Once, the sun never set. Light reigned eternal, rivers perished, fields withered, and men labored beneath a sky that never slept.
Only the prince was spared—his palace cool, his gardens lush. Yet, he heard the farmers' cries, saw their scorched faces, and felt the weight of an unblinking, merciless eye.
One night—where no night should be—he stood before his mirror. His face was untouched by toil, but in his eyes, a shadow stirred. A whisper of absence. A thirst for something unseen but known, like the scent of rain before it falls.
At dawn, he rode west, to the mountains where the sun was born. There, in the shade of a silent rock, sat an old sage, untouched by fire.

"How have you escaped its grasp?" the prince asked.

The sage smiled. "Because I know the secret".

"And what is the secret"?

"The world is dying beneath its own light. If you wish to save it, you must kill the sun".
The prince returned, restless beneath its glare. When the new day rose, he climbed the highest tower, lifted his sword, and called to the heavens:

"Enough! Sleep, at last"!

He cast his blade skyward, and from it leapt a black fire. It struck the sun's heart. The earth shuddered.
The sun gasped—like a beast pierced by unseen hands. It reeled. Darkness bled into the sky. Silence fell. The birds stilled. The fields froze. And then—stars.
The people wept. Not in fear, but in awe.
They saw what had been hidden for the first time: a sky deeper than sight, a world divided at last—light and shadow, each finding the other.
However, the prince did not see victory. He felt only the echo of something lost, the hollow of something torn. He had slain the sun. And with it, something within himself. At dawn, the sun rose again, but softer. It gave, then vanished, burned, then relented. And so, mankind learned: light alone is a tyrant. Darkness, sometimes, is a mercy.
As for the prince—he vanished. Some say he walked westward toward where the sun now learned to die. None saw him again. But on the blackest nights, when the wind whispered through the fields, a voice could be heard, thin as smoke, asking :
"I have killed the sun... will you forgive me"?