The Shattered Sun
What remains of the sun hangs in the firmament of the skies like a condemned man, drawn and quartered. Where once was a glorious blaze, there is now only a faint, flickering light, slowly dwindling. When that last ray of sun goes out forever, so do we.The sun - the palace to the divine creator, the god of light and glory, whose journey across the sky was trailed by prayer - is no more. Only fragments remain in the sky, blasted across the horizon by the dying screams of the god that once ruled there. Each one glow with only a fraction of the light it once blessed the world with; a feeble, dying glow.
The shards of the sun range in size from mountain to pebble. Some hang immobile in the sky, other slowly descend towards the ground and oblivion, as surely as a corpse rots. Most still shed light upon the world, dimmed as it might be, but with no god to direct its course, day and night has died too. Instead, the world exists in perpetual half-gloom, an ever encroaching dusk that keeps the darkness from consuming the world. Such protection is far from certain, however. Wounded, each shard flicker or dim at times, exploding with light at others, and some go dark to never shine again.