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The small gaggle of planets were pushed forward by Planet X and the Sun’s core dropped.
Their eyes were dark and avoided gazing directly at the brightness. That plus the way they held themselves awkwardly in the hold of his gravity marked them as rogue planets, as intruders to his system, as threats—
Except for the way something deep and ancient clicked into place inside, and Sol knew, just knew. As sure as the ancient calls that suddenly howled in his head, planets. Planets. Your planets. Yours.
His planets. And the only reason their eyes were black was because they had dilated to see in the suffocating darkness. Because they had formed and grown up alone, far away from Sol’s reach. These were just more beings he’d failed.
Sol slowly lowered himself to his knees. The small group of planets winced when his light got in their eyes. He was already dimming himself down as far as he could go, shallowly breathing through the tightness in his core.
They were fully grown. Smaller, perhaps, than they could have been, and covered with old craters. Their surfaces that were covered in icy material that may have been atmospheres if things had been different. The four of them stood bunched together and unsure and looked at him with nervousness and they were alive, alive, alive—
The second largest of the group stepped forward, tense as if ready to jump far back into the darkness at the slightest indicator of something going wrong. They— she cleared her throat, and spoke with a surprisingly clear voice. “So, you’re… our star?”
Sol nodded, and dimly realised tears were dripping down his face. When did that happen? Probably a while ago.
“Hello,” he rasped, and oh, his voice sounded horrible this was not a good first impression. He cleared his throat and sniffled, raising his hands to wipe his eyes and stiffening when the tiny planets flinched away. “Sorry, I’m just…”
He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Overwhelmed? Relieved? Guilty? Grieving? He sighed heavily. Words were hard, and he was tired.
The one who had spoken held the hands of her companions tightly, before bracing herself and stepping forward. “We were ejected before we fully woke up. Was that… was that on purpose? Did you mean to—“
“No!” His light flared reflexively and the small planets leaped and stepped back and were they going to leave? “Wait! Wait, no, I’m sorry. I- I—“
His eyes slipped to his forearms. Then the marks that stained his surface, hidden underneath fabric.
“I didn’t know about any of it. I— the—“ Tears were streaming more steadily from his eyes now and Sol fought the urge to scream or shut down and stop moving. “I promise. It wasn’t on purpose. It was an accident, and I didn’t think anything could survive out there—“ his words were cut off with a mortifyingly wet gasp. Oh, this was a horrible first impression. He was a mess.
He breathed in harshly through his nose until he regained some of his voice. “I didn’t think you survived. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it, but there hasn’t been a day in my existence where I didn’t grieve you.” His gaze slipped to his clasped hands. “All of you.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her feet. “We thought…”
He felt familiar rage bubbling from his core. It wasn’t hard to guess who had told them that he didn’t want them. As if he hadn’t tried for years to keep any rocky planet alive. So much grief, so many tiny bodies smashed into debris—
And yet, here stood four, perfectly healthy beautiful planets. Alive, whole, despite having spent most of their existence away from his starlight.
Did that mean it was his fault? Maybe it was better if the rest of his planets just lef—
He shook his head, wiped his tears with his sleeve and pushed his probably frazzled hair back. A few deep breaths to calm the burning and hopefully allow him a few moments of rational thought.
For the first time, Sol properly took in his lost planets.
The one who had been doing all the talking was the second biggest, with the largest of the lot positioned right behind her, observing the star warily. Neither was larger than Earth, who would probably be happy his title of Biggest Rocky Planet had not been stolen.
The other two floated a little further back, both of similar stature and shades of grey, although one was slightly more brown than the other.
It was getting a little tedious to constantly refer to them by their size. Had Sol asked for their names? No, of course he hadn’t. He’d been too busy sobbing.
“What are your names?” Better late than never, right?
The two larger ones looked at each other, then at the star, and shrugged. The biggest crossed his arms and spoke for the first time. “We don’t have any.”
“What?” The thought of the planets having names that he hadn’t given them stung, but no names at all?
“Stars name their planets, and planets name their moons,” The planet explained patiently, as if he wasn’t breaking Sol’s heart with each word.
His companion took up the speaking role again. “We tried thinking of names for ourselves, but none of us found one we liked. We do have designations—“
“I could name you.” Sol offered before he could think. “If you want, that is.”
He’d missed naming planets.
The little planets seemed to have a conversation with their eyes, which Sol couldn’t understand. Finally, the speaker straightened up and tilted her head in a manner that vaguely reminded Sol of the birds on Earth’s surface. “If it’s not too much trouble?”
The star was already brainstorming. A little bubble of despair swelled as he went through his list. Most of the names had been taken by now, either by his planets or their moons. His rockies needed strong names of their own.
He must’ve been silent too long. The planet fiddled unsurely. “You really don’t have to if it’s—“
He lifted a hand in a gesture to wait. “No, no, no. I’m just thinking.”
She settled back, tapping her fingers together to a rhythm. This planet had such a pretty surface. Mostly icy materials that reflected light and glimmered in his glow, nearly dazzling. Her surface would sparkle and shift ever so subtly in between all the colours of the rainbow.
Sol straightened up. “What do you think of Iris as a name?”
Her large dark eyes looked up at him. “Iris…” she echoed, testing out the sound. She looked down at her hands, then up at the star. A shy smile brightened her face. “I rather like that.”
Sol let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh or might’ve been another sob. “It’s good to finally meet you, Iris.”
Iris grinned at the star, before reaching towards the largest of the group, shoving him towards Sol while giggling. “Your turn!”
This one had a surface that immediately reminded Sol of Jupiter’s oldest moon. Dark, very dark, and covered in old craters that vaguely resembled distant stars.
How did such a small planet get so many scars? Did they play too rough when they were young? A series of accidents before they could fully control their gravity? Maybe if Sol was there he could’ve—
Names, names. Something that would suit them. Let’s see… “Uh… Hekate? Or maybe the other version. Trivia?”
“Oh…” The dark planet looked away, brow furrowed. “It’s… nice. Thank you.”
“You don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.
The dark planet lifted his hands placatingly. “No, it’s a good name, I’m happy.”
Sol shook his head. “No, no, if you don’t like it then you don’t like it. I can think of others.”
Maybe Sol should try a different mythology? Saturn had some moons now that weren’t from the usual stories. The star racked his mind, searching for names that fit. This is a lot harder than it used to be.
“How about Osiris?”
The planet frowned hesitantly in response. No, not that one then. No matter. “Anubis?” He tried.
Again, a small twitch in the lips that indicated the name wasn’t right.
“Hm…” Sol tapped his fingers to his lips. “Nuit?”
A pause.
“Actually, yeah.” He raised his black eyes, uncrossing his arms. “I think… yeah.”
“Nuit.” Sol nodded. “You’re sure?”
Nuit nodded, looking back briefly at the others. “Yeah, it feels right.”
“I’m glad.” Sol smiled. That’s two of them done. Two more to go.
He turned to the two small grey celestials, who had not spoken much at all this entire time. “Hello. Would… either of you like to go first?”
To his surprise and panic, the smallest of them all floated up, up, up until she was hovering in front of the star’s face, meeting his eyes head on. Sol’s back protested as he straightened, being hyperaware of his much stronger gravity and how small she was. They aren’t used to moving in a larger gravity. I can’t move. Stay still. Stay very, very still.
The small celestial clasped her hands in front of her. “Thank you for offering to name us. And for speaking with us.” Her black eyes never left him, even though they surely must be hurting with his brightness. “But, we will have to leave.”
His light flared before he tamped it down with a vice like grip on his core. “What!? Why?”
“Not right now, necessarily.” His brief lapse in control had the grey planet blinking hard and Sol inwardly cursed himself. “But we will have to leave eventually. We cannot stay in your system.”
All his protests froze in his throat as a second, equally small gravity joined its sibling. The second grey planet hovered near to the first, glancing between her and the star nervously. “Not that we don’t like it! It’s a very nice system.” Not really. Not with how the star had hurt everyone and messed everything up. “It’s just that— I mean, we don’t have orbits. We can’t exactly stay long term.”
“We could find you an orbit,” Sol protested, mind and core racing. “There has to be a place. I could make a place. Maybe if I move—“
“Sun, I don’t think it’s wise to keep messing with orbits,” he interrupted, looking over his shoulder.
Sol looked over at his solar system and managed not to stagger as the guilt shot through him. His other planets were giving him plenty of space— apart from Earth who couldn’t exactly move far out of his orbit anyway. The other rockies were looking at the four by his feet with curiousity, but Sol didn’t think he was imagining the fear when their gazes slipped to him.
The ice giants were…
They… they seemed to be doing better, at least. Being fussed over by Saturn, all hunkered in the further reaches away from his light and heat. Except for Planet X, who was talking quietly to Jupiter just past the asteroid belt.
Jupiter, who was staring at the small worlds with such pain and guilt. He and Sol were probably wearing matching faces.
His heat sputtered when he met Jupiter’s eyes and his oldest planet flinched back. Sol expected to feel the anger, the betrayal that had festered ever since Planet X had revealed the truth, but… he found that he didn’t have the space in his core for it. Being angry was easier than feeling grief, but he didn’t have the energy for either.
He missed Jupiter. Just like he missed Saturn, and all three Ice Giants, and the Rockies. Like he missed Proto and Theia, and the countless baby planets who never opened their eyes.
Like he would miss Iris, Nuit and the small grey planets, who he hadn’t even gotten to know because he hadn’t made a system safe enough for them to stay.
“I—“ His vision went blurry again. “I don’t want you to leave. I’ve just met all of you.” I don’t want to lose you again. It will hurt more this time.
“We could visit!” The second grey planet offered, nearly excitedly, before looking at his sister for reassurance. “Right? It wouldn’t be too bad?”
“It’s still not ideal, but I suppose the odd visit wouldn’t cause that much disruption. The laws of physics do appear to be suggestions sometimes anyways.” The grey planet looked sheepishly back at the star. “… if you’re alright with us visiting, that is.”
Sol nodded vigorously, feeling a deep ache in his core that wasn’t just from the amount of flares he’d been throwing lately.
“Thoth.”
The two of them made questioning noises and tilted their heads in sync. The star fought the urge to coo.
“Your name. Thoth.” Sol breathed in and out, keeping his voice steady. He turned to the other. “And you’re Minerva.”
Two gods of wisdom. It felt right.
…then Sol remembered they might not like his first suggestion. Stars, they hadn’t said anything for a while. “I can think of more if you’re not a fan of them.”
The one he had named Thoth wrung his hands together. He tilted his head at the other. “I dunno. I think they’re alright. You kinda look like a Minerva.”
“I have no idea what a Thoth is supposed to look like, but I suppose it doesn’t not suit you,” Minerva conceded.
“Well, I think my name is the best!” Iris zoomed up to them, wobbling precariously until Sol adjusted his gravity to stabilise her with a small reminder to be careful. Iris beamed at him and Sol felt warmth swell in him.
The icy worlds started bickering, seemingly having forgotten he was there. They were so like the rockies that Sol wanted to laugh and cry. Suddenly the sting of the multitudes who hadn’t survived hurt worse.
His gaze swept over his tattered solar system. Stars, he had so much to make up for. So much to fix. So much to apologise for. Maybe none of the other planets would ever want to speak to him again. He wouldn’t blame them.
The last small gravity began approaching him. Sol looked down to see Nuit floating tentatively toward him. The star instinctively cupped a hand underneath in case he started being pulled in, and then held his breath as the dark icy world slowly, slowly, let himself drop into Sol’s hand.
…aaand he was crying again.
Oh well.
The star shakingly cupped his lost planet, and desperately tried to think of ways to make up with the others he had hurt so badly. He didn’t really think he could do it, he had been too much of a monster to be redeemed.
But maybe… maybe he could try. He owed his planets that much, at least.