Day stands open at its highest point. Not a shadow crosses the earth. Then bronze begins to scream above the world.

The horses of the solar chariot leave their course. Blue contracts into white: no longer radiance, but heat without form. Rivers lose their breath. Everything Hemera learned to recognise by touch burns black upon the earth.

She gives the sky all the light she has. The fire only grows. She calls the clouds; they burn before they can cross the heat. For the first time, the goddess of Day sees that more light can mean more destruction rather than more life.

A boy remains inside the flame. Phaethon grips the reins with both hands, trying to prove that he deserves his father’s fire. Hemera does not turn him into a villain. She sees a child who can no longer stop the proof he chose.

Thunder splits the sky. White becomes blue again. The wheel falls, and the boy falls with it.

Before Hemera can see Nox, she feels darkness at her back.

Her mother comes at an impossible hour. Stars rest in her hair in the middle of noon. She does not ask who held the reins or speak an accusation. She covers her daughter’s hand with her own and places herself between her and the flame.

For one forbidden hour, the sky holds Night and Day together. Hemera’s motif rises; Nox’s answers by falling. The mother wraps darkness around the light and carries her daughter away.

After the chaos, two brief truths remain: the world went dark; her hand kept its warmth.

Author’s lyrics from the final package. Audio comparison follows upload.

The day stood open at its height. No shadow crossed the ground. Then bronze began to scream above. The horses wheeled around.

The blue contracted into white. The rivers lost their breath. The colours I had learned by touch burned black across the earth.

I gave the sky all I could give. The fire only grew. I called the clouds across the heat. They burned before they flew.

My mother came at noon. The stars were in her hair. She crossed the hour dividing us and found me burning there.

My mother came at noon. She did not call my name. One hand closed over all the sky. One drew me from the flame.

I saw the boy inside the blaze. Both hands fought with the reins. He climbed into his father's fire to prove he bore his name.

Then thunder opened overhead. The white split into blue. The wheel fell burning from the sky. The boy went falling too.

The road of day broke under me. No threshold marked the air. I felt a darkness touch my back before I knew her there.

My mother came at noon. The stars were in her hair. She crossed the hour dividing us and found me burning there.

My mother came at noon. She did not call my name. One hand closed over all the sky. One drew me from the flame.

She never asked who held the reins. She never spoke of blame. She only closed her hand on mine and stood against the flame.

For one forbidden hour at noon, the sky held Night and Day. She wrapped the dark around my light and carried me away.

My mother came at noon. The stars were in her hair. She crossed the hour dividing us and found me burning there.

My mother came at noon. She did not call my name. One hand closed over all the sky. One drew me from the flame.

The world went dark. Her hand stayed warm.

In plain words

After the solar chariot falls, the world burns. Hemera cannot save it by adding light. Nox comes at noon and shelters her daughter: help sometimes comes from what we habitually consider an opposite.

Countermyths · NOX

Mother Came At Noon

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