torus

A vortex in a magnetic material is like a whirlpool, but instead of water, the directions of magnetization twist. An electron flying through such a vortex feels not just a magnetic field, but a curvature of space: its path bends as if it were rolling down a funnel with a narrow neck.

A black hole with a mass of 35,000 Suns drifts through a galaxy's gas like a barge through fog. Its gravity rakes the material ahead of it, leaving a dense trail behind — a wake of gas. Some of that gas gets pulled into the black hole, and it grows.

Drop a pebble into a pond, and ripples spread across the water. Something similar happens when a black hole merges with another: it emits gravitational waves that resemble the fading ring of a bell.

In the dark kitchen of the Taurus molecular cloud, 450 light-years away, dozens of planetary systems are being prepared. Each young star is a chef, and its protoplanetary disk is a counter piled with flour-like dust and steam-like gas.

A black hole pulls in anything that gets too close. But if you toss in not one object but a pair, one of them can fly back out, carrying off some of the hole's rotational energy. This trick, devised by Roger Penrose in 1969, works only because a black hole has a horizon — a boundary beyond which nothing returns. Now it turns out the horizon isn't necessary.

Somewhere in the center of a galaxy, a black hole is spinning. It doesn't hang in a void — around it swirls an invisible swarm of dark matter particles. Until now, this swarm was described for non-rotating holes, but in reality, holes always rotate.

A neutron star is the ultra-dense remnant of a supernova: the mass of the Sun packed into a sphere the size of a city. For billions of years, it travels through space, gathering around itself invisible matter, dark matter, which emits no light but pulls with gravity.

A black hole isn't just a cosmic vacuum cleaner. If it rotates, it can amplify waves around it, much like a mountain echo repeats sound. For ultralight dark matter (particles billions of times lighter than an electron), this effect, called superradiance, can create a huge cloud.

At the centers of many galaxies lurk giant black holes. They are surrounded by dense clouds of hot plasma that emit a powerful X-ray glow.

In the deep field of JWST, among thousands of galaxies, astronomers zoomed in on the source JADES-GS 209777 – and saw a cosmic chick. Its "shell" is a thick cocoon of gas and cosmic dust that long hid the growing black hole at its center. But at a redshift of 3,711 (1,8 billion years after the Big Bang), the shell began to crack.

The fastest wind in the Universe travels at 0,58 times the speed of light. It covers the distance from Earth to the Moon in two seconds. This wind is not a jet stream but a broad flow of gas erupting from the center of a galaxy. Not all black holes work the same: some create such hurricanes, while others produce narrow plasma beams.

Dark matter remains the inaudible bass line of the cosmic symphony — it emits no light, but its gravitational pull shapes galaxies. Vera Rubin first caught this rhythm in the 1970s by observing the rotation of stars.

An ordinary black hole hides a singularity at its center — a point where density and curvature become infinite and the laws of physics break down. The authors of the new work built a model of a rotating black hole that, instead of a singularity, contains a calm "core" resembling ordinary flat space.

The James Webb Space Telescope peered into an era when the universe was less than a billion years old and spotted strange objects—'little red dots.' These are black holes with masses of millions of suns, but in very compact, chemically pristine galaxies. Standard scenarios can't grow such heavyweights that early.

When a giant planet grows, it pulls in gas. Some of that gas swirls around it into a small disk — called a circumplanetary disk. It is in such disks that moons are thought to form. For the planet PDS 70 c, located 370 light-years away, such a disk was directly observed using the ALMA antenna array in the millimeter range.

A black hole's interior is layered like an onion. In the new model, instead of an infinite point at the center, there are three regions: a dense core, a transition layer, and a crust just below the horizon. All arise from a single field that interacts with itself.

When JWST peered into the young universe at redshifts of 6–10, it revealed a scattering of mysterious 'little red dots' (LRDs). These objects combined features of galaxies and active nuclei, but their spectra refused to fit into familiar patterns.

An ordinary black hole is surrounded by a thin photon sphere — a place where light can loop around before falling in or escaping. In the new work, this region has puffed up into a whole layer packed with massless particles that zip around at nearly the speed of light and don't press against the walls.

In the boundless night of space, galaxies come together in a slow gravitational dance, merging into one. Such collisions are not head-on impacts but rather like fingers moving slowly through water, leaving swirls and tails behind.

A black hole is not just a dark spot in the sky. It is a complex object whose properties depend on the geometry of spacetime around it.

A bonfire doesn't burn out all at once. If you glance at the flames at a random moment, all you see is a jumble of fire tongues, and you can never tell what exactly burned: a wet branch, an old magazine, or an armful of dry grass. But if you watch the fire hour after hour, rhythms emerge in its dance: a burst of heat, a lull, a change in color. These rhythms tell the story of what was thrown into the flames.

Cosmic black holes at the centers of galaxies are like giant banyan trees: their aerial root‑filaments stretch for kiloparsecs to harvest nourishing matter. For decades astronomers have debated: how does cooling gas from cluster atmospheres fall into the sphere of influence of a supermassive hole?

The expansion of the universe, discovered by Edwin Hubble, gave us a picture of the young cosmos, but along with it — difficult questions.

Just a few hundred million years after the Big Bang, in the ocean of invisible dark matter, giant black holes were already taking shape. They were born from the matter itself — without any help from stars. This mechanism, based on the equations of Lemaître, explains their early appearance.

A black hole isn’t a perfectly smooth ball. Einstein’s theory allows invisible 'hair' — clumps of scalar field — to swarm around it, warping spacetime. The shadow — the dark region from which light can’t escape — was predicted by Penrose in the 1960s.

A powerful vacuum cleaner sucks in not only dust but also its own collection bag. That's roughly how a black hole behaves at the center of a 'red dot'—a distant galaxy where the glow comes not from the hole itself but from its dense gas shroud. This shroud is so thick it resembles a puffed-up cool star. And, like many stars, it has a magnetic field.

Two black holes fly toward each other and collide head-on. In the familiar picture, their horizons (the surfaces from which not even light can escape) stretch toward each other like water droplets and merge into one smooth shape. But calculations show otherwise: before merging, a sharp beak, a cusp, extends from each horizon.

A pencil dropped on the floor hits with its entire surface at once. But if the floor were quantum, made of countless vibrating grains of sand, the pencil would never touch a single point.

When a star burns out and collapses under its own weight, the space around it crumples into a black hole. At the center, according to textbooks, lurks a singularity — a point where density becomes infinite and the laws of physics break down.

A black hole is not just a dark sphere in space. If there is gas and dust nearby, they swirl into a flat, glowing disk that gradually falls inward. This disk acts like a lamp, illuminating the hole itself, and against the bright background you can see its shadow — a dark silhouette with sharp edges. But what if the disk is not flat but torn into pieces?

A river flows toward a whirlpool, but a dam with a notch blocks the way. Most water piles up before the dam, but some, gaining height, leaps over it and falls straight into the funnel. So it is with gas in a galaxy: it streams toward the center but hits a ring of stars and gas, like a dam. Usually, everything stops there, swirling into a dense vortex.

Tiny black holes, born right after the birth of the universe, are supposed to evaporate — shedding mass as invisible particles. This was predicted by Stephen Hawking, and this 'Hawking evaporation' contributed to the expansion of the young cosmos.

In a gas cloud left after a star exploded (called a supernova remnant), astronomers noticed a giant glowing letter S. It was drawn by two jets of superheated material ejected during the cataclysm. These jets didn't just shoot straight out — they slowly spun like a top, which bent their path into curves.

Deep in the constellation Ophiuchus lies the galaxy NGC 6447. Until recently, it was quiet and unremarkable, like a house with its windows dark. But over the past 14 years, something has ignited at its center, and now it's visible in infrared light.

In a blazing foundry, any ice cube would vanish instantly. But tucked inside a thick mitten, it survives. Nature pulled a similar trick in the planetary nebula NGC 6302.

A planet hugging its star is like an ice cube forgotten on a scorching skillet. The ice melts and evaporates, except instead of water, it's hydrogen and helium from the planet's upper layers.

The James Webb Space Telescope peered into the galaxy cluster AS1063 and spotted tens of thousands of globular clusters — dense stellar "knots" scattered throughout the cluster. Their positions matched the map of invisible mass, which is constructed from the bending of light from distant galaxies.

A tiny cloud of atoms, cooled to millionths of a degree above absolute zero, floats in a ring-shaped trap. It looks like a glowing necklace, but physicists have made it live on the surface of an invisible bagel. Using laser beams and microwave pulses, three internal states of the atoms were linked into a cycle.

An ordinary black hole is a bottomless pit from which not even light can escape. However, physicists have found a way to turn this pit into a through-tunnel — a wormhole.

In a cold, dark cloud of gas where a star is just beginning to form, the ALMA telescope has spotted an unusual ring. It is made of gas that is warmer and denser than its surroundings. Such details were previously hidden because the gas at the cloud's center is opaque to ordinary observations.