He has burned since before time had a name. And yet, Sol does not age.
The planets dance around him, not from command, but devotion—each bound by the rhythm of his flare-born breath. He has watched life bloom and wither, stars rise and fall, galaxies blink into being. And through it all, he has remained—unchallenged, unyielding, the center of all.
When gods dream, they dream of his light. When shadows rise, they remember his heat.
Sol lifts his gaze—his crown of flame blazing with silent fury and boundless grace.
“For I am the heart of this system,” he whispers to the void, “and everything begins… and ends… with me.”