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“After the Oceans came the blue expanse of the Heavens,” Aimee continued softly.

Still weaving the glamour, she painted blue ribbons beneath the leafy canopy.

“Then the Stars that the Magnus commanded to shine.”

Among them, white pinpricks blinked open.

“Then the Sun and the Moon that he placed to watch over them.”

A brilliant ball of light blazed to life, a silver moon glowing gently at her side.

With a flick of Aimee’s wrist, they began to orbit the perimeter of the room side by side. Spinning ever faster, glowing ever brighter, they cast flickering light over the terraces where people reached out, fingers grasping, their smiling faces illuminated by the fiery glow.

“Back then, her light could not burn him,” Aimee said as the Sun’s fire wrapped gentle arms around the silver glow of the Moon. “And they eventually fell in love. They spent every waking moment together, every day and every night, dancing and spinning across the wide expanse of their sister Heaven.”

They circled one another in a never-ending waltz, the sun’s wild energy chasing the moon’s quiet grace.

“But the Stars got jealous. Because love makes us radiant, and the Sun shined so brightly, there was never any night. They never got to be seen in all their glory.”

All around, stars rained down like streaks of light.

Kato craned his head, searching the terraces. That little bit of magic hadn’t come from Aimee.

And neither did the heat that kissed his face as the Sun and Moon completed another orbit, close enough that he could’ve reached out to touch them.

“They’re adding to it,” he murmured. Not the nobility in the stadium, seated demurely in their vine-and-flower thrones. But the people in the audience—the Lowborn and wellborn sitting on the terraces. Even the Shardless were lighting candles, a few groups scattered throughout, but most of them congregating along the top two rows.

“They know the story,” Aimee said, the flashes of magic setting each one of the jewels in her hair and on her dress sparkling. “They know what comes next.”

“And in case they didn’t,” Aiden said, lowering his voice as he leaned in, “Sarina’s been running the story in the paper all week.”

Kato huffed a laugh. Fire mages were usually all heat and impulse. This one played the slow burn. That, he could respect.

The Sun and the Moon were suddenly ripped to opposite sides of the room.

Aimee continued, “The Magnus declared that for every day there must be a night. That it was the natural order. He made her fire burn and turned his heart to ice.”

Indeed, ice began to crack, creeping along the face of the Moon. They still careened through their orbit, skimming just inches from the audience, but on opposite sides now. The Sunleft a blazing trail of heat in its wake, while the Moon spun as a frozen mass, its surface fracturing with each pass.

Kato could feel the magic pulsing from the terraces above him, each spark a ripple in the air. He could hear their voices—soft murmurs weaving through the crowd as they whispered the story to those beside them.

“And for a very long time,” Aimee said a bit sadly, caught up in the love story, “they could never be together. Never get too close for fear that she might melt her beloved’s heart. They had to satisfy themselves with glimpses, those few fleeting moments every day at dawn and dusk when they could gaze upon the other from opposite sides of the horizon.

“The years passed, and the Sun’s radiance dimmed with her sadness, which weighed so heavily on the Mother of Creation’s heart. She couldn’t bear it, to see her daughter’s light extinguished. So, she defied the Magnus’ orders and took pity on the lovers.”

The room went dark, the shadows of the Sun and Moon still spinning, spinning, caught in an ancient, endless dance.

“First, she cloaked her son the Land in shadow to hide them from the Magnus’ eye. Then she chilled the air so the Sun’s heat would no longer burn.”

Kato’s breath began to cloud in front of him as the temperature dropped.

“She convinced the Stars to shine brighter, flattering their vanity, and painted the Sky with the aurora lights.”

Up and down the central column, streaks of green and red and amethyst flickered to life, joining the dazzling chaos erupting throughout the entire room.

“She created fireflies,” Aimee said as Aiden’s aether gave another pulse and the delicate, closed flower buds dotting the chairs, the railings, and the pillars all began to twinkle. “And told the luminara to migrate.”

Streamers of light joined the fray.