Cosmos
When he first opened his eyes, the only thing Darkness saw was blackness. His world had always been painted in shades of gray, where all living things slumbered in silence and stillness.
There was nothing.
The swirling winds were always cold, and the bleak land beneath him was drowned in perpetual quiet. The only time sound ever came was when storms raged—when rain lashed the ground and thunder cracked overhead. But even then, it wasn’t something he enjoyed. On those days, the crystals surrounding him would freeze over, and the cold would seep in deeper.
Darkness was lonely. Lonely without even knowing he was. A vast, nameless boredom coiled within him. The sky stretched endlessly above, but no matter how far he looked, he was alone in the void. When he called out, only his own voice came back to him in echo. And when he listened to that hollow reverberation, a crushing emptiness threatened to swallow him whole.
From the day the universe shattered and spilled into being, to the second day, the third, a month, a year, hundreds—thousands—of years, Darkness existed like that. Alone, drifting through a barren black, he began to forget. Memories faded. Only a lingering grudge remained, crouched deep within him.
Then one day, light rose in his world.
It began as tiny, flickering specks, like dust, appearing in his embrace one by one. Eventually, they gathered into a glowing, perfect sphere. Cloaked in noble silver, it was the very first light to ever appear in the demon’s world.
A star.
Darkness decided to call it a star.
In the endlessly dark and unsteady sky, the light found its place. Perfect and smooth, it cast its silver glow over the world of Darkness. And then, things he’d never seen before began to fill his realm.
Thanks to the light falling onto the ground, he began to witness countless lives moving through the hours of his dominion. Those small, insignificant creatures scrambled to avoid him, hiding from his presence. But once the light appeared, they would crawl out from their shadows.
Darkness came to know color.
On days when the glow swelled full and bright, a soft ivory hue would dance around the star. When its silver beams gently touched him, gray turned to violet. Rivers and oceans far away shimmered in deep navy as they rippled under the light.
From the beginning, the star’s existence was a miracle. Mysteriously changing shape day after day, it marked the passing of time and the shift of seasons.
Compared to him, it was pathetically small—yet the miracles it created were countless, far beyond anything he could achieve.
It sparkled.
“Don’t hide by yourself. Come out and be with me.”
The star first spoke to him after several months of his silent watching. And its voice was just as lovely as its gentle light.
“Why?”
“Just because. I like it better that way. I want to know you.”
The star’s reply was soft and warm.
It scattered flecks of light like breadcrumbs, and Darkness followed the path it left behind. That was how he met the moon for the first time.
When he finally reached its side, he felt warmth—cool, quiet warmth that neither scorched nor overwhelmed. That gentle heat filled the hollow void inside him.
That day, for the first time, Darkness wished to have something of his own.
From the moment the star was born, it had captivated him. And before long, it became his everything.
They were happy together.
Night after night, the star sat by his side, giving names to the creatures below. They’d talk, sharing quiet stories, and time would slip by unnoticed.
Darkness no longer lived the same monotonous day over and over. He even began to feel regret when the dreary night came to an end.
But regardless of how he felt, sleep always came for Darkness. No matter how much he resisted, his eyelids would fall, heavy and unrelenting.
And through the haze of drowsiness, he noticed something.
The star didn’t sleep.
He had once thought the star drifted off beside him. But in truth, it was waiting—for someone.
“Come with me. Don’t stay alone. You hate being alone, don’t you?”
The star laughed at his grumbling.
It was a laugh he had never heard before—gentle and bright.
“I’m waiting for the Sun. The one who gave me the name ‘Moon’—I can only meet them when morning comes.”
“The Sun?”
“There’s another who protects this world while you sleep.”
Darkness felt a strange twist inside him.
To him, the star was his entire world.
But to the star, there was someone else worth waiting for. Someone he would never be able to see.
Resentment boiled up in him. He stomped his feet.
“Your name is Star.”
“You gave me a name?”
“Yes. So Moon isn’t your name.”
“Then I’ll be both Star and Moon. But I’ll only be a Star when I’m with you.”
Darkness hated that there were moments he didn’t share with the star. But he didn’t know how to express it.
So instead, he drew thick clouds over the night sky. Dawn, which had been creeping closer, fled in fear.
Watching him sulk, the star smiled softly and offered him a gift.
“Then I’ll give you a name, too. You may look pitch black, but during your time, life falls asleep and dreams. So I’ll call you Nox.”
He had never once been named throughout all the meaningless, scattered centuries.
The moment stunned him. That name—soft and resonant—was so beautiful it left him breathless. He was so happy that thunder cracked the sky.
Rain fell over the early dawn, and the star laughed—so beautifully.
My star.
So small it couldn’t even fill a single palm, yet the one who lit up my entire world—
My little star.
Whenever Nox told Aster the story of the Moon, he always mentioned that day.
He had repeated the old tale more than a hundred times, and his voice carried a long, worn-out love—one laced with obsession.
And a grudge.
A bitter hatred toward the Sun, who stole the Moon from him.
Since the moment he was born, Darkness lingered in Aster’s soul, whispering stories. But Aster never sympathized with the pitiful plight of the being that had taken up residence in his body. He was simply tired of being caught in some formless feud between gods.
Aster had never been particularly emotional—not from the beginning.
Aster Raman Solias had grown up lacking nothing.
His mother had died giving birth to him, but he had never truly felt her absence. He was a cherished prince in a warm, towering palace where everyone adored him.
Nearly everything he wanted, he received. What he desired was always simple. So simple it felt foolish to say aloud. Praise when he mastered something new, as he’d been taught since he could speak. An adult to hold him when nightmares struck in the middle of the night.
Aster was the beloved First Prince, yet the king held him to higher expectations than most.
Even when Aster excelled in history, royal etiquette, mathematics, swordplay, or dance, his father never praised him. It was only natural, expected. And if he made a mistake, even once, it became a shame to be hidden.
From birth, his father wanted him to grow strong on his own. The few times he cried from nightmares and called for his nanny, the king ensured she never came again—not at night.
Still, Aster grew up well.
He was always surrounded by people. There was no space for loneliness. Everyone came running when he called and obeyed his every word. Yet none of them stayed through his lonely nights. When the world grew weak, Aster had to remain strong.
At night, everyone left—returning to their families. And if they had no family, to lovers. And if not lovers, then to friends.
Guides were held in such high esteem, so inherently noble, that Aster—unlike others his age—couldn’t meet peers freely. No risks could be tolerated. He had to remain within the royal palace at all times, and even among the people he was permitted to summon, the list was extremely short.
But—he didn’t really mind.
Aster grew up with a mildly cynical, slightly sensitive disposition, yet he never expected much from others. Walking the path laid out for him came easily. He understood just how fortunate he was to live a life of privilege. He couldn’t have missed it—everyone around him constantly reminded him how “special” he was.
But being “special” also meant he could never be lacking.
To meet the king’s expectations, Aster wore a flawless mask. In public, he always smiled brightly, moved with grace, and never let anxiety show.
The problem was, people didn’t move by logic alone.
Reason told him he had no reason to feel lonely—but on nights plagued by nightmares, he was overwhelmed by an icy chill.
The dreams had always been the same, ever since he was little.
They showed his mother dying while giving birth to him. But it wasn’t the gentle image of a woman bringing a child into the world out of love. She was furious—screaming in rage and hatred.
“I’ll give you the bloodline you so desperately wanted, Cyfrid! Even if it costs me my life, I’ll give you your child!”
The king, who should’ve been by her side, was nowhere to be found.
Aster later learned that their relationship had fallen apart before his birth. His mother had refused to let the king near her and insisted on giving birth alone—at her villa in Takhan, a place she cherished.
“Aaah!”
On a bed soaked in blood, the queen thrashed in agony. There was no trace of the graceful, refined woman she had once been.
When Aster was born—slipping out with great effort, slick with amniotic fluid and blood—his mother looked down at him as though she were seeing something monstrous.
Even as she bled out and died, she cursed him.
“You look exactly like that damned man. Now I can die without a shred of regret.”
Then, with trembling hands, she grabbed the uncut umbilical cord and wrapped it around Aster’s neck.
A slick, suffocating sensation covered his entire body.
Whenever that choking pressure returned in his sleep, Aster would wake up—gasping, always just before dawn.
At fifteen, it was no different. This time, too, he woke in the dead of night, breath catching in his throat.
He stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling.
If he were home in his usual room, he would’ve gone to the storeroom where his mother’s belongings were kept.
But tonight—of all nights—he was in the south, here to celebrate Zion Shildras’s birthday.
Damn it.
Swallowing his frustration, Aster cursed Nox, the demon coiled like a viper inside him.
The dreams were real. And they had only become nightmares because of this cursed being.
Nox stirred, responding to Aster’s storm of emotion with a satisfied, delighted laugh.
It felt like his soul was freezing solid.
Aster tried to calm his breathing, to force himself back to sleep—but his useless body wouldn’t listen. His erratic breaths fed his panic, and before long, he spiraled into a full-blown attack. Hands buried in his platinum-blond hair, gasping for air, he finally burst out of the room.
The lavish guest chamber felt like a coffin. Getting out was a relief. But the guards stationed outside flinched, startled. They quickly checked on him, their eyes more wary than concerned.
It wasn’t worry for his well-being they felt—it was fear of consequences. To them, Aster offered a soft, effortless smile.
“The room was stuffy. I’m going for a short walk. I’ll be back soon, so no one needs to follow.”
“But Your Highness, it’s dangerous to go out alone—”
“I said I’ll be fine!”
The rare sharpness in his voice made the knights recoil.
He didn’t have the strength to keep up the facade anymore. Cursing under his breath, Aster strode down the corridor.
His thoughts drifted to how this would be reported to the king by morning, and his breathing worsened.
To make matters worse, Queen Leana—his stepmother—was here too.
He could already imagine how disgusted they’d look at him. He didn’t even know where he was going—just kept moving, feet carrying him on impulse.
Eventually, he reached the rear garden of the duke’s estate. Unlike the grand, ornate front garden designed to impress guests, the back garden was more like a small forest.
A soft breeze cooled the heavy summer night. But no matter how far he walked, the nightmare clung to him.
Why was I born by taking my mother’s life? Why can’t anyone love me?
Even his own self-pity made him sick.
Doubling over, he clutched his chest, eyes bloodshot with strain.
In that moment—he truly wished he were dead.
There was nothing in the future to look forward to. And the thought of how much longer he’d have to live like this was unbearable. He felt so trapped that he wanted to lose consciousness just to escape.
Then—
“Are you hurt?”
A voice came from above.
Startled, Aster flinched and looked up.
A boy sat on a thick tree branch overhead. He leaned forward, revealing a hair color Aster had never seen in his life.
Silver. Not gray or white, but soft, flawless silver strands fluttering in the night breeze.
Behind the boy—who peered down with worried gray eyes—the storm clouds had cleared. And through the clearing sky, a bright full moon appeared.
So bright it hurt to look at.
Like a sun born into the night.
