Twenty-seven years earlier…

Elder Palos stood on the balcony and looked out over the view afforded to the Twilit Monastery. The mountains stood tall and dark, and a little village was nestled between them, almost as though someone had squeezed it snugly into the valley. The Twilit Monastery was a large temple, originally constructed as a grand palace by some vain mortal king in ages long past, and it itself stood atop a mountain peak.

Here, on the highest balcony of the tallest tower of the Monastery, Elder Palos felt as though he stood atop the zenith of Halorath itself. When he looked out toward the distant horizon, he could imagine that he was looking beyond the shores of Rothé, across the Loratic and to the distant lands of Azana. But that was but simple fancy; his view was obscured by the Atelsten Mountains, and even if it were not, he would still be unable to see across to other continents.

Still, it was an easy enough thing to imagine. As the sun climbed over the peaks behind him and cast the world in its brilliant morning light, Elder Palos afforded himself a moment to imagine all sorts of things.

But that moment soon passed. The Elder closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp morning air, cool against his nostrils and lungs, and then he turned around and reentered the stony halls of the Twilit Monastery.

Of the old temple’s three towers, the Tower Betwixt was the tallest. It stood between the Tower of Dawn and the Tower Dusk, and its top was the private chamber of the Elder, the monk who had devoted the whole of his life to running the affairs of the Order of Twilight. Elder Palos has spent many years working ceaselessly to keep the friendship of both light and dark, to reflect the partnership of the Twin Goddesses and those mortals sworn to them.

He descended the spiralling tower stairs. Palos had seen the beginning of his fiftieth years just one short month ago, and he was not yet so old that the Tower Betwixt could pose an impossible challenge to his bones. He knew that with each passing year the descent and ascent of the tower would take a greater and greater toll on his body, but that was the way of things. The Elder’s climb was a sign of his devotion to the Order.

At the base of the stairs he began to make his way to his private offices, but the Elder was soon accosted by the monk Resha.

“Elder,” Resha said, bowing deeply. His bald head looked all the more pale when set against the dark blue robes of their Order.

“Resha,” Elder Palos acknowledged. Something struck him as odd about the man this morning. His face was reddened, and his eyes kept darling about in a nervous manner. Even in the single word of greeting he had spoken, Palos could hear the fear and excitement that filled his voice.

“I am here to report a birth,” Resha informed the Elder. “In fact, I am here to report two births.”

Palos frowned, wondering why such news should require the attention of the Order of Twilight’s Elder. “People are born all the time.”

“Indeed they are,” Resha agreed. “But these children were born at precisely midnight, on opposite ends of the village, and both to mothers who had lost their husbands shortly after conception.”

Recognition tickled at the back of Palos’ mind. “Describe them to me,” he ordered.

“One with hair so light we can scarcely see it,” Resha said. “The other has hair as dark as the blackest inkwell. One possesses skin tanned as though he has spent countless hours in the sun, while the other possesses skin so pale it appears he has spent years in darkness. Their eyes as well: one with bright eyes, the other with dark. They are as shadows to one another.”

Palos’ throat and mouth were dry. “And their mothers?”

“Dead,” Resha informed him. “Neither survived childbirth.”

The Elder nodded. His heart felt as though it had been frozen over. “Where are these children?”

“With no family for either, they have been brought to the Monastery.”

“Show me.”

Resha hastened down the halls, closely followed by Elder Palos. The Elder’s mind churned and roiled in chaos. The promised day—the time of the Avatars—had it come at last?

They reached a chamber where monks stood guard over a pair of cribs. Within each crib slept a child, swaddled in cloth.

It was as Resha described. One child possessed dark skin and light hair, while the other possessed fair skin and dark hair. They were mirrors. Shadows.

“No family? You are certain?” Palos asked.

“None, Elder,” replied one of the monks. “They are two boys, each with no parents, and no family beside.”

“Two boys,” Elder Palos breathed. “Goddesses above.”

He examined the children. They were both so small, so young. They seemed so impossibly fragile.

For a brief moment, he was seized by regret for what must come to pass. The children would be men one day, and when they were they would go both to their destiny.

“We shall find maids for them,” he said. “Others with newborns, so that they may be nursed. These two children must be protected, no matter the cost.”

He looked to the child with the dark skin and the light hair. “This one shall be named Alden,” he said. Then he looked to the other child, pale with the hair the color of deepest shadow. “And this one shall be named Venter.”

The monks bowed. “Yes, Elder.”

“We must see to it that they are raised well,” said Palos. “These children, more than any others, represent our future.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “The promised time has come. This is what our Order was founded for, by the edicts of the Twin Goddesses. At long last, we are finally called to fulfill our final duty.”

He did not look at the babes asleep in their cribs again, for he could not bear to think of what they had been condemned to. Without another word, Elder Palos turned on his heel and walked out of the chamber.