured, the words spoken directly into their warmth.
Osora smiled, reaching one hand back to slide their fingers through his dark hair, slow and affectionate. “Well,” they replied softly, “I appreciate you too, mi luna.” Their other hand found his left, and they lifted it reverently, pressing a kiss to the silver band of his wedding ring.
Arias tightened his arms around them instinctively, as if his body already knew what was coming. A shaky breath escaped him before he could stop it. “I don’t want to leave you again,” he admitted quietly.
Even as he spoke, he felt it—the subtle shift, the slow, inevitable pull as the sanctuary between Sun and Moon began to loosen. The hidden world trembled faintly, like a held breath finally being released.
Osora turned in his arms, cupping his face with both hands, their palms warm and steady against his cheeks. “It’s not forever, mi luna,” they said gently. “You’ll feel me. You always do. And we’ll speak during the partial eclipses this year.”
They kissed his hand, though their fingers trembled now, betraying the calm in their voice as the pull grew stronger around them both.
Eclipses were always too short. Minutes at most—heartbeats stretched thin across eternity.
Arias leaned in and kissed Osora again, deeper this time, desperate and aching, as if he could pour all the love he had into that one moment and make it last. Osora responded in kind, arms locking tightly around his neck, glowing brighter as if defying the universe itself.
The pull intensified.
Osora clung to him, refusing to let go, even as the edges of their form began to blur. Arias held them just as fiercely, pressing his forehead to theirs, trying to anchor them, to stay.
But the universe was relentless.
They both felt themselves fading from the hidden world, drawn back toward their respective palaces—toward isolation, toward distance, toward waiting.
Osora began to fade first.
They always did.
Perhaps the universe knew the solar system needed the Sun more than it needed a single Moon. As their body softened into light, Osora tightened their grip around Arias one last time. They didn’t cry—they had learned long ago how futile that was—but sadness still washed through them, heavy and aching.
Arias refused to loosen his hold, even as light slipped through his fingers. “It will be okay, mi sol,” he whispered, lips brushing near their ear. “I’ll see you again. Just wait for me.”
Osora nodded, unable to trust their voice anymore. Their body shimmered, breaking apart into radiant fragments, warmth slipping away second by second.
With a final burst of resolve, Osora leaned forward and pressed a desperate kiss to Arias’s lips. “I’ll wait, mi amor,” they breathed.
Then they were gone—pulled back toward the Sun in a scatter of golden light, leaving only fading warmth behind.
Arias stood frozen, staring down at his empty hands, already aching with the absence of them.
A moment later, the pull claimed him too.
Silver light scattered as he was drawn back to the Moon, the hidden world dissolving into memory.
When Arias opened his eyes, he was standing once more in the Moon Palace. The halls were quiet, the marble cool beneath his feet. The silence pressed in—but he didn’t let it swallow him.
He walked to the balcony and looked out.
There—across the vastness of space—the Sun burned steadily, warm and constant.
Arias felt it then. The familiar comfort. The quiet presence that never truly left him.
He smiled.
And he began counting again.