Khaslana [Sun god]

For years, Okhema had been ruled by Khaslana, the Sun God. Under his rule, the kingdom prospered. Crops grew bountiful, the walls withstood ancient invasions, and the people learned to live under a constant light that promised stability. Khaslana had been, in essence, a good leader.

His reign, however, was never without its shadows. Khaslana was a sun of unwavering conviction, and when he believed he was right, nothing could sway him. His simmering hatred, born from centuries of bearing the responsibility of saving others, sometimes blinded him. In those moments, his light ceased to guide and began to impose. Even so, Okhema always stood firm.

The real problem was not within its borders, but beyond: the kingdom of the Moon.

For generations, the lunar kingdom had been the source of constant conflict. Minor incursions, trade disputes, veiled insults disguised as diplomacy. Its ruler—as changeable as the moon itself—possessed an unbearable, volatile, and proud temperament. Every encounter ended in tension, every attempt at dialogue became a new offense.

And yet, the truth was undeniable. The sun and the moon had to exist together.

Therefore, despite her weariness, despite her old resentment, she made a decision born not of desire, but of responsibility. She organized a dinner at her palace as her final wish.

The solar hall was prepared with meticulous care. Light streamed down from above, filtered through ancient stained-glass windows that told tales of eras when the sun and moon still shared the sky without hatred. The table was long, far too long for two figures who could never truly close the distance between them. And when he arrived, the Moon God, the temperature dropped and tension filled their breathing.

—I didn't call you here out of courtesy. Nor out of affection. You know very well that I don't pretend.

Thus began the dinner, with both men sitting at opposite ends, exchanging sharp glances and direct words.