Two women stood on the edge of the world, one laughing, one kneeling

But the world doesn’t fancy happy endings- Lvumian saying

Alas, we are naught but colors of the cosmic canvas- Liran folk song

The moon kisses the sun before the dawn- Verlisonen lullaby

A prophet never blames the stars- Thaeness proverb

Two women stood on the edge of the world, one laughing, one kneeling. Two women saw the true face of the world, one bored, one scared. This was the end, the end of Ceylin’s revenge. She did it, she slayed an Archon, but she couldn’t accept the truth.

The true face of the Realm beyond worlds was nihility, the pure nothingness, more hollow than the chase of the Cosmic Wardens and mankind.

“I curse you!” Phothent yelled as her hair danced; it danced in the wind, stronger than any exhaust fumes of the nomadic cities. She blushed like a drunk, her arms open wide while she looked down on Ceylin. Phothent’s violet eyes were filled with madness and hubris, but she had the basis for it, for she was the agent of Kareharu, the Avatar of an Archon. Twisted gods that forced mankind into cages of nomadic cities, fleeing forever from their prowess. The fumes obscure the sky, turning the duet of sun and moon, an ensemble of stars, into a long-forgotten past.

“I curse you to be lucid, I curse you to have passion, Ceylin, I curse you-”

“I curse you to know the truth but never speak it, I curse you to have knowledge, but can never share it…”

“All is dreaming, only you awake…”

Ceylin tried to control her breath. Everything she did…all the times she risked her life, the blood on her hand, and her confusion. All of that was for nothing? Ceylin couldn’t accept this. She gritted her teeth while she summoned her Soulsong. Shards of bones condensed into her familiar flute; in the meantime, the distant sound of bells rang through the space.

“Kareharu!” Ceylin yelled, standing up.

“You scum. Your curse is crap to me, Kareharu. I, Ceylin, the last survivor of the previous timeline…will free humanity from the reign of the Cosmic Wardens.”

“Archons, you won’t put out our sparks. Your curse will only fuel me further.”

Phothent laughed, the bells becoming deafening to Ceylin. She laughed louder than the bells, almost like it was woven into the profound fabric of spacetime.

“I’d like to witness how much you can struggle, Angel of Rings.”

Ceylin blew into the flute as her music echoed; her sharp, distorted tone twisted the spacetime as her power slowed down the approach of the bells. The melody rose and fell while the worldly sparks formed into spears pointed toward Phothent. She struggled and staggered forward. As if the echoes of the bells were a tangible substance.

“Futile.”

The bells rang as Ceylin halted her playing. Dissonant chords resonated with her lungs as she felt her blood run cold. She almost fell to the ground, but she resumed playing.

“Ceylin, to kill an Archon, you need the power of another Archon.”

“I…just have to…break your…bells, Kareharu, I’m not a five-year-old…”

Their songs clashed again and again. Ceylin knew that Phothent was only toying with her. The essence of Wordly Sparks was manipulated by the Archons anyway…and without Huolin’s eerie singing, Ceylin couldn’t think of another way to destroy Kareharu. Kareharu’s power was to make her forget, forget what her identity was, forget the raw power of her flute…forget, forget her meaningless rebellion. Ceylin crashed onto the ground, and the faces of her friends flashed before her. Vitala, Hlor, Marigat, Izer…then it stopped at the delicate face of Huolin. Her beautiful, porcelain-like face, her dazed, lost eyes, and her jade-like horns. Oh, the things she would do just to touch those horns again and make her lover blush. Ceylin had to survive if she wanted to kiss her forehead again.

How can I face the twilight itself? Unless…

Ceylin thought of her dreams. That peaceful, clean world where the sun and moon played their duet in harmony, where cities stayed on the land. She reached the end of her dream and saw it. The collapse of that world, where only she remained. And she saw the five, the five of the Guild that searched for salvation.

She felt her heart turn hollow; the edge of the world seemed just as empty and dreadful as the remnant of that broken world. All actions seemed meaningless now, if the Archons were going to imprison humanity forever, seal them away from wisdom and take away mankind’s space inch by inch, city by city, til mankind fell into the eventual doom. No power could ever destroy the Archons…not if they reach for the dangerous throne of the Aeons Beyond.

“Phoscen,” Ceylin whispered. The image of her distant, almost unreal friend that she only saw in those dreams overlapped with Phothent.

“Phoscen Oakson…is it you?”

Ceylin spat out the blood in her mouth as she raised her head to see Phothent’s face. Surprised, scared, but a tinkle of tears in her eyes was visible.

“...How do you know that name?” she said, the bells falling silent.

“No, no, no-”

“Why do I remember the name?!” Phothent screamed, her bells rang. They sound again and again, rippling through the air, cutting away the chains that sealed the Archon’s heart.

“Who is Phoscen? Who is she? Why, why do I remember the bowing and stroking of the violin?! I’ve never touched that thing!” Phothent continued as she pulled her hair. The memories that did not belong to her flooded her.

Her elegance was gone as she broke down in tears. She bent down, as if trying to pick the shards of her broken self up.“...Now, if this means you were Phoscen…I think I may have learnt something way more fun,” Ceylin said, grabbing her Soulsong with both of her hands. Seeing Phothent’s reaction, she smashed the flute against her knee as it broke into the bone shards.

“Impossible, the Bones of the Firstling should be unbreakable.”

Light emanated from the broken bones as they emerged toward Ceylin, pure, white light. As clean as Huolin’s songs. Shining like the stars obscured by the smog. They gathered on Ceylin’s head as they formed into a halo.

The remaining light followed her, turning into shining panels akin to the wings of birds she saw in paintings and museums. She felt full again; she felt complete.

“Endling…” Phothent whispered.

“What will you do? Angle of Rings? Will you attempt to exile us? Execute us with your Zhuyin lover?”

“Nay! It is futile, Endling, even if you slay me, my kin won’t let you rest! The Primodial Dragon is long dead!”

Ceylin looked down on Phoscen. She felt a fight break out within her. The woman before her used to be her friend, her comrade, but she was now the reason for her suffering, of humanity’s suffering. Yes, she aided her in slaying Mierium and Stheraque, but she knew from that memory that belonged to her distant, forgotten self that Phoscen became an Archon because of a last-ditch effort to find a way to save the broken world.

“Lament,” she whispered.

"Say your verdict, Endling. For I pity our dear old time," Phothent...Phoscen said. Her violet eyes were dim, devoid of their usual pride and shine. 

“The sun and moon must dance again,” Ceylin declared.

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This is a short story of my worldbuilding project "Stories from Twilight" that I plan to turn into a novel someday.