For some reason, the world is expanding. Or maybe we’re all just shrinking at the exact same time. I don’t know.

Aequorea served as our star for almost an eon. She left her family leaping at the opportunity to fly before I was born.

Lampyridae has been shining for eras since I was a kid, and everyone can tell he’s about to burn out. Someone else would have to take the responsibility of letting the other galaxies know we’re doing fine and serving as the guiding light in case someone might decide to visit us.

Solis, my older brother, was always set to become the next star.

Not everyone had the light or lightness to be one, but Bathala blessed my brother with both. He was so light that just a little more fire would send him to the heavens. It must be because of how generous he is, how little he keeps to himself.

It was for this reason that I entrusted him not only the some of the flames I had – as we were all mandated to contribute – but with half the fire I would earn per annum so he could save them up until such time I could regain my portion, he could safely lay on Terra upon his return. I didn’t want him to end up falling like the others, or burning up and out, then having to cool himself like Aequorea after bearing the heat alone.

Soon enough, Lampyridae returned. People admired him for hitting the ground running, using the glow he had left from the service to still be a guiding light down here, especially at night.

People admired my brother for touching the sky blazing. His radiance lit half the planet so well, I considered no longer sending my flames up to Solis each time my side of Terra faces him. The rest might as well not give their eral share anymore.

But I still did anyway.

Because when my side of Terra turned away from him for the first time, and I took the time to greet the visible void for the nth time – like I always do – neighboring planets responded with a new glow, praising Solis. They were notably kinder, unlike all the other nights. I could have mistaken them for the distant stars, but they did not flicker the way stars did.

My brother had shared the flames with them.

Soon, he grew a little colder. While I prayed his coldness was not from centuries interacting with sassy stars and contumelious planets, the majority didn’t seem to notice. Those who did seemed to understand and even appreciated it. Sequoia grew taller than she ever had. Aequorea’s relatives from the deep came close to the surface more often. It’s like everyone just longed to get close to him.

Eventually, even Luna – the closest friend I had in the void – lit up too. Her smile was breathtaking. Unlike the rest, she was the only one who thanked me for my contribution to my brother’s legacy. I had to explain to her that I was lending him some of my fire not to aid him in creating his legacy as a star but as a way of keeping him from burning out as painfully as others have and to also prevent myself from wasting my excess flames on worthless things. I saved the part about planning to ask for my flames back and conserve them on my own now that my brother was a developed star. I could always share my light if he ever needs it when he returns anyway. Besides, if I intended to get any closer to Luna, I’d have to get used to burning and start learning how to fly.

And I did.

Back when I was solely grounded, I had only seen fellow Magnoliophyta lift their hands towards the sky and assumed it was in praise. I had watched our friend Sequoia grow taller than ever, but only then did I learn it was because she was the most ardent not only in getting their light back but in speaking up for the rest as well. I had believed the Aequorea’s relatives resurfaced more often out of newfound friendliness, not knowing they became a network helping others hide their light in the center of Terra. Apparently, the Noxes started traveling more often, not out of wanderlust but in an attempt to hide from Solis with the help of Lampyridae.

Did I have to do the same? Would I have to beg for my light back too?

When Solis stopped by for his eral visit, he begged for my light. My brother had just touched the ground, but he was evidently high off “the start of his legacy.” He wouldn’t shut up about how good it felt to do acts of kindness at such a large scale, to brighten up the lives of those who only knew and shared the darkness of the void all their lives.

But was it a kindness to receive our light and not let us benefit from it as much as we were supposed to? Was it right to brighten others’ lives at our expense, especially those who didn’t even deserve it? Was every spark an honorable gift when none of them were his to give?

Out of fear, I did not speak of my plans or ask for a single spark back. Instead, I stole — no, retrieved as many flames as I could during his sleep, hoping they were enough for the rest of us to stay warm and living. Hoping the brightest nocturnal foxes could find a way for us to access all the light hidden in Terra’s core.

I knew that after passing these flames to them, I would be stuck here, dull and stagnant, grounded in a way I wish my brother was. I knew I was throwing away my chance to wrap my arms around Luna or to visit the void at all while he still lives there, distributing light like each spark was his own.

Despite everything, I couldn’t help but keep an eye on the sun.

After all, he’s still my brother.