The legion marches. Thousands upon thousands of relentless soldiers with a singular purpose, stretching from horizon to horizon. Except the field had no horizon and they weren’t exactly soldiers. And the place they marched was no field, but the very precipice of nothingness. The Twilight rift, the boundary between reality and the opposite. And they marched, not into the great beyond but from within. An army of no flesh, skin or blood. Only white bone. The undead legion advanced.

Heedless they trod forth as a sphere of magic flew towards their ranks. The projectile was a pure contradiction: A mass of void and light, the two elements most volatile and unwilling to combine. The two which would always struggle and writhe when forced together. Yet, they merged, albeit temporarily, because of the third element in the mix. Just like the Lightmother Lumen and the Voidmother Umbra had once been united by their adoration of the Flame-that-is-origin Ignis, so were the two components of that spell combined through the virtue of mediating flame, however shortly.

And what a unity they formed. For the endless legions, for all their uncountable numbers and tireless march were far from indestructible. In a blazing moment, the sphere detonated. All light ceased to be yet it shone the brightest it ever had. Reality, as thin as it already was in the Twilight rift, buckled and bent under the pressure for a moment. And then all was consumed by the afterblast of pure flame. In just a blink of an eye, the legion was no more.

The casters, two figures standing where the rift led into firmer reality, however, only frowned. Because even if the army burned. Even if the Twilight rift, vast beyond comprehension, was now empty. Even if the spell was a perfect success. One thing remained. A simple truth, yet crushing:

It had moved. The boundary of the senseless beyond had become just a bit closer to the boundary of reality. It wasn’t by much, less than a hair’s breadth, in fact. But a single grain of sand every decade will fill a dessert when given all of eternity. And then it will spill over, eventually devouring everything. For as long as no one can stop that single grain of sand from perpetually appearing, all is already doomed.

That was their failure. For no matter how much effort, sacrifice and determination they poured into their magic, the conclusion was already foregone. They were 9, solemn guardians of reality. Yet they couldn’t protect. Not truly and forever. One day, far, far in the future, the boundary would become too close and the undead legions would truly pour into the realms. And when that time came, all would be lost.

“What a wretched fate we have been dealt,” one of the two casters complained. His skin was ebony and his ears were sharp enough to be daggers. His clothes were woven of the purest impresence that could only be found in the depths of the Void while his face and ears bore piercings forged of solid flame. “I wonder if the Fatebinder had foreseen this too before his death.”

“As if this would have come to be if Logos had foreseen the Betrayer’s schemes,” the other figure shook his head. His appearance was much simpler: That of an average human. At first glance, even his clothes seemed deceivingly humble, though upon closer inspection they were woven from the plasma of stars, the merger of flame and light. “No, such were the schemes that even Father flame himself had not predicted this conclusion.”

“Still, are we truly so desperate?” the black figure asked. “Do we truly have to take the kind of risks you suggest? Perhaps their advance will wane. The rift might stop shortening, or the source might run out of power. The Aspects may have been nigh-omnipotent, but out there whatever remains of the Betrayer must be diminishing," even though those words were said, neither is them believed they could be true.

“And yet we still must act, brother,” the other figure grinned with sadness, “for we do not flinch in the face of doom. For the flame of creation courses through our very souls! For we do not fear the unknown: We were there when it was first reforged into shape!”

“Leave your words for someone who believes in them,” the first person was not taken, “We are not our parents. The Aspects are dead and now you tempt the same fate. What will remain, oh brother, if you too are gone: If this fragile leap of faith is a plunge into solid ground? We were never taught fear but neither were we taught to resist it. And I am terrified of what tomorrow brings. More than of the Betrayer’s legions. More than of the inevitable doom. Because those are evils we know. And this time we would have to be the ones to brave the unknowable.”

“Low spirit (your) -> restrain, please,” a third figure suddenly appeared directly next to the two brothers, yet neither of them reacted to his appearance, “Consequence = foul luck.” The person itself was quite different. Unlike the other two he did not possess a skin or body of flesh and bone. The surface of his humanoid form was carved into solid rock, sculpted with uncanny detail. Were the materials not grey, few would recognise him for what he was.

“Felt like telling us the damage this time, Golem? Or are you finished?” the light adorning man asked, that sad smile still on his lips.

“Unprecedentedly widespread ~ damage,” the being of stone frowned, “Divided attention, result: insufficient divination. Several entities -> enter reality, method: Fabric tears.”

“That will have to be left to the others or their followers, although I hate to add more to their worries,” the light clad caster shook his head, “Time is unabating. We have perhaps a few more minutes before the next tide. Please tell me you bear at least some good news Golem.”

“Inscription project = finished,” the rock creation noded, taking out an emerald-like jewel, “Recommendation: Do not use. Fateweaving (me) == subpar. All measures == taken. Estimate sucess <100%”

Looking towards the distant horizon of oblivion, the black-clad figure asked: “Then do you believe the device will completely fail?”

Even though his expression was not confident, Golem shook his head. “Function achieved = 100%. Secondary effect -> inestimable. Finding (user) ~ impossible. Memory loss (user) ~ certain. Thoughts of Logos consumed. Greater Fateweaving result = 20 years of success guaranteed.”

“Faint hope,” the figure in light chuckled. “But hope nonetheless. Allow me to say: Whether I return or do not. Whether I prevail or crumble. Whether I am evermore or no more. It has been a privilege to have been alongside both of you for the aeons past.”

“Ready up for usage (soon),” the sculpted person only nodded solemnly, handing over the gem, “Enter in ~ 1946 seconds. Perfect time, reason == unknown. Final words stored for relaying.” then Golem paused for a moment and spoke while bowing his head “Goodbye old friend.”

“Oh, brother. Oh brother of mine,” the other beholder was not as contained with his reaction though. His face finally turned back to face the other two, many lines streaking down his cheeks. The tears were neither water nor blood: They were as dark as his robes, the pure ebony that only the void could emit. “What will I do without you? What will I do? Father had burned out, mother is truly no more, yet now you too would depart?” his void woven robes lost much of their integrity and began to wave like strings in the wind; half still clinging to him while the rest barely remained connected to the mass. Even the jewelry of solid flame suddenly looked half melted. “I would be truly alone. I would have nothing left. What good is a universe when it is hollow? What use is hope when it costs me everything? Let’s just stay the way we are. Spent the next aeons in the battles we know. Hunt and hurt in the ways we understand. And simply accept that there is no solution! Please, brother, you have to understand that is the way! PLEASE!”

“My dear brother,” the figure in light stepped closer. Though his reaction was far less potent, his regalia too had stirred, fluttering along with his emotions. His hand reached and wiped away the tears of void. Even as they burned his fingers he did not flinch. He placed his palm on the dark skin of his brother’s cheek and ignored the excruciating pain as his hand sizzled and decomposed.

That was their very own curse. Among the 9 guardians, the two brothers were different. 7 have been created, crafted by the greatest creators; the very architects of reality. Each a masterpiece without equal. Yet two, two of them had been born. In a union bearing the Flame-that-is-origin. And yet, the other half had been Void and Light. And the universe had an inviolable rule: The purest void cannot coexist with the purest light. Not for more than a moment. Not even among half-brothers. Not even when it made every longing touch and lonely embrace burned with the agony that can only come from grasping the absolute anathema of one’s own essence.

He let go of his brother, revealing burned flesh where a cheek had been. And more tears. But neither of them complained about the pain. Instead they fixed onto each other's eyes. At the horizon the first of the next wave of undead breached through the boundary but the moment lasted just a bit longer. A memory to commit. The promise of departure and hope. And then it was over.

Everything returned to focus as the jewel was taken from Golem's hands. No further words were needed nor were any said. The legions had already engulfed much of the Twilight rift as the son of Light and Flame turned towards them. Next, the jewel in his hand was shattered. The world followed.

Simple steps were enough to reach the undying army in an instant as something fundamental changed about him. The clothing dissolved but did not reveal skin. Even the seemingly human face was no more. Feet and hands grew less distinct as the body bloated. In not too long he was a sphere, merger of the purest flame and light: The core of a star.

The abominations melted underneath his mere presence. Even space shifted to better accommodate his will, bringing the countless hordes close enough to incinerate without actually moving them. Soon they were no more, but that would not stop him from pressing forward. To the boundary of reality. The breach into the lawless madness, where the Aspects had not brought order before their demise. He pressed into the beyond.

Ashen gray of bone was clearly audible to him for a short eternity, the sound was replaced by the taste of pure white with black spots. And then sensation wasn't. He briefly lost the corners of his conical shape before that concept too became voided. Every step took him exactly a random distance in every direction at once. Time lost meaning. That would drive most insane, though thankfully madness required the concept of a mind to exist. Moreover, this was familiar to him. He had been there, at the beginning. Before the universe will have been created. Where time was a brazen idea of a newborn Aspect. Where memory and possibility were one and the same. At the place of only a single certainty: His Name.

Restlessly he will have remembered the moment of his naming. In the nothing of endless instants a voice had pierced through and ordered order into chaos. The Fatherflame, Ignis. For he had deemed it timely to name the son of his consort, the Lightmother Lumen. Through his wisdom as vast as a grain, the son will have been deemed worthy to bear the legacy of both his parents. And thus it was decided, with words imprinted upon the very foundation of the universe as well as his soul: He must always be Ignis Lumen. Even if he forgets, even if he dies. No power in the universe could scour the Names spoken by Ignis, no matter how long ago the Allmaker had perished.

That was the essence of their plan. For as long as his name existed he would one day return. He would walk the path of mortals, the strife of mortals and the end of mortals and he would emerge stronger. For when he returned he would be powerful enough to banish the Betrayer's legions once and for all. He would destroy the remnants of who had once been the Soulgranter and then the realms would finally have eternal peace. For that was a cause worth dying for: Hope.