When the people on the ground looked up, all they could initially see was the fractured moon overshadowed by the massive sun.
A straight and sharp line appeared.
It was like a strand of hair breaking from the sun's edge, extending along the sun's contour, slicing through the now exceptionally bright crescent moon, which was the first to crack, shifting apart like pieces of paper.
What fell from the fracture wasn't debris, but moonlight, as if frost and snow brewed for billions of years, trailing two slowly unfolding tails of light across the deep blue sky.
No time to lament the moon, the next to dislocate was the more dramatically changing sun.
Half of the sun sank a half-finger's breadth downward, and from the cut emerged a thick, roiling platinum light pour, flowing into space along the severed gap like an exploding sugar-centered yolk.
Tens of thousands of blazing white threads spread out in the air, like inverted lava waterfalls, or the roots of a burning giant tree.
