The Truth About Where The Sun Rises From

Rena raised the six appendages beside her head and stared intently at the object on the table-like slab. The flower quivered but did not lift.

“Rena! Concentrate!” her mother called from across the room. One of her eyes bobbed angrily at the back of her head before settling back in place.

Rena sighed and tried again—nothing.

“Mom, don’t you think it’s the color of the day slowing me down?” she asked, gesturing at the blue swirls of air drifting through the house.

Her mother floated across the room, coming to rest beside the slab.

“Seems like it’s your lazy color, then,” her mother said, cuffing Rena lightly on the side of her head.

Rena knew she had it easy. Other children were severely beaten by their mothers for the same display of weakness, but everyone knew Mar Shadec had a soft spot for her small, ivory-colored child.

Among the Herukana people, the predominant colors were orange, purple, and green—an ivory child was a rare sight. Mar Shadec feared for their family every day.

She brushed a hand over her daughter’s woolly blue hair, a silent signal of dismissal. The little girl squealed and darted out of the house, her mother watching with a proud smile.

The back door opened and Mar Shadec walked over to close the front door knowing the “intruder” would be nobody but her husband. Soon enough, a bold hand snaked around her and cupped one of her breasts in a way that made her blush in embarrassment.

“Stop it!” she said, shock evident in her voice.

Her husband turned her around, caught sight of her flustered expression, and burst into laughter.

“When will you stop being a virgin, my pretty wife?” he teased, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. Her six hearing appendages darkened several shades, betraying her embarrassment.

“And when will you stop sneaking up on me?” she countered.

“Never,” he declared. “I promise to sneak up on you for the rest of our lives.”

Mar Shadec scoffed and playfully smacked his shoulder.

“How was work?” she asked.

“Fine. Where is my little Ivory Gold?” he asked as they floated toward the bedroom.

“She went out to play.”

“I need to talk to you about the girl,” her husband said.

Mar Shadec’s hearing appendages stiffened, quivering. “What about?”

“Shhh! Calm down, Olie. It’s just me,” he reassured her.

She sighed and leaned into him.

“They already have their eyes on her because of her peculiar color. If her power grows, they might take her from us.”

She stared into his distressed eyes. “I’m making sure she doesn’t get powerful,” she said.

His expression darkened. “That’s not possible… Is it what I’m thinking? Tell me! What are you doing to our daughter!?”

“I’m doing what’s best for her!” Mar Shadec snapped.

---

The classroom was silent as the teacher snapped her cane against the wall. The cane twitched unnaturally, as if it had a mind of its own.

“Any questions?” she asked, scanning the class.

After a moment, Rena raised her hand. The room erupted into murmurs.

“Yes? Speak!” the teacher commanded.

Rena hesitated, then asked, “Why are the actions of moving called floating and fleeing?”

The murmuring grew significantly louder.

“Silence!” the teacher barked. Then she nodded approvingly. “That’s a very intelligent question, Rena.”

She turned to face the class.

“In the old days, the Herukana people floated regally on the abundant friendly gases that covered our lands. But then the enemy came, and everything was thrown into chaos. Our people had to change the speed of their movement or risk being caught. That’s when ‘fleeing’ was born—a name fitting for the way we were forced to float faster and faster, escaping the enemy.”

“Were there no casualties in the war?” Suren, the biggest boy in Rena’s class, asked.

“Of course, there were,” the teacher replied. “The most terrible war our land has ever known left many casualties. But enough questions. Now, place your water stones on your writing slabs and crush them into pencils with your minds.”

A hush fell over the classroom. A multitude of hearing appendages stood straight and taut in the air. The sound of cracking stones echoed as the students focused. Despite their name, water stones were anything but soft—these indigo-colored rocks were deceptively hard.

“Rena, why haven’t you started?” the teacher’s voice cut through the classroom noise.

“I can’t do it. I just can’t,” Rena whined.

The teacher floated toward her, placing a firm hand on the child’s head. Moments later, she yanked her hand away as though burned, her entire body recoiling. Her hearing appendages twitched violently.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, composing herself, she turned back to the class.

“That’s enough for today. Put your newly made pencils in your closets and head home.”

The students obeyed, chatting excitedly as they packed up. Rena, however, quietly slipped her unbroken stone into her closet, slung her bag over her shoulders, and floated toward the door.

Her teacher watched her intently, eyes clouded with thought, until she disappeared out of the class into the swirling blue air.

---

Mar Shadec bent her head as she entered the blue dome in front of the small house. The moment she crossed the threshold, the sweet scent of incense clung to her nose. At the far end of the room, a woman stood without a single stitch of clothing, but Mar Shadec was unfazed.

“Hello, old friend,” the woman said. “I’ll put something on. Sit.”

“Thank you,” Mar Shadec murmured, lowering herself onto a cushion.

With a snap of her fingers, a pink shawl draped over the woman’s slim form. Mar Shadec couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy—childbirth and the string of miscarriages after Rena had stolen away her once-slender figure.

“I want to talk about your daughter,” the woman said.

Mar Shadec stiffened. “What about her?”

“She isn’t performing well in school.”

Mar Shadec frowned. “The reason I enrolled her in your classes was because I trust you. What exactly are you saying?”

Rena’s teacher narrowed her eyes, anger darkening her features.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped. “You know what you did to her is dangerous. Her power is straining against the binds. Have you even checked them lately?”

“No, I haven’t,” Mar Shadec admitted, her cheeks flushing pink.

“Big mistake!” the teacher snapped. “That girl is a danger—to herself, to you, and to all of Herukana.”

“I’ll handle it,” Mar Shadec replied, her voice firm. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

The woman’s expression softened. “What are friends for?” she said with a small smile.

They pressed their foreheads together in farewell, and Mar Shadec turned to leave.

As she floated back home, her mind drifted to the incident five years ago—the moment that had forced her to suppress Rena’s powers.

It had been a bright, breezy day at the beach. The clan’s mothers and children had gathered for a small celebration, laughter and chatter filling the air. Rena had played joyfully with her mates, but after an hour, she had approached Mar Shadec with a pleading look.

“Mommy, can I go in the water?” she asked, wringing her hands and twirling her hearing appendages in that charming way she did when she wanted something.

“No, you can’t,” Mar Shadec said, barely glancing at her before turning back to the flock of twittering birds around her head.

“I want to go in the water,” Rena whined, her voice rising in frustration.

“Leave me, Rena! Go play with your mates!” Mar Shadec snapped.

The little girl had bristled with anger, her small fists clenching at her sides. Looking back now, Mar Shadec couldn’t help but smile. Rena had always been like the weather—unpredictable, shifting moods like storm clouds rolling in. And that day, she had been a thunderstorm.

“NO!!!” Little Rena screamed when her faucet went off. Her mother and the birds around her head were forcefully pushed away from the wrapping cloth on the sand. Nearby food carts were tossed unto the sand and everyone around took cover. Before they got back up, Mar Shadec quickly grabbed the little girl and held her to her breast.

Within seconds, a clan policeman materialized beside them. “What happened here?” he asked, surveying the minor disaster.

Mar Shadec adjusted Rena in her arms, her voice tinged with apology. “She kept pestering me, and I got angry.”

The policeman’s gaze landed on the ivory-colored child, and a chuckle escaped him. “Want me to take her off your hands?”

Mar Shadec shook her head. He nodded, seemingly satisfied that all was well, and vanished just as quickly as he had appeared.

Now, floating towards her home, she smiled at the memory—the fear that had gripped her that day seemed laughable now.

Then, a shift in the air snapped her out of her thoughts.

The density of the swirling atmosphere sent a sharp warning through her senses. The air felt thick—like it did when smoke choked it.

A sudden dread seized her chest. She darted around the corner, her floating movement accelerating into a frantic flee.

Then she saw it.

Her house, perched atop the small rise of the pink mountain, was ablaze. The once-cozy structure stood like a beacon of fire, its red flames clawing greedily at the sky. The heat pressed against her skin even from a distance.

Without realizing it, she had instinctively tucked her ear appendages into the safety of her head. That was why she hadn’t heard anything.

Heart pounding, she unfurled them.

A split second later, she wished she hadn’t.

Rena’s screams pierced the air.

Her husband’s voice roared with agony.

They were inside.

Inside the burning house.

***

Rena jolted awake, screaming, her body drenched in sweat. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted to the timer on the wall. One hour left.

One hour until the final test of abilities—the test that would determine the most powerful Kana.

Every three years, the king selected the strongest and most vibrant young Kanas to serve under him. This was more than just a competition. It was a chance to prove oneself, to rise above the rest, to claim a place among the elite.

The Kanas were not ordinary Herukana. They possessed extraordinary abilities, capable of shaping reality in ways others could only dream of.

After all, their planet itself was extraordinary.

The air shimmered with magic, infused with the strange gases released from the eternal burning of their dead. Beneath the planet’s surface, the crypts housed the remains of fallen Herukana, their bodies burned every day of the year—except on Nord, the long day of rest.

Nord always arrived without warning. To prepare, Herukana families stored healthy gases in their cellars, ensuring they could survive indoors when the dead finally demanded their day of peace.

Rena shook off the lingering unease from her dreams and wrapped herself in her white shawl, just as her mother had taught her.

Outside, the arena was already alive with noise. The air buzzed with excitement, the energy thick with anticipation.

She stepped into her designated spot, shoulders squared.

“Rena!”

She turned her head, meeting the bright gaze of Mona—her classmate and the second-best student in their training.

“It’s funny that we were placed side by side, isn’t it?” Mona grinned, her voice carrying an unusual warmth.

Rena hesitated, watching her closely. There was something about Mona’s sudden friendliness that felt… off.

“Yeah,” she answered cautiously, her wariness creeping in.

Something was definitely not right.

“Yet, I believe this will be too easy for you to win,” Mona said, her voice dripping with mockery. She locked eyes with Rena, her gaze unwavering. “Just like everything else… including killing your father.”

Rena’s hands clenched into fists. Heat rushed to her face, but she forced herself to stay calm. Their teacher had warned them—this competition required maximum concentration.

“Shut up, Mona,” she said through gritted teeth.

Mona tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You do know I need this position, right?”

“Yes,” Rena shot back, her voice sharp. “To further the ambition of your usurper of a father.”

Mona’s eyes widened in surprise, and Rena smirked. “Oh, I know all about your family’s little plans. Foolish, if you ask me.”

Mona’s lips curled in a sneer. “At least I have a family—one that’s standing in the bleachers right now, praying for me to win.”

Rena scoffed, but despite herself, her eyes flickered toward the crowd.

The mighty bell rang through the arena, cutting through the tension. The audience rose to their feet in reverence, honoring the planet that had given them life.

The second chime echoed, and the ground trembled. Slowly, the crypt deep below them began to open.

A wave of searing heat rolled through the arena, a painful reminder of what awaited any Kana who failed.

An elder Kana stepped onto the dais across from them, his voice booming over the crowd.

“This year’s competition is a fight for survival. The first stage requires all graduating Kanas to duel with the opponent beside them. When the first Kana falls, the next challenge is unlocked.”

He stepped down, and a deafening war cry erupted from the crowd. The battle had begun.

Rena turned back to Mona, who was grinning wickedly.

She smirked in return. If Mona hadn’t been able to defeat her in four years of training, she certainly wouldn’t win now.

The first spell shot toward Rena. She dodged effortlessly, countering with a freezing spell. Mona blocked it, her movements sharp and calculated.

They fought relentlessly, their magic clashing in bursts of light and energy. Hours passed, and Rena could see it—Mona was tiring. Her attacks were slower, her defenses weaker.

Sensing victory, Rena eased her assault.

A mistake.

Mona’s lips curled into a smirk, and before Rena could react, a shadowy spell surged toward her.

A sharp force slammed into Rena’s belly. Pain exploded through her body as she staggered back, gasping. Her eyes darted upward—her assailant stood just beyond the edge of the pedestal.

Caleb.

Mona’s brother glared at her, his expression twisted with fury. But why? What had she done to him?

Before she could make sense of it, Mona struck.

A stunning spell shot toward her, crackling with energy. She barely had time to react before it collided with her chest, sending her hurtling backward.

The pedestal vanished beneath her feet.

Rena plummeted, the roar of the crowd fading as the searing heat below swallowed her whole.

If she could have screamed, she thought bitterly, she would have taken them down with her.

The fire embraced her, pulling her into its endless depths.

Above, the arena fell silent.

The enge had begun.

***

Fabian had been waiting to die. Not because of sickness, but because he had nothing left to live for.

Living in a tent by the sea had seemed fitting for a man with nothing to lose. He was asleep when the meteor crashed into the ocean, but the smoke woke him. That night, as he stepped out of his tent and walked toward the shore, he expected to see destruction—maybe even the remains of a space rock.

Instead, he saw her.

A woman lay in the charred sand, wearing a strange, shimmering material. Her dark skin glowed under the moonlight, her features sharp, regal—almost otherworldly. She looked like she had stepped straight out of 1980s Africa.

Fabian’s flashlight swept over her face. Her eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, she stared, dazed and disoriented. Then, she saw him.

She screamed.

That was five years ago.

Now, he and Rena lived in a small condo by the sea. She told him stories of Herukana, her planet where the dead burned endlessly beneath the surface, fueling their world’s eternal light. She spoke of the betrayal—the so-called test of abilities where her peers had sabotaged her and let her fall to her death.

Inside the crypt, surrounded by roaring flames, she had fought to survive. The toxic gases would have killed her—if not for Nord.

The long day.

The only day when the fires ceased.

With the flames extinguished, she clawed her way through the piles of bodies, pushing deeper into the crypt’s depths. And then, she fell. A hidden chasm swallowed her whole, and when she awoke, she was here.

On Earth.

One day, as they sat on the shore, watching the horizon, Fabian asked, “If the sun rises in the west, does that mean Herukana is in the west?”

She smiled. “You say our name well now.”

“But is it?” he pressed.

“No. Herukana is above the sun. The sun is below our planet.”

Fabian frowned. “So… where is the sun? East? West?”

She chuckled. “I do not know your planet’s ways. You see fire rising from the horizon, but I see the burning souls of Herukana’s dead. My father’s flame, blessing your world.”

She spoke with certainty, as though she had never once questioned it.

Fabian stared at the waves, unsettled. The sun had always been just the sun to him. A ball of fire. A scientific fact.

But to Rena, it was something else entirely.

And somehow, that made it feel different.

She would go outside when the sun was at its peak, standing motionless, staring up as if searching for something—someone.

Fabian knew who.

Neither of them understood why she had changed form upon crossing into Earth. Her skin, her voice, even the way she moved—it was all different now. But despite her new form, her purpose remained unchanged. She wanted to go back. Not just to return home, but to exact vengeance on Mona and the others who had let her fall.

Yet, on the days when she thought he wasn’t looking, Fabian would find her sitting on the hot sand, staring at nothing, lost in thoughts too heavy for him to carry.

One afternoon, as the waves crashed gently against the shore, he sat beside her. “What do you miss most about home?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon.

“My mother,” she finally said. “And the ability to float. The ability to flee.”

“The ability to flee?” he repeated, puzzled.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes. “Even here, the friendly gases of my planet call out to me. They whisper in the wind, just beyond my reach.”

She looked up at the sky, her expression unreadable. “Someday, I will ascend back to my people. Into your sun. Who knows? Perhaps someone will come looking for me.”

Hope flickered in her eyes, but it was fragile, wavering like the heat rising from the sand.

Fabian said nothing. He simply put his arm around her, holding her close. If she ever left, if she truly ascended back into the fire—he wasn’t sure if Earth would ever feel warm again.

***

Fabian never stopped watching her. Every day, Rena would walk to the shore, tilting her face to the sky, waiting for something neither of them could see.

He wanted to believe she belonged here. That no one would come for her. That she would stay.

But deep down, he knew better.

One evening, as the sky burned orange, she stood at the water’s edge, her feet sinking into the damp sand. The wind was stronger that night, swirling around her like unseen hands reaching out. Fabian stood a few feet away, his heart hammering.

“It’s calling me,” she whispered.

He didn’t ask what. He knew.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, his voice quieter than the waves.

She turned to face him, smiling in that sad way she always did. “You don’t understand, Fabian. I was never meant to stay.”

The air thickened. He felt it, even though it was not meant for him. It was meant for her.

She took a step forward. The space around her shimmered. Another step—her feet no longer touched the sand.

Panic clawed at his chest. “Rena, wait—”

She lifted her hands, as if feeling something unseen. “Tell me, Fabian,” she said, “where does your sun rise from?”

The question threw him. “From the east,” he answered automatically.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “No. It rises from Herukana. From my people’s flames. From my father’s fire.”

The wind roared. Light wrapped around her, golden and blinding.

He lunged forward—but she was already gone.

Fabian stood there long after the light had vanished, staring at the sky. The sun had set now, leaving only streaks of pink and violet. He had always believed it would rise again from the east.

Now, he knew the truth.

The sun did not rise from the east.

It rose from a burning crypt beyond the stars. From the place where Rena had gone home.

And for the first time in his life, Fabian no longer knew whether to look forward to dawn—or fear it.

The End.

All images are sourced from Unsplash