Before the first dawn kissed the world awake, before time wove its threads into the fabric of existence, there was only the Endless Sky—a boundless, unbroken canvas of light. The gods of Fire and Radiance sculpted the heavens, pouring golden brilliance into every crevice of the newborn world. But their creation knew no shadow, no slumber, no hush of quietude. The land pulsed with ceaseless light, a world forever awake, yet aching for something unseen.
From the silent abyss beyond the veil of stars, she stirred.
She was Nyxara, the First Twilight, the Keeper of the Liminal Hour. Born from the hush between heartbeats, from the space where echoes go to rest, she wove herself from strands of deep sky and celestial hush. With fingertips as dark as midnight silk, she reached across the heavens and spun the first veil of Night, painting the emptiness with the bright scintillations of stars, each one a luminous whisper of the unknown.
The gods of Light beheld her work and raged with anger. Their world was meant to shine without end, to be open and exposed, unsullied by shadow. But Nyxara stood before them, her presence like a breath between waking and sleep, and she spoke in a voice woven of whispers and the sigh of twilight:
“Without darkness, how will your light be known?
Without rest, how will your creations dream?”
But they did not listen.
So she descended, gliding like mist over a restless world. She cupped the weary earth in her hands and whispered the first Twilight. The sky softened, the edges of day and night blurring into a tapestry of violet and indigo. The restless ones—the creatures of endless waking—slowed, sighed, surrendered. And for the first time, they knew the gift of sleep.
In sleep, they dreamed. And in dreaming, they glimpsed the unseen—visions of what could be, what once was, what lay beyond the reach of waking thought. The first stories were born, drifting through their minds like ballads yet to be written. The gods of Light beheld the hush of her Night, and they too sighed and dreamed.
Thus, an accord was struck:
When the sun bows low, Nyxara will rise.
When the sky wearies of its golden weight, she will draw the veil of silver moonlight and lavender dreaming.
She would not reign as an enemy to the Light, but as its counterbalance. The Gilded Sun would rule the waking world, and she, the Keeper of Shadows, would tend the dreaming.
But as time passed, the memory of her gift faded.
In whispered prayers, she became something feared. The mortals who had once embraced her night now called her the Keeper of Secrets, the Queen of the Forgotten. The hush of twilight, once sacred, became a harbinger of the unknown.
And yet, Nyxara does not weep for what is misunderstood.
She walks unseen through the hush of evening, the spectral luminance of starlight woven into her robes, the breath of sleepers a quiet song in her ears. She lingers at the edges of twilight, watching, waiting, whispering to those who still listen.
“Fear not the dark, for it is the cradle of dreams.
Embrace the night, and you will awaken to wonder.”
.
~Morgan~
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BooknVolume 
I love this. And we have tried to banish her through our electric lights in our houses and lighting up the streets.
So much so that we can no longer see the beauty of the night, except in a very few dark skies places.
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That’s so true. We live near Washington DC and the light pollution is horrible. Once a year we go to Colorado, about 3 hours north west of Denver up in the mountains and the sky is so beautifully clear and bright.
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There is a town in Scotland, Moffat, that every year has a ‘dark night’s week. I think it’s a week.
All street lights and other extraneous lights are turned off.
From what I heard, there used to be, in the days before lights were everywhere, people with lights (flaming torches?) guided people to wherever they were going as it was so dark. I understand that in the dark week, this tradition has been resurrected and people are there with electric torches to guide people.
I thought I read that it was children, but I wouldn’t like a child of mine to be doing it, so maybe it’s not kids, but young adults.
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I know that in most larger cities the homeless, including children, used to do that to make a few pennies. So Sad.
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