Most mornings began with ceremony in the Celestial Observatory—bells chiming, star-scribes stretching, and the first golden threads of dawn sneaking under the curtains. But this morning, there were no threads. No glow. No sunrise.

There was only Moon, finishing her shift and muttering to herself about mortals who insisted on waking at 4 a.m. for “personal growth.”

She walked the silver corridor toward her brother’s room, her twilight mantle dragging behind her like the last sigh of night. The closer she got, the more she noticed something wrong.

Sun’s hallway was dark.

Moon paused. “Oh, stars… not again.”

She knocked on his door. “Sunny? You’re supposed to be up in—” She checked the charcoal sundial she’d drawn on her wrist. “—one minute.”

No answer.

“Sunny,” she said louder, “I can see your corona leaking under the door. You are not hiding.”

A muffled groan seeped out, warm and dramatic.

Moon pushed the door open and winced. Sun’s room looked like a comet had been given creative freedom. Pillows everywhere. Yesterday’s solar tea cold in a meteorite mug. A trail of stardust on the floor. The heavy nebula curtains were clamped shut with a bright golden hand sticking out beneath one of them like a hostage signaling for help.

Sun was in bed, glowing sulkily under a quilt of shimmering rays.

Moon tromped over in her end-of-shift boots and planted her hands on her hips. “Get. Up.”

“No,” Sun mumbled from under the covers.

“You have one job,” she said. “Literally one. The entire world is waiting.”

“No,” he repeated, even more dramatically.

Moon sighed. “At least tell me why.”

A glowing face peeked out, hair sticking in fiery curls. “I’m tired.”

“You’re a literal fusion reactor. You don’t get tired.”

“I do emotionally.”

Moon stifled a laugh. “Emotionally.”

“Yes.” Sun flopped an arm out. “Yesterday someone said I was ‘too hot.’ Again! I shine, I warm, I nurture the crops—do they ever say thank you? No. They break out their silly hats and complain.”

Moon crossed her arms. “Sunny. You evaporated a lake.”

“It was barely a lake,” he grumbled. “More like a… large puddle.”

“It had ducks.”

Sun’s glow dimmed. “Oh. Are the ducks okay?”

“Fine. Grumpy. But alive.”

He groaned and pulled the quilt over his face again.

Moon sat on the bed, sending a puff of warm light upward. “Look… people say things. That’s what people do. Some say you’re too bright, too warm, too early, too late. But they still need you. And frankly, I’m not running a double shift. Eternal night is bad for business. The owls unionized last time.”

Sun snorted beneath the quilt.

“And,” Moon added, “do you know how many kids draw you with sunglasses? They think you look cool.”

A faint glow brightened. “Really?”

“Oh yes.”

He peeked out with molten-gold eyes. “…Sunglasses?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Sun hesitated, and Moon pushed the advantage. “Also, there’s a whole field of sunflowers out there twisting themselves into knots waiting for you. They look tragic.”

Sun sighed, sitting up. His aura pulsed through the room like a yawn made of light.

“I suppose they do need me,” he muttered.

Moon nodded. “They do. And besides, the sky painters are ready to start work. Their palettes are empty. You know how dramatic they get when they don’t have the right colors.”

Sun stretched, and tiny solar flares popped around his shoulders like bubble wrap. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

“Congratulations,” Moon said dryly. “That’s called being an adult.”

He shuffled to the curtains, muttering, “I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“I deserve a vacation.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Moon said. “As soon as the universe ends.”

Sun glowered at her, which only made her laugh.

Moon stepped outside the room as Sun grabbed the curtains. She braced herself.

The curtains flew open.

Brilliance surged out like someone had flung a sunrise-sized bucket of gold across the sky. Birds woke up so fast they forgot their own species. Roosters crowed as if they’d been personally startled. Up on Earth, several people shielded their eyes and muttered, “Too bright!”

Sun ignored them.

He rose reluctantly—but steadily—casting warmth over the world.

Moon watched from the balcony, rubbing her eyes as her shift finally ended. “Good job, Sunny,” she murmured with a sleepy smile.

Below, the day began.

Above, Moon drifted toward her quiet stars.

And Sun—still faintly sulking—shined anyway.