prominence

In a pot on the stove, water starts to churn from the bottom long before the whole thing boils. Bubbles of steam rise from the base even though the burner itself hasn't heated up yet.

A sunspot, a dark island on the fiery surface, lives its own turbulent life. Beneath it, in invisible depths, giant magnetic loops drift like twisted cables. When such a loop emerges, it can discharge as a flare, and hurl clouds of charged particles into space. Scientists have long tried to understand what determines the strength and suddenness of these events.

Cosmic rays aren't rays in the usual sense: they're fast particles bombarding Earth from all directions. Mostly they're protons and atomic nuclei. Their energies vary widely, from modest to fantastically huge. When such a particle heads our way and the Moon or Sun gets in its path, it gets absorbed.

Night on La Palma. The 4.2-meter William Herschel Telescope is aimed at Venus. At the focus is the experimental polarimeter ExPo, designed to catch the ghostly light of exoplanets.

In a world locked in a crystal lattice and cooled nearly to absolute zero, matter knows how to hide its deepest secrets. A quantum spin liquid is a state where electron spins never freeze, even at zero temperature, remaining in an eternally flickering superposition.

For years, the Sun teased astrophysicists. In its atmosphere, refractory elements, like spices in a basic recipe, were slightly less abundant than in nearly identical twin stars. Suspicion arose: could our star be modest, skipping the planetary "dessert" that others devour with gusto?

The birth of planets resembles the workings of a cosmic forge. Rocky blocks collide and fuse together. A powerful impact strikes a spark — material heats to white-hot and glows like cooling metal. Computer simulations show: the flash is visible from days to years, peaking at a tenth of the sun's light.

Moments before totality, swift shadow bands glide across the ground, like ripples from pebbles tossed into water. For centuries, this phenomenon baffled scientists. It turns out the key is that light is a wave. The Sun isn't a pinpoint lamp but a vast disk. When the Moon nearly covers it, a thin glowing crescent remains.

In the scorching solar corona, where temperatures soar past a million degrees, float cold, dense clouds — solar prominences. They hang for weeks, neither falling nor dissolving, like icebergs in a boiling ocean. How they got there is a question that has puzzled astronomers for decades.

A sunspot, a dark island on the scorching surface, breathes. Every three minutes, a wave spreads from it, runs along an invisible magnetic arch, and makes the plasma above a neighboring spot flare with a radio signal. Radio telescopes caught seven such flares in a row on February 14, 2024.

A stream of scorching gas races away from a star, and suddenly stalls, as if it hit an invisible wall. That's exactly what researchers saw when they tried to reproduce a stellar eruption on a laboratory scale. They used a laser to create a plasma jet and shot it through a magnetic field — first weak, then strong, like that of many stars.

Above the Sun's limb hangs a cloud of tenuous, hot gas — a prominence. It can linger for weeks, then suddenly break loose and fly off into space. On April 15, 2023, the SPICE instrument on the Solar Orbiter probe got its first detailed look at such a cloud in ultraviolet light.

The Sun occasionally hurls enormous clouds of plasma into space — coronal mass ejections. Often tangled within these clouds are prominences: cooler, denser clumps of material. These contain plenty of neutral atoms that shine brightly in specific spectral lines.

The solar flare of June 3, 2012 behaved like an orchestra where, after the main performance, a second soloist unexpectedly steps in. First, instruments recorded a sharp burst of gamma-ray emission with energies above 100 megaelectronvolts — as if billions of tiny bullets struck the detectors at once. Then, after a brief pause, the emission intensified again and persisted for more than eight minutes.

In the stream of charged particles that constantly blows from the Sun, radio bursts sometimes occur — short, powerful signals at frequencies you can pick up on an ordinary radio. Until now, it was unclear how exactly these signals are born in that stream.

Light from the hottest young stars usually cannot leave its galaxy: hydrogen absorbs it, like a thick curtain blocking a sunbeam. But sometimes the curtain parts, and ultraviolet photons burst into intergalactic space.

Light from the galaxy PAN-z14-1 began its journey when the universe was 400 million years old — a cosmic infancy. The expansion of space made it travel to us for nearly 13.5 billion years.

A total solar eclipse offers rare minutes when the Moon blocks the Sun's bright disk, revealing its outer atmosphere — the corona. In white light, the corona extends tens of solar radii, and images show fine structures: vortex rings, waves like ripples on water, and huge plasma ejections.

The red dwarf V374 Pegasi is a star one-third the size of the Sun, but with the temperament of a volcano. Every few hours, giant clumps of plasma tear away from its surface, like steam bubbles from a boiling cauldron. These ejections, called prominences, fly off into space and generate bursts of radio waves.

Betelgeuse is a giant star ready to explode as a supernova. But it may not be alone: a small companion star, Sivarkha, circles in a tight orbit. Every 2000 days, it plunges through Betelgeuse’s outer layers, like a boat cutting through water, leaving waves of superheated gas.

The Sun is not just a ball — it's a magnetic mansion. Its invisible force lines, like electrical wiring, thread through space and control space weather. But until now, we've only seen this wiring from the landing — the plane of Earth's orbit. The attic and basement, the magnetic poles, remained a mystery.