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The sun had just started peaking over the horizon when she spotted the shell. She lifted it out of the sand reverently. It was exactly what she had been hoping to find.

"Timony? Would you look at this? Don't you think it is perfect for the empty spot in the sun?"

Timony, her youngest, smiled at her and picked the shell up carefully with his small sand-covered fingers.

"It's very dirty."

He looked up at her, then turned the object over in his hands, considering.

"Do you think Omik will like it, mum? I think it's good."

"We can ask him when we get back home. Could you take care of it until then, please?"

He nodded, "Okay."

Sunchild turned her attention back to the sun. She had fully overcome the horizon.

"I thank you, on behalf of all those who you see, that we may prosper another day in your generous light."

"Thank you, grandmother sun!" Timony repeated.

Sunchild had been here every day for decades now. She'd go to the beach before sunrise to welcome her light, and every evening she'd climb the shadow clans largest only mountain and wish her a restful night. She only thought it a sign of respect. After all, without her, Sunchilds people would not have existed. In her youth, before the war, she had appointed herself a priest and renamed herself accordingly, and she had never regretted it. Not even now, when she was the only one left.

When they returned to their bungalow, its see-through roof built from glass, Omik immediately approved of the shell. It was a pale orange colour, slightly asymmetrical, and just the slightest bit too small for the gap in their artwork. All three of them agreed that their first shared attempt at recreating the sun had gone perfectly.

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