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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/lex_kenosi on 2025-11-27 18:40:38+00:00.
The Aeternan authorities call it suicide. A brilliant astrophysicist, known here as Sky-Studier. His name was Ris, driven mad by his own calculations, they say. But I've been an investigator long enough to know that when someone dies reaching for the truth, you need to ask who benefits from calling them crazy.
When I first arrive on Aeterna, the sensory assault nearly drives me back to the shuttle. Six suns hang in the sky like a celestial chandelier, bathing everything in relentless golden light that presses against my skin like a physical weight. There's no darkness here, just an endless day that makes my circadian rhythm off.
The inhabitants match their world perfectly. The Aeternans move with a dreamlike slowness I'd read about in the briefing files but hadn't truly understood until now. Three-fingered hands grasp at the air in careful, deliberate motions. Their faces maintain an expression of perpetual contemplation, not serenity.
I realize after watching them, but the look of beings who have all the time in the world and know it. Thick, matted fur covers their bodies in shades ranging from golden-brown to deep amber, and their large, dark eyes seem almost comically oversized relics from a time before their world captured five additional stars.
When they speak, it's in a melodic language that sounds like a cross between humming and sighing, and even their most urgent communications unfold at a pace that makes me want to finish their sentences.
This slowness defines everything here. Aeterna's energy infrastructure relies entirely on solar power, which makes sense given their astronomical windfall, but it means their entire civilization operates on a timescale that would drive most species to madness. Their negotiations to join the Compact took seven decades, seven decades of careful deliberation, of weighing every word, of solar panels charging in eternal daylight while diplomats aged and died and were replaced by their successors.
It was only a week ago that they finally accepted the newly amended Special Investigations protocols. Now, for the first time, investigators like me can enter their protected spaces, their sacred sites, their locked rooms where brilliant minds apparently self-destruct. The backlog is substantial, dozens of cases deemed "resolved" by Aeternan authorities, now flagged for review under new guidelines.
There are no shadows, true, complete absence of shadow. Even when I stand directly under an overhang, the ambient illumination from the other suns eliminates any darkness. The Aeternans call this "The Ever-Light," and after three days on their world, I begin to understand why the concept of darkness isn't just foreign to them.
The first clue should be the architecture. Every building features redundant skylights in every room, even bathrooms. Underground spaces are not just uncommon, they are illegal. The Aeternan word for "shadow" is the same as their word for "death."
When I ask my guide, Sergeant Eel, a massive, fur-covered being who looks like a cross between a sloth and a koala about the underground subway system I've heard about, he takes a full thirty seconds to process the question, his large eyes blinking slowly before he looks physically ill and mutters something about "the old tunnels" being sealed decades ago. His speech pattern is leisurely, each word drawn out like he's savoring the meaning.
But it is my visit to what could be thought of as a Psychiatric Facility that truly opens my eyes to what I'm dealing with. The head Studier Ra, leads me through the wing where they treat what they call "Nocturne Syndrome". The psychological condition triggered by darkness exposure. Her movements are deliberate and careful, her three-fingered hands gesturing gracefully as she explains her work.
"Look here," she says, her voice a deep, musical rumble, pulling up a security monitor showing a padded room bathed in gentle amber light. "Patient 47-G. Former engineer. Accidentally locked himself in a storage room for seven minutes during a power backup test." She pauses the footage, taking her time to ensure I understand the gravity. "Watch his face."
The man on screen starts normal enough, checking his watch, calling out for help. But as the seconds tick by, seconds that feel like minutes as I watch his slow, deliberate movements, his movements become more frantic. By the three-minute mark, he is clawing at his eyes with those characteristic three-fingered hands. By five minutes, he is on his knees, convulsing. When the door finally opens and bright light floods in, he is catatonic, permanently damaged.
"Every person on Aeterna needs a minimum of 16 hours of light per day," Sky Studier Mendez explains, her speech measured and careful. "Infants are placed in sleep chambers with continuous soft illumination. Even adults require sedatives to achieve what you might call 'rest.' Their brains have evolved differently. Darkness isn't just uncomfortable for them, it is literally fatal."
The children are the worst part. In the pediatric wing, they keep the young ones in individual chambers with walls that glow from within, soft and warm like a captured sunset. The kids look healthy, happy even, playing with their glowing toys under their golden ceiling lights, their small bodies moving with that characteristic Aeternian slowness.
But when I ask about windows, Sky Studier Mendez points out that the windows don't really matter. Nothing could ever go dark enough to matter. The concept of closing your eyes during sleep requires extensive therapy for Aeternan adults.
"Tell me about Sky Studier Ris," I say, changing the subject before the weight of their existence crushes me completely. My own speech feels harsh and urgent compared to their melodic rhythms.
Sky Studier Ra's expression darkens, though it takes a moment for the emotion to register on her sloth-like features. "Brilliant man. Arrogant though. Always questioning our established beliefs about light and dark. He believes there is more to it than simple evolution, that something larger is coming."
That is my first clue. Not simple arrogance, but genuine fear.
Sky Studier Ris has been working in the Aeternan Observatory, studying what he calls "orbital anomalies." For three years, he has been tracking subtle gravitational fluctuations that don't fit any known celestial patterns. His research papers are dense with mathematics I can barely follow, all centered around his theory of an invisible satellite, an astronomical object he dubs "The Dark Moon."
"The calculations are flawless," explains Sky Studier Elena Vasquez, Ris's research partner, when I interviewed her at the observatory. She moves with the characteristic Aeternan deliberation, taking her time to process each question before responding. "Every 2,049 years, according to his math, Aeterna experiences a complete eclipse. Every window in the sky, blocked simultaneously. Complete darkness lasting fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes."
She pulls up Ris's data on the main screen. Charts and graphs stretch across multiple monitors, showing gravitational readings, historical astronomical records, and geological evidence. "He finds proof in the sedimentary layers. Carbon dating of major fire events. Every 2,049 years, for the last twelve thousand years, there is a global layer of ash. Not volcanic—burned organic matter. Civilization-scale fires."
The archaeological evidence is staggering. Across all three continents, in sites spanning millennia, they find the same pattern. Tools abandoned in perfect circles around old hearths. Structures built with windows larger than practical. Art depicting people fleeing toward light sources. And in the deepest layers, entire settlements that have apparently been burned deliberately, with the inhabitants' remains found in the central fire pits.
"His final paper is called 'The End of Light,'" Sky Studier Que continues, her voice taking on an ominous tone. "Not death by darkness, complete, absolute shadow. He calculates that during the eclipse, the ambient light from our six suns would be reduced to just 0.0003% of normal levels. Everything that could potentially provide light; fires, chemical reactions, even bioluminescent organisms would be affected."
The pieces are starting to form a picture of mass terror, but I need to understand the human element. Who would kill a man over astronomical calculations? My human impatience contrasts sharply with their measured deliberation as I wait for their responses.
My first suspect is Seer Alen, leader of the Cult of the Final Dawn. I have heard about him from several sources; a charismatic religious figure who has been gaining followers by preaching about "The Great Extinguishing," when all light would leave the world and souls would be stolen by dark stars.
The Cult's compound is a collection of gleaming white buildings arranged around a central spire topped with a constantly burning beacon. As I approach, I can see hundreds of Aeternans in flowing white robes moving through the complex, their faces beatific and serene. They move with that same characteristic sloth-like grace, their thick fur catching the eternal light. They look like they have found peace in preparation for the end of the world.
Seer Alen himself is younger than I expect, maybe forty, which for an Aeternan means he's barely out of adolescence. With kind eyes and hands stained by what looks like paint or clay....
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