#Islam Talk

[graye]

Hello! Actually, OP this might not be all true! I just went ahead and checked with my mom (Islamic teacher) and my local Sheikh and Imam, and actually, it's quite the opposite!

Salam (سلام) isn't derived from Islam (اسلام). Both words are derived from the Arabic root word 'Sa-La-Ma'. Which is quite close to what you meant by s-l-m! Salama (سلامه) means 'Peace'! So, in turn, the root meaning of Islam means peace.

Back when Muhammad ﷺ began his mission, he had sent a couple of his Rusuls (messengers that spread the belief and religion) to the dominating leaders of each neighboring country. Some examples include the Roman leaders who took over Syria, Iran Al Furs in Iraq and etc.

When the Rusuls (messengers) arrived, the leaders, who were used to bloodshed and war, were greeted with 'As-Salamu-AlAikum'. Which actually means 'Peace upon you.' or the Google translation 'Peace be unto you.' These Rusuls explained to the expectant leaders that when we arrived, we have greeted you with peace, we are a religion of peace and so we spread it. They have not asked the prideful leaders to submit, that would have ended badly.

This is the reason why we now greet one another with 'As-Salamu-AlAikum'. The foundation of Islam is Peace. Not submission. Submission to Allah Subhanahu wa-ta'ala is part of the belief, that Allah (SWT) is the one true God who had created the universe and us, so we must find the want within ourselves to honor, respect and thank him through acts of worship.

If we said that Istislaam was the verb of the noun Islam, or God-forbid imply that the root meaning is submission, it would completely change the meaning of our greeting and lore of how it came to be.

You may not have meant it, seeing as this is a taught not a learnt idea, but the very concept of submission has very bad connotations with non-Muslims and already struggling Muslims. People don't like the concept of forcing someone into something, especially people in power. It's why the Rusuls understood this, chose their words carefully and greeted the non-Muslims with 'Peace be unto you'!

Though, this may be due to how different we both may have been brought up. I'm not blind to the fact that some religious teachers use fear of the afterlife and anger of Allah (SWT) to hammer in belief into people. Yeah, it's useful when used correctly but can you remember a time where it ever was? It's especially damaging when it's used to shame people from asking questions. It creates misconceptions that it's taboo to be curious and that ends up being taught instead of the teachings. EDIT: and the fear of asking questions creates ignorance (جهل)!

Allah Subhanahu wa-ta'ala is not just the 'Al-Mumeet' (Bringer of Death), 'Ad-Dharr' (The Distressor) and 'Al Muzil' (The Humiliator), he's also 'Al-Lateef' (The Most Gentle), 'Al-Ghafoor' (The Forgiving), 'Al-Shakoor' (The Most Appreciative), 'Al-Wadood' (The Most Loving) and 92 other nice names. I feel like most religious teachers forget that lmfao.

“islamophobia isnt a thing, you cant be scared of a religion” well clearly you’ve never seen the looks we get at airports

[apollos-olives]

it's actually so sad seeing how islamophobia is still so rampant in america. i'm the president of the muslim student association on campus and today a hijabi girl came in and told me about a situation where she was religiously and racially targeted by a PROFESSOR. and the worst part wasn't just the targeting, but it was the fact that she said she was so scared to speak up and tell anyone about it because she was afraid that no one would believe her or do anything about it for her.

we as muslims in america are always told to just put our heads down and take it. it hurts to see how we're told to handle abuse and islamophobia by ourselves and not reach out for help. we're tired of tolerating abuse and hatred for no reason other than pure ignorance. white americans please educate yourselves for the love of god.

[333mp444thy]

In case you forgot, Donald Trump told Israel to hurry up & "finish the job" in Gaza, & used the word "Palestinian" as a slur. He's also promised to bring back his "Muslim ban." Zionists love him & are his top donors. He's not only bad for Palestine but he’s bad for America.

[mindofserenity]

القلب المستمع سيجد السلام بين الصمت

A listening heart will find peace in between silences. A grateful heart will learn wisdom in suffering and misfortunes. A heart of acceptance will find strength in reliance upon Allah ‎ﷻ

— mindofserenity

[viagginterstellari]

Women talking - Uzbekistan State Museum of Applied Art, Taskent, 2022

[canisalbus]

Imagine if Machete was Muslim instead of Catholic. His name would be something like Saif سيف, and Vasco would probably be something like Dhahabi ذَهَبِيّ

.

[ayaahh00]

There’s something I need to say. If you’re a Western radical feminist who claims to care about women’s rights in the Middle East, you must understand the role your countries played in creating the very oppressive systems. The U.S. armed the mujahideens (an extremist group they aided and created) in Afghanistan during the Cold War when it was a socialist country, leading to the rise of the Taliban. In Iran, they backed the Shah and then helped the Islamic regime come to power. Meanwhile, America supported Saudi Arabia since its very existence, spread Wahhabism across the region, fueling religious extremism when many countries were once secular.

Western imperialism especially American invasions and destabilization of the region must be addressed. The U.S. played the biggest role in creating Israel in 1948, funding and arming them while the rest of the region was still reeling from the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. Then there’s the Iraq invasion which killed 1.5 million Iraqis and the countless Arab lives lost throughout the Arab spring. You can’t talk about women’s rights in the Middle East without this context. If you don’t educate yourself on the harm caused by your governments, you’re just perpetuating a white savior complex, which is damaging to the very people you claim to support.

[rxvera]

Every time I see someone demand artists draw an Iranian/Iraqi/Palestinian/Afghanistani/Saudi Arabian/Yemeni/Other Islamist Reigon female subject with hijab or niqab because “it’s their culture” I die a little on the inside.

Women’s forced veiling, abuse, and oppression is not culture. It is an atrocity. Demanding they must be covered in art is cruel, disrespectful, and foolish.

Insisting that women are silenced and rejected control over their own body because of “culture” shows that you are a useful idiot only interested in supporting the oppressors.

You do not care about the culture you claim to defend, nor do you care about the women suffering under Islamist tyranny. You care more about performative pseudo-awareness than human beings.

Women deserve choice. Compulsory veiling is not choice. Do not idiotically push the idea that it is remotely acceptable because of “culture” and demand we cover artwork to fit the Ayatollah’s vision.

[itssideria]

re: Martyrs, Palestine, Islam, and the 'death cult'

Since the start of the Gazan genocide, I have seen dozens of posts and speeches along the line of "Those crazy Palestine supporters! Those crazy Palestinians! They are so obsessed with death! They celebrate death, isn't that just disgusting? Isn't it disgusting?" In the wake of Aaron Bushnell's passing, such statements are becoming more frequent. They now point to a perceived celebration of suicide—"Those Palestine supporters and their glorification of self-harm! How could you ever stand with such a cause? The entire culture glorifies death!"

This post isn't meant to argue with the people saying this. For a group that is supposedly so anti-death, you see them constantly equivocate on genocide. Instead, I'm hoping to reach those who might have questions—and they are fair questions! Why are the killed Palestinians martyrs, rather than victims? Why do Palestine's supporters hold this as a badge of honour? Why are Palestinians, and Muslims at large, 'so obsessed with death'?

Hello! I am your local non-Palestinian Muslim! Hopefully you'll find some answers here.

In the context of the genocide—and, let's be real, the last 75 years of Israel's existence—the word 'martyr' is a translation of the Arabic word shaheed. 'Shaheed' comes from 'shahad', the verb 'to witness'—to witness, because in Islam, their status is that of eternal reward. They witness heaven before anyone else. Unlike a non-martyr, whose soul remains buried until the Day of Judgement, a shaheed's reward is immediate and indisputable—heaven, eternally, no matter what.

You may then wonder what exactly being a martyr encompasses. The Western image of the martyr is often centred on war—someone killed in battle, holding a gun or a sword. With this image, it is easy to make the leap that Islam therefore rewards war and conquest: this is how you get the whole 'Muslims are violent and want to kill everyone in jihad' bullshit. (And FYI, jihad likely does not mean what you think it means, but whatever. More on that in a bit.)

However, that is just blatantly untrue! Martyrdom in Islam can include death on the battlefield when protecting a just cause, yes. Martyrdom in Islam also includes death by plague (COVID, influenza), death by drowning, crushing, or fire (natural disaster, unsafe housing, travelling), death by internal disease (cancer, infection), death in childbirth, and, finally, death when protecting one's family or property from an oppressor.

That last one seems familiar, I hope.

Why these specific instances? Well, one, because we have them recorded in reliable hadith. But also because these individuals die in a state of jihad—literally, in a state of great effort. Like martyrdom, jihad can encompass fighting in some war somewhere, but often, just means exerting effort to do something that pleases God.

And these people? They die in the process of exerting massive effort to pursue a good cause: to protect their loved ones. To become well after illness. To travel toward safety. To survive. Shuhada (the plural of shaheed) have died exerting the greatest effort of all, and for this, they are beloved to God. They attain heaven immediately. They are forgiven for whatever sins they may have incurred.

For Muslims and Palestinians, this invocation of martyrdom isn't some celebration of death. In a just world, zero Palestinians die. But this world is unjust, and thousands are still dying. The invocation of martyrdom, therefore, is an expression of hope, of resilience, of comfort to those still living: yes, they have died, but they have died in a state of jihad. Yes, they have died, but they are up there in heaven, they are happy, they are safe again. To a parent who has lost a child, to a sibling who has lost a sibling, to people with dead friends, this insistence on martyrdom is a comfort in the midst of a massive, unending grief. They did not die a victim, they died a witness—and insha'allah, they will receive their reward. To decree someone a shaheed is to honour them. It doesn't celebrate their death, but rather affirms the circumstances of that death, and celebrates the subsequent reward.

TL;DR: Martyrs are martyrs because in Islamic scripture, they have died fighting oppression. Martyrdom is a form of death that guarantees heaven, and for those who have lost loved ones, it is a comfort and hope that their loved ones are receiving the ultimate reward. Stop being fucking rude to Palestinians.

Sources: who is classified as a martyr?, wikipedia page on shahid

[hayatheauthor]

The way Zionists have brainwashed the average Jew into thinking Zionism = Judaism is insane. They've radicalised an entire religious group by making them think "look the Muslims want to target Zionists which means they're targeting the Jews!!" meanwhile we have stated multiple times over and over again that ZIONISM AND JUDAISM ARE NOT THE SAME THING. We have an issue with Zionists, not Jews, your government, not its people.

This is exactly what America did under the Bush administration. "All Muslims are terrorists, Taliban = Afghani!!" They make you think an entire populus should be held accountable for XYZ atrocity, and use that to justify genocide and ethnic cleansing.

The Israeli government really works overtime trying to convince their civilians and int Jews that Muslims regard Jews as our enemy. It's honestly sad how easily they are brainwashed. But at the same time, I see Israeli protestors demanding early elections and the resignation of Netanyahu, and I hope one day their entire population can understand everything their government got away with by making them look the wrong way.

[dashingwishes]

Eid Mubarak everyone may all of our prayers be accepted & also remember to always be kind & don’t forget spend time with your loved ones, eat well and enjoy! 🌙 💖✨

[chanaleah]

baruch hashem

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

Important announcement the cloud kingdom is my vague fantasy egypt btw anyone who says otherwise is wrong

Anyone who thinks the writers are Christian angels they are actually Muslim I'm just appropriating Christian angel imagery

Honestly the whole concept of the cloud kingdom is kinda Muslim maybe that's just me tho idk

[toddstool]

can we please leave all this religion and stuff behind its holding humanity back so much please please please it's not the middle ages anymore cmon y'all please

[caffeiiine]

i love you non-muslim people who look into islam and into arabian culture in general i love you non-muslim people who put beautiful hijabis into your stories i love you non-muslim people who get rid of the “oppressed” stereotype in your stories with muslim characters i love you people who give your faves muslim hcs i love you people who include muslim girls who don’t wear a hijab in your stories i love you i love you i love you

[en-scribed]

CENTER OF THE WORLD [fantasy short story]

Personified immortal Stars have lived secretly on Earth throughout history. This piece takes place in 16th century Florence, right at the brink of the Copernican Revolution. Sol, the beloved sun king, is presented with an endless battle and an impossible choice. The Stars' world was created by myself and @heirmyst. Previous post: [THE THREE BIRDS] [ORION'S FINEST] [GATHERER OF GRAIN] Word count: 4,453

The air grew colder by the moment as the sun set. Sol, soaring through the overcast sky, had to stamp down the instinct to burn brighter. Instantly, as daylight faded, the flight grew tedious, but not because of the cold. Sol hastened his wingbeats to reach his destination sooner; anything to stop having to dim his flames.

Finally, he descended into the old Medici palace’s chapel, only letting the protective cloaking field drop once the walls securely surrounded him.

Beaming, he spread his arms, ready to receive his fellow Stars. “I am here!” 

His flight-blurred vision cleared, only to reveal… nothing. The cavernous space of the chapel only echoed back his own words.

And the sound of a loose page turning. 

Sol walked toward the steady, calming light that radiated from an opposite corner. Cann sat alone, hunched against a wall in a way that couldn’t have possibly been comfortable for their wings and engrossed in a bound tome.

“I said,” Sol repeated, with greater enunciation, now that he spoke only to one fellow Star. “I have arrived!” 

“I can see that, my king,” Cann said mildly, without looking up from their book. “I heard you the first time, and knew you were coming well before then.”

He stiffened. “Did I fail to disguise my light enough?” 

“Oh no, it was more than enough for the mortals,” Cann said with a laugh, their eyes glowing with lavender flame to make the point. “But there’s no hiding from me.”

Sol sighed. He folded his wings back down and leaned against the pillar facing the other Star. “Where are the others, Canopus?”

Cann shushed him, impatient. “I’m almost done!” 

“Is it truly that riveting?” Sol asked flatly. “You read too much.” 

Cann didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding to the remark, or even acknowledging that they heard it. They simply flipped through the last fifty pages in the span of a few minutes and put it aside. Finally meeting Sol’s eyes with the utmost seriousness, they said, “No such thing as reading too much.”

“There is for you!” Sol argued. “You can know anything without lifting a finger. What use would you have for mortal books?” Absently, he picked it up, ready to cast it aside before the words on the cover caught his eye. It read, On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres.

“For one,” Cann said, smiling, “It’s an invaluable resource on keeping up with the mortals. I know what I know, but it’s useful to keep a finger on the pulse of what they know.”

Sol found himself leaning forward. “And… what do they know?”

“It appears that one of them has taken a shot in the dark.” They held a palm out and produced a small pocket illusion; two spinning orbs, one large and golden, the other small and blue. “He has come to the revelation that the Earth revolves around the sun, not the other way around.” 

Before Sol knew it, he was perusing the book. The words blended together, but the diagrams scattered throughout held his attention. He vaguely remembered secret keeper al-Tusi and the rest of the observatory students in Iran shoving quaint pictures in his face, some near identical to the ones in this tome. Somehow, their legacy had carried itself to a mind several lands away.

“How did the astronomers of the caliphates never come to this?” Sol asked.

“A misguided question,” Cann said, ending the illusory demonstration. “You cannot judge them by the standards we have because of what we know, especially because they were brilliant on their own terms. I believe you would be better served asking why this man did make this departure.”

But Sol’s mind did not have the space to ponder Cann’s philosophical proposals. Basking in the satisfaction of finally having his centrality out in the open, no matter how fringe this mortal’s reach might have been, was too momentous to be disrupted by anything else. 

He caught Cann’s wry, knowing stare and tossed the book back to them. “As if I needed the humans to tell me what we’ve always known,” he said, trying his best to wipe the smile off his face. “Well, leaving that… why have I returned to an empty palace tonight?” 

Cann stood, smoothly snapping to attention. “Hauntings have decided, very unwisely, to camp outside the city walls. A show of force, I gather. The others have flown out to neutralize the flock.”

“All of them?” Sol asked, surprised. “Even Sirius?”

“Especially Sirius,” Cann corrected. “Vega insisted upon having him. You know how they get when the other side of fate’s scales tips even an inch downward.”

Sol nodded proudly. “North Star V never misses,” he said. “Still. How have they not asked you to join?”

“We aren’t that desperate just yet,” Cann said lightly. “Some blasts need to be held close to the chest.”

On cue, colorful flames lit up the chapel’s entrance. As Sol hastened to adjust his crown and take his place on the steps, Cann strode forth to meet the Stars. The group, freshly out of battle, frantically scrambled to make their various reports known. V shoved their way to the front of the group, buzzing with urgent blue lightning, but at the sight of Cann, considerably relaxed. 

Placing a sympathetic hand on Cann’s shoulder, V said, “I wish you only the absolute best of luck.”

Cann only blinked at them, confused. “For what?”

“My king!” Alpha Pavonis’ cry rose above the other Stars’ chattering, catching Sol’s ear. “May I have a word?” 

Before Sol could open his mouth, Cyon sprang to hold Alpha Pavonis back. “Oh, don’t you dare!” she yelled. “You do not get to skip your way directly to the king, Pav. This is unacceptable!”

The two continued to struggle against each other, the arguing punctuated by warning blasts. V turned to Cann. “Enjoy dealing with that,” they said. “I’m going to do away with the debris from the latest flock.”

“Wait, the latest flock? Vega!” Cann protested, grabbing for their hand, but V was too fast, making a quick exit in a flash of lightning. Cann gestured wildly in Sol’s direction. 

“Stars, silence!” Sol commanded. Instantly, the room quietened. Cyon had managed to pin Pav to the marble floor, before she was pulled to her feet by Sirius, who whispered calming words to her. Satisfied, Sol made his way down the steps. “Bring forth your reports one at a time.” 

“Affirmative,” Cyon said, dropping Sirius’ gloved hand and walking toward Sol. “You see, the matter at hand is that Alpha Pav—”

Sol held up a hand to stop her. “Now, if you will begin by recounting a fellow Star’s argument, I would rather hear it from the source themself.” He glanced at Pav, who was getting back on their feet. “The sky is yours, Alpha Pavonis.”

“Ah… thank you?” Pav stammered out. Quickly regaining composure, They stood tall and trailed their peacock hued robes behind them. “My king, as I’m certain you have gathered from the North Star’s words, we have not one Haunting flock on our hands, but a ready, almost endless queue. Every time we neutralized one at the walls, another rose to take its place. We slowed it down, and even then, Vega might meet another while they’re gone.”

“Are you implying we are low on firepower?” Sol asked. “Has Sirius’ deployment not eased any such concerns?”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes, and,” Cyon corrected sharply. “Show some respect.” Beside her, Sol could have sworn he saw Sirius grinning under the cover of his mask. 

Pav glared at the two, but went on undeterred. “Why continue the grueling task of taking them out one by one, when we have what it takes to frighten them off for good?”

They paused, as if their implication was obvious. Sol glanced back at Cann, who only shrugged. They were as confused as he was. 

“Explain yourself,” Sol said. 

“Why… we have you, my king.” Pav said. “If you send a warning using the most magnificent celestial body in the sky, they’d be forced to take heed, yes?”

“Sol,” Cann began, warningly. “This proposal is too ambitious for its own good.”

“You’ve spoken above your station more than enough, Pav!” Cyon piped up. 

“Sirius,” Sol said. “Please restrain your wife.” 

“Of course, my king!” Sirius’ constant flames brightened as he reached for Cyon’s arm. “Regardless, for the benefit of the court, Pav’s suggestion would be a severe violation of our arrangements with the Medici. Any unforeseen celestial events here will be seen by the entire population of Florence, and we could be—”

“Cyon,” Sol cut in, already tired. “Please silence your wife.”

“Heard loud and clear, my king.” But she was still glaring daggers at Pav, who was looking back at her with presumptuous, smug satisfaction. Sirius was barely managing to hold her back from attacking again.

Sol decided he had no time for this. “Cann!”

Cann stepped forward, wings and arms spread to usher everyone out of the room. “Say no more. Because no one here is my wife.”

“Your loss,” Sirius said, and collective airy laughter echoed around the chapel.

Sol let himself breathe, relieved by the tension dissolving. Sirius laced his fingers through Cyon’s and led her out of the room. The other Stars swiftly followed them, their conversations now far more lighthearted. Only Pav lingered behind, slow to budge. Sol took a tentative step toward them.

“That means you too, Alpha Pavonis!” Cann ordered, cutting any action short now that Pav had no choice but to listen. “Move!” 

“All of your concerns have been heard!” Sol promised the exiting Stars. “Allow me until the next sunrise. We will proceed only with what is best for you!”

“You heard him, next sunrise!” Cann repeated for emphasis. “For skies’ sake, don’t let me catch any of you out of your quarters before then. I will know!” 

Once everyone else left the hearing range, Sol sank into the altar seat, gripping the crown on his head tightly between his hands. He only had some hours to figure this out, and failures awaited him in every direction; which of them would be less shameful to bear? 

Cann cleared their throat. “Is everything alright?” they asked, the calculated performance of the king’s advisor flawlessly shifting to the softness of a friend. 

Sol tried to smile back, but it felt hollow. It always did when he was with Cann. And yet, even as he knew there was no use, he found himself saying, “Yes. Hauntings and mortals have never stopped us before. This is an inconsequential matter.”

Cann raised an eyebrow. They both knew full well nothing involving the sun could ever be inconsequential to Stardom. 

“I… must think this over,” Sol said. “Alone.”

“If you say so,” Cann said easily, no trace of accusation in their voice. Sol watched them gratefully as they marched out of the chapel without another word. He loved it when they played along this way; it almost lulled him into the false comfort of thinking something could get past their sharp, all-seeing eyes. 

With no one except his own light for company, Sol mulled over the decision, thinking about every angle hard enough for flames to rise his fingers, carelessly scorching the wooden chair. Skies above, fragile human furniture was a pain.

He stood, hating how he couldn’t even claim ownership to the walls around him. Resentfully, he let his gaze drift over the painted frescos surrounding him, scenes of mortal processions and hunts. He’d find the pomp endearing if it wasn’t so offensive right then. These were the beings he and his people had to hide from? When would they wake up to the truth that the Stars outshone them in every way?

Except… His stroll through the hall finally came to Cann’s forgotten pile of books. On top rested the one that spoke of the sun’s centrality. 

Some already had woken up, hadn’t they?

Coming to a decision, Sol walked out of the chapel, steps as delicate as air. He could not sit idly. The lurkers thought they were out of reach, with their clever queue rotation, but Pav was right; they’d run at the first sight of Sol. He weaved through the palace corridors and bypassed the nearest window in a flash of light. 

Veiling his fire as well as he could given the stark contrast against night, he fluttered carefully into the air. 

Lightning struck the palace roof; V had arrived, landing unsteadily against the rough masonry. Sol moved instinctively, backing himself against the nearest wall to hide. Did they have to return just as he was leaving?

“Vega?” Sirius’ voice floated in, his footsteps rushing to join them. “Did you manage the mess? The wall remains untouched, yes?”

Catching their breath, V laughed. “Managed,” they repeated bitterly, with a break in their voice that made Sol worry. Were they hurt? “Guess who came to taunt me when I went to clean up?”

Sirius sighed. “Another encampment?”

“I don’t know where they keep coming from! It’s as if they can’t leave the walls unoccupied for even a wingbeat, the stubborn fucks.” 

“We outdo their stubborness, then,” Sirius said, his voice far less confident than the words. Sol’s heart sank; his strongest soldiers were battling themselves to exhaustion, all for the feeble, sheltered minds of this city’s mortals. “We need a plan of action. Between Pav and Cyon, whom do you think—” 

“Stop,” V cut in, irritated. “Your nonsense infighting can wait until sunrise. We aren’t even supposed to be out of our quarters. In, now!” 

Their footsteps and further conversation faded. If Sol’s resolve ever faltered during his exit, this hardened it beyond return. The Hauntings’ intimidation tactic could not be allowed to stand anymore.

Letting the anger fuel him forward, Sol set a course straight for Florence’s walls.

The closer he flew to the edges of the city, the murkier the sky became. Too soon, every precious star adorning the cloak of night disappeared, and he had nothing to glance up at for strength.

Enough, he thought to himself, steeling his nerves. It is I who must give them strength now. 

The weight of the blotted sky burdening his every wingbeat, Sol arrived quietly to the scene of the northern gate. Below, three Hauntings lay in wait on burned grass. Sol didn’t know it was possible to make nighttime even darker; these sentient black holes masquerading as earthly creatures always proved him wrong. He set his feet down on the wall’s brick facade, stepped off the end, and let his light burst forth. 

“Leave these walls!” he yelled.

Immediately, high whistles rang out as the Hauntings rushed into formation. One of the quicker front soldiers, clam-like in shape, launched a black-stained pearl the size of a boulder. 

Sol braced himself, burning hands ready to intercept it… but the hit never came.

Just as the cannonball corralled to knock into Sol, he was on the ground, untouched, the pearl dropping unceremoniously a few feet away from him. The Hauntings froze, confused, inadvertently allowing him a moment to regain his bearings. 

Enough to see that the stained pearl now glowed lavender.

Keeping a flame at the ready to ward off the Hauntings, Sol looked up at the wall behind him and yelled, “Cann!” 

On command, a head emerged at the top. Cann peeked down. “My king,” they greeted, not bothering to sound the slightest bit chastened. 

“What are you doing here?” Sol asked. The clam Haunting unwisely decided to rush him. Sol’s flame cut him down in an instant. “Out of your quarters, at this hour?” 

“I could be asking you the same thing!” Cann swooped down at the last word, tackling both remaining Hauntings at once. “Did you think you could hide from me?” Even as they punctuated each word with a calculated strike, Sol got the feeling the anger in their voice was not for the creatures. “Or did you want me to graciously look away, as you crept off to this endless fight?”

Successfully, Cann brought a frail reptilian Haunting flat onto the ground. The companion, an armored, plump one, continued to trade blows with them.

Sol rushed to their side, knocking the Haunting off course with one fatal punch to the head. He shook off the flame, triumphant. “That will teach you.” 

“Sol…” Cann whispered warningly.

“Don’t… think this is over,” a new voice said, wet and halting. The clam Haunting was still on the ground, a hole burned into his weak internal flesh. That did nothing to compromise the smugness of his declaration. “You can’t take us all.”

Sol’s fist burned, but Cann touched his arm, silently telling him to save it.

“Wonderful,” Cann muttered. “Another entry in this queue will be here any moment.”

“Oh, don’t act as if this was wrong of me!” Sol shot back. “Would you rather I sat comfortably in the palace while this went on? Pav said—”

“Pav is a showboating windbag,” they said drily. “Why are we listening to them?”

“It is our only option,” he said. “These Hauntings need to be cleared out, and if the cost is some inconvenience to the mortals—”

“The cost is you, Sol!” Cann’s voice rose to a volume Sol had never heard before. Softer, they went on, “You don’t have anything to prove to mortals, or Hauntings… anyone.” Desperate, they reached for his hand. “The sun’s face is all the more precious because it’s our secret. Why would you throw that away?”

“Cann…” Sol’s words died in his throat. He never considered what he’d be giving away. Even if he frightened the Hauntings, what would become of the Stars if they were unveiled to the mortals thanks to his carelessness?

He was the center of the world. For the first time, he hated that truth.

A dark mist closed in, followed by quick feet hitting the ground. More Hauntings were coming. Sol’s heart raced. What was he going to do, surrender to the enemy, or betray the secret? He racked his brain, at an impossible loss.

Until he locked eyes with the Star beside him, and everything fell into place.

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

Cann’s smile shone even brighter than their burning eyes. “I know everything.” 

Without having to say anything else, the two of them parted, Cann holding their ground against the incoming flock as Sol took to the sky. Trusting Cann to keep the Hauntings busy, Sol watched the horizon, waiting for the perfect moment. 

The smallest glimmer of the coming dawn’s fire was all he needed. “Now!” he yelled. 

He glanced down, only to realize with horror that he’d distracted Cann at a crucial juncture. A well-toned amphibian Haunting seized the opportunity, wrestling Cann to their knees as the force of the flock descended on them. Sol hovered uselessly on the spot, paralyzed by the sight, his eyes darting between the battle below and the sunrise. 

He could not fail. Not like this.

Then, the sky cleared.

A concentrated beam of lavender light had cut through an opening between the Haunting’s limbs and shot into the sky like a beacon. It reached its zenith and dispersed, sending a dome of thin, shimmering illusion descending onto the battleground. 

A curtain. They were safe from outside eyes.

Cann brushed their horrified assailants off and struggled to their feet. They looked up at Sol. “Do it!” 

The sun was now painting the sky red. Sol caught hold of its fire and, working like a strategically placed glass, focused its wrath on the toad Haunting who had led the latest charge. The skin ignited. High-pitched screams pierced the air, from the toad and the rest of the flock alike. Sol glared, unblinking, making his silent threat clear. The sounds faded mercifully fast into the distance as the Hauntings made their escape, away from the walls of Florence. Cann joined Sol in the air, wasting no time in putting distance between themselves and the retreating flock.

“Are there more coming?” Sol asked.

Cann briefly scrunched their face in concentration, then relaxed. “No,” they said, satisfied. “All of them are retreating.”

The weight of the sky seemed to be lifted off Sol’s shoulders as the two Stars made their way to the wall. They’d done the impossible, put an end to the endless fight. 

Sol landed on a higher palisade of the wall, and beamed at Cann when they followed suit. “Let it never be said you don’t deliver, Canopus.”

“Never be said?” Cann asked. “Even by you?”

The joke lacked their usual flair. Still, Sol didn’t let that chip away at the euphoria of a hard-won victory. “You’ll catch me saying no such thing.” He clapped Cann on the shoulder. “Truthfully, I don’t know how you—”

The force of the playful hit made Cann stumble a step forward. They caught themself in time… but that slight gesture shouldn’t have fazed one of his strongest Stars at all. Sol noticed too late that they were clutching their robes pointedly to the side with both hands, as if to cover something.

He stood at attention, now alarmed. “Cann…?”

“It’s alright!” they managed through shallow breaths, smiling so genuinely that for a moment, Sol fully believed the words. “We won.”

They collapsed at his feet, and the protective dome above faded to nothing.

“No!” Sol sank to his knees beside them. He turned them over to reveal viscous black staining their robes. The lead Haunting had poisoned them in the scuffle; it had corroded deep enough to graze their skin. He brought a flaming palm to the sizzling wound. Even in the warmth of his arms, Cann was shivering. Their eyes did not open. “Fight it,” he begged.

He couldn’t win this way. This cost was too much to bear. 

“Over there!” a voice called from the sky. V led Cyon and Pav to the wall, their excitement and relief palpable through the wind. As they flew closer though, V’s smile instantly fell. The three Stars landed on the top of the wall.

“Cann, you idiot…” V cursed under their breath. “What happened?”

“I used the sun to drive them out,” Sol said, not taking his eyes off Cann.

“Oh?” Pav asked, with barely restrained glee.

“But I made certain no one would see it.”

“Naturally,” Cyon said, pointedly glaring at Pav. “Because how thoughtless would the alternative have been, right?” 

Sol’s face burned with embarrassment. As if he needed to be told now.

“Both of you need to shut it!” V took it upon themself to say. “Make yourselves useful and get them to Sirius, before the Haunting venom spreads too far.”

The Stars gently pried Cann away from Sol’s grasp. Still continuing their debate wordlessly with their eyes, Cyon and Pav flew off, supporting Cann’s weight between them. Sol watched after them, only snapping out of his thoughts when V spoke.

“The old ‘illusion of safety’ curtain trick, yes?” V asked, impressed. “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

“Would it have ended better if you had?”

“Don’t say that, it ended well enough! If the Hauntings have even half a brain between them, you scared them off for good!” V argued. “And Cann will be fine. It’s Cann, for skies’ sake.”

“They better be.”

V sighed. “I’m going to clean up this mess.” They gestured vaguely to the fires and black puddles. “Go back to the palace. See how they’re holding up.”

Sol was off to the palace practically before they finished speaking. To mask his flight, he followed a sunbeam; it was, thankfully, much easier to disguise himself in the daytime.

He practically kicked down the ornate door to the chapel. 

“Come now!” Sirius was saying. His gloves were off, and his constant flames were uninhibited as he tried to hold a struggling Cann down to the altar. He was succeeding, but only barely; Cann almost matched his strength. “Would it end to you hold still for—”

Sol cleared his throat, and the two of them snapped to attention. “Everything is in order, I assume?” he said.

“Yes, my king!” Sirius said. “But I need to attend to them at least until noon. It’s simply Haunting wound protocol.”

Cann scoffed. “Spare me the protocol, Sirius. The poison barely even took.”

Sirius crossed his arms. “And whose fire is to be credited for that?”

“If I may,” Sol said, amused. “Sirius, allow me a word with Cann. Protocol will be followed unfettered after this.”

Sirius bowed his head and stood. “As you wish.” Leaning closer to Sol, he whispered, “Make sure to dedicate at least some of your time to telling them to stay put.” He vacated the chapel, leaving Sol and Cann alone and shutting the door securely behind him. 

“Ironic,” Cann remarked. “That he believes you can tell me anything about staying put.”

Sol didn’t return the humor. “Do not deflect from the matter at hand.”

“Oh, are we doing this? Fine,” Cann said with a roll of their eyes, like they were being asked to perform a menial chore. “Yes, I’m perfectly intact and will be back to fighting shape by next sunrise. No, the poison is not your fault, and if you even try to insist otherwise, you fundamentally misunderstand why I followed you. And don’t worry, as far as the other Stars will know, your unbelievably rash stunt did not happen, and the curtain was our brilliant plan all along.” They took a breath. “Did I miss anything?”

Sol stammered a few half hearted responses, having to give up in the end to avoid appearing even more foolish. He took a seat beside Cann. “I wish you would stop taking all the gravitas out of my heartstopping speeches,” he said finally, smiling despite himself.

“You are very predictable.”

Companionable silence overtook them. Sol draped a wing around Cann’s side in case the biting cold of the poison hadn't subsided. Cann did not pull away.

“It bothers you, doesn't it?” they asked softly. “That I can read your intentions like an open book, but you can never have that certainty about mine?”

“It would help,” Sol admitted. “If I knew you intended to take every hit at the wall…”

“You couldn't have stopped me,” Cann said. “No more than I could have stopped you from sneaking out.”

“Well, thank the skies for that, I suppose.” He watched the murals around him, feeling pride, more powerful than the envy or indifference the pieces had inspired before. Despite it all, the truth remained that he’d survived more in the past hours than the commemorated mortals would face in a lifetime. He could make peace with that, if nothing else. “Stardom lives to see another day.”