I’ve had enough, I thought wearily as I wedged the hilt of my sword into a gap between the stones. I put the edge of the sword to my neck, right below my Adam’s apple. I had no more reasons to live.

The amazing thing was that the cold steel blade propping up my neck inexplicably pacified the whirlwind of thoughts flying through my head. Just one tiny movement and everything would be over. I would no longer need to seek out infidels, look for the Devil’s Shadow at their feet, execute those who just yesterday were friends with whom I had fought numerous battles, or slit the throats of women just because the Devil’s Shadow had reached them. I wouldn’t have to veil my simple thoughts to make them sound somewhat sophisticated and pompous, as befits a Warrior of Light…

***

There used to be times when we were flawless and we dared not turn our backs on the sun. Our goal was to make the world absolutely light. Without darkness. Without twilight. Without even a single shadow. After all, light is from God and we live in the light, on the southern slope of the Great Ridge.

Darkness is from the Devil, and in the darkness lurks what is on the Northern Slope. Their day is our night, and at dawn they go to sleep. This is what we have been taught since childhood and from an early age we were prepared to fight the darkness. And the shadows. And even those who cast those shadows. Any weakness by our side made our enemies stronger, so there was only one way: slaughter the infidels, set the dark ones on fire, and seize the suspicious ones. A good interrogation will certainly make him crack. All you need to know is how to make the clams talk. Till their death. And then let their heads adorn the pikes with their empty eye sockets staring at the sun for all to see.

That’s how we went towards the Light denying the right of the Shadow to exist. Warriors advanced to the peak of the Ridge, cleansing the world of scum. We were ascending higher and divine radiance was nearing, promising to reveal the Truth to us. But the shortlisting was getting even tougher. At one point, I noticed that my fellow brothers-in-arms were not as impeccable as they had seemed to be there, underneath. The gray tint of shadow behind their backs was growing more noticeable and, eventually, I had to kill them all, one by one.

It didn’t bother me a bit. After all, we were guided by the hand of our Lord Sun. It was for His sake that I had been going upwards for so long, not looking back at the corpses of the enemies and former friends I was leaving behind.

***

Only one Warrior of Light reached the Ridge.

One day, at sunset, I simply ascended to the cherished summit, carefully stepping on the crumbling stone underneath my feet. I looked up at the Holy image of the setting sun, hoping to have the promised Truth revealed to me and… I was stunned.

The glow of the evening star was now sniggering with a fiery, devilish leer. Instead of the face of the Lord, the flat crimson face of the Beast with its fading smirk was descending below the horizon, unleashing an abhorrent howling sound in unison with the mountain wind.

I looked around. The Ridge summit looked like the pit of the Underworld against the ruby-red glow of the evening’s setting sun. Here, on this crimson plateau, everything I had believed in since childhood, the reason for a Warrior of Light’s existence, suddenly collapsed.

From my boots upward, I now saw a gray shadow running away from the setting sun. It was imitating the dance of my cloak in the wind, shaking as if in silent laughter.

My world had been turned upside down. The God and the Devil exchanged places and now the Shadow had gotten ahold of me. The Beast must have reached me as well.

There was no need to think. After all, before I had never hesitated when I plunged my blade into the stomach of an infidel while on my way to the summit. How was I any better?

With the decision made, I doomed myself to wander in search of a suitable crevice in between the boulders that would be a good fit for my sword.

***

I was about to throw myself onto my blade, plunging it deep into my neck, when I heard a rustle of footsteps coming from the other side of the Ridge. Someone was climbing up the Northern Slope, crushing stone chips beneath his boots. Moments later, a tall, dark-haired man in a black cloak emerged onto the plateau.

A Warrior of Dark.

Only the children of the night have such pristine, white skin.

The man stopped, throwing an indifferent glance at me, then looked to the right, his gaze following the setting sun. The crimson sunset cast light on his skin, breathing life into the deathly paleness of his face, and then suddenly, his features began to appear very familiar.

Then it dawned on me.

I was painfully aware of the shape of his eyes, the crook of the nose, and the wide chin under thin lips. If his jet-black hair were colored, his black eyes gray, his skin tanned, and his sword in the right hand instead of the left, then this stranger would be… me.

Are hair color, clothing, and different times for sleeping the only differences between us? flashed through my mind. What was happening now seemed like a dream, because I was just standing and watching.

When looking at the sun, my doppelganger’s eyes widened in horror. He recoiled, stumbled, and fell backwards. I had the exact same reaction a few minutes ago when I had looked at my “shrine.” I understood what had frightened the Warrior of Dark. Judging by how everything on the plateau was turned upside down, the sun was, for some reason, showing each of us the eyes of his sworn enemy. The infidel saw the face of God for the first time in his life, whereas I witnessed the face of the Beast.

Meanwhile, the evening sun grazed the horizon, gradually losing the features that had frightened both of us.

I approached the stranger. He was already sitting on the rocks, looking dumbfoundedly at me then the sunset and back to me. It is no wonder that the Warrior of Dark was stupefied by such a spectacle. I too had almost lost my mind when I saw his “shrine.”

For some reason, I felt no hatred towards him, even though just an hour ago I would have flown into a sacred rage at just one thought about an infidel. Nothing was there anymore, and this emptiness created a previously unknown sense of tranquility in my soul. I quietly took a seat next to him, placing my blade on the ground. The stranger must have shared the same feelings, that is to say, no feelings at all, except for only a slight interest about our similarity, which was also unlikely. The shock we had experienced devastated the hearts of sworn enemies, emptying them in a matter of seconds of all the ritual nonsense and “holy” hatred with which black and white preachers on both sides of the Ridge had bombarded our minds since childhood.

We just sat there side by side, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sunset until its crimson disc vanished behind the horizon.

In time, I grew numb, with no thoughts, feelings, or desires, and the outer world I was accustomed to seeing no longer existed for me.

Good and Evil. Light and Dark. God and Devil. Everything merged into one. The differences were erased, while ranks, titles, and achievements disappeared. The world was whole and indivisible, and soon I became one with the world, like a drop in the ocean.

***

I came back to my senses at dawn, although I was no longer my former self. The Warrior of Dark was long gone.

It couldn’t be any other way. He was now much closer to me than any other onlooker. If he were to appear, I could even picture him. If such an onlooker weren’t too lazy to get up at dawn, leave his house that chilly gray morning, walk an hour uphill through the crystal dew, and climb the slippery stones to the Sacred Plateau where commoners were told to go, he would see a lone warrior sitting on the rocks. It would be difficult to tell which side this warrior was serving.

He didn’t look like the Warriors of Light clad in golden-blue cloaks with somber complexions, nor did he resemble the Servants of Darkness with their sparkling jet-black eyes and raven-black hair. His straight fiery-looking hair as if it had absorbed the heat of the setting sun, was falling down his shimmering, grayish-silver cloak. The warrior’s skin was pale, his eyes green, and the hilts of two swords were visible from behind his back. Never before had there been a warrior carrying two swords in this area.

The edge of the sky above the horizon sparkled with gold, and the first rays of the sun flicked across the tops of boulders in pink. The warrior rose to his feet and set out along the Ridge to the East, towards the early morning sun.