The Tale of the Vanishing Sun: We say goodbye to the sun

Long ago, in the frosty embrace of the far north, there lived a kingdom kissed by the sky’s eternal dance of light and shadow. The Sun, a radiant golden queen, ruled the land with warmth and brilliance. But each year, as autumn whispered her farewells, the Sun began her mysterious journey into hiding.

It was said that on November 21st, the Sun received a summons from the Frost King, an ancient spirit who slumbered deep beneath the ice. «Come,» he called, «and let the stars weave their tales in your stead.» Bound by a timeless pact, the Sun dipped lower each day, her light brushing the mountains with a faint farewell. And then, like a dream fading with the morning, she disappeared beyond the horizon.

Without her golden gaze, the land entered the spell of the Mørketid, the Time of Darkness. But this was no ordinary darkness—it shimmered with secrets. The sky, no longer competing with the Sun’s fiery brilliance, painted itself in hues of blue and violet, and the northern lights danced like silk ribbons above the snowy world. The Moon grew bold, casting silver pathways across the silent fjords, while stars sparkled like ancient storytellers, whispering their wisdom to those who dared to look.

The people of the kingdom didn’t fear the Sun’s absence. They knew she had not abandoned them but was resting, gathering strength for her grand return. In her stead, they lit their homes with flickering candles and fires, filling the air with the scent of pine and the warmth of laughter. Tales were told of the Sun’s yearly sojourn to the underworld, where she guided lost spirits and tended to the seeds of life buried deep in the earth.

As January crept near, the Sun’s promise began to stir. On the horizon, a faint blush of gold returned, like the first note of a long-forgotten song. By January 21st, the Sun reemerged, her light spilling across the frozen land, chasing shadows and waking the slumbering earth.

Her people greeted her return with joy, celebrating the triumph of light over darkness. Yet they cherished the Mørketid, too, for it was a time of wonder, of quiet magic, and of stories passed from heart to heart.

And so, year after year, the Sun’s vanishing became not a loss, but a gift—a season of mystery and marvel in the enchanted north.