Under the Pull of the Moon

The empty ballroom was lit with a thousand stars, each of them strategically placed into the walls of the grand room. The flickering lights danced across the chamber, striking the pillars and chasing the shadows back into the corners. Crystal pillars stood at attention, supporting the monolith's roof, and when the rays from the stars hit the mineral pedestals, the supports became iridescent. However illustrious the walls and pillars of the room were, they were nothing compared to the room's eclipsing glory. Speckles of blue, green, and silver spiraled across the floor in an intricate pattern. Dancing and intertwining, the colors peppered the marble floor, creating an illusion comparable to the galaxies.

The ceiling was a dark gray, the only muted color in the palatial structure, and the double door entrance to the magnificent room rested against the innermost wall and stretched nearly to the dizzying height of the room. They were of solid oak, the wood stained to a gray and accented with detailed metalwork. The metal was skillfully crafted and shaped into blooming petunias and climbing vines, and they crept up the doors, pulling away from the doors halfway up to become the handles. The detailing was nearly as stunning as the galaxy underfoot. Straight across from the doors and centered in the room was a small dais with a throne on it, covered in red cushions with golden swirling embroidery.

The enormous doors creaked open with a soft sigh, their weight putting strain on the hidden hinges. A being, tall and male, glided through the doors with confidence in his gait. The room brightened with his grand entrance. He strode with purpose to the center of the ballroom where the low dais sat, and once upon the platform, he leisurely lied down the throne. He appeared at ease in the ballroom, comfortable with its otherworldly layout. The being was magnificent, perhaps even more radiant than the stars inlaid in the walls. His pale blonde hair seemed to reflect the flickering lights, creating a soft halo around his aristocrat head. A few gray hairs could be seen upon closer examination, revealing the length of his existence in this universe. Amber, sage eyes surveyed the room, taking in the stars, the galaxy, the doors, and the beauty, as if it was all his. He gazed upon the ballroom as if it revolved around him.

Another form glided into the room then, this one also a male, but with a shorter stature and of much younger age. Silver hair, hardly confused as a shade of gray, draped across his forehead and reached for his left eye, which was almost as gray as the ceiling above. His other eye, though, was a light shade of gray, eerily similar to the white ash from a raging fire. This man had a firm jaw and held himself with a dignity unrivaled by many, but there was a tinge of arrogance in his stance. With his body that taut, he was as still and unmoving as the crystal pillars around him.  His mismatching eyes roamed to the dais and took in the sight of the lounging being. The silvery man moved, striding with his back straight, and bowed to the unearthly man on the throne.

The gray-eyed man spoke with a firm timbre, "Sol, do you always need to be first?"

"You know where I feel my place is, Aibek," Sol replied with a deep baritone. His sandy eyebrows rose with barely concealed humor. "Front and center."

Aibek chuckled, the sound reminiscent of  flint striking stone, low and quick. "Always requiring the eyes of the multitude on you."

"True."

As soon as Sol had spoken again, the oak doors opened to reveal the entrance of another being. The new arrival was as handsome as the room's other occupants, though this one had a much different demeanor. He was calm as he entered the room, his feet flowing over the ground as if it was made of water. His hair was dark midnight, but naturally highlighted by an ocean blue that toned down the strength of the black. It flowed like the waves of the deep seas. With skin as light as the sand of the beach and eyes two different glittering shades of aqua, he was the embodiment of the ocean. His broad shoulders were pulled back, held up not with arrogance but with self-assurance.