Timpani ran after the angry group of tribesmen as fast as she could, but the fires had spread to the woods. Everyone else was powerful enough to teleport, so there was no stopping them. She lost sight of Blumiere's father long ago. She had no idea what to do besides run home.

By the time she got home, fires were being lit and the ancients she grew up with were screaming. Cloaked figures were fighting with tribesmen, the streets were being flooded with innocent blood, and the air was filled with the cries of frightened children.

She pressed her eyes shut and ran back to the home she grew up in. Somehow, it was still standing. Merlon was in the doorway, a horrified expression in his glowing yellow eyes.

"Timpani?!" he called out, searching desperately for her. "Timpani, where are you?!"

"Merlon!" she cried, running to him and shoving the Light Prognosticus she had stolen from him into his arms. "Merlon, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, this is my fault. Blumi and I, we wanted your dream to come true, but we made a mess and now the war's gotten out of hand and—"

"Child, you need to run," Merlon commanded as he took the book and held it to his chest.

"But Merlon—"

"Run, Timpani," he repeated, his voice harsher than it had ever been before.

The girl held in a sob, then turned and ran as fast as she could.

Merlon let out a short breath, then ran into the center of town, where the most fighting was taking place. The air was warm and the shiny roads reflected the flames which filled the sky. 

"Stop the fighting!" he begged, holding the book up. "We can come to a peaceful understanding! We—"

"Merlon..."

The blue-cloaked ancient stilled, then slowly turned around.

Standing in front of a line of flames was the executioner. His old friend, holding the Dark Prognosticus.

Merlon briefly looked down at his own book, then brought his gaze to the executioner's deep blue eyes.

"My friend..." Merlon trailed off.

The executioner's breath hitched as he shifted his grip on the Dark Prognosticus, holding it in his left hand. He held his right arm out and made his staff appear, the same staff he used to execute rulebreakers for a living.

"All this..." Blumiere's father breathed, his voice shaking slightly. "All this over two books written centuries ago."

Merlon shook his head as screams continued to echo through the air. The village he had loved so much was dying, the people he worked with were being slaughtered before his very eyes.

The executioner kept his eyes on his old friend. The mustache had gotten longer since he had last seen Merlon, years ago. It used to be gray with hints of blonde, now it was white.

Merlon's gaze softened just slightly as well. How he wished they could have reunited in different circumstances.

A purple-cloaked ancient ran up behind the executioner, holding up a staff covered in thick red liquid. Likely one stolen from a fallen tribesman. There was an angry look in their eyes, like the eyes of a hunter. Beings born of darkness weren't people, not to these ancients. And ancients weren't people to the members of the Tribe of Darkness.

"NO!" Merlon yelled, his golden eyes widening.

He waved his hand, teleporting behind the executioner and holding his arms out.

The world seemed to all fall silent as the sharp tip of the staff pierced into Merlon's chest.

The purple-cloaked ancient's eyes went wide as the executioner turned around, his deep blue skin paling.

The man with the staff quickly pulled it out, then ran off, disappearing into the crowd of screaming monsters. The executioner didn't follow, though.

He dropped his own staff and the Dark Prognosticus, allowing both to clatter to the ground as he caught Merlon, trembling now.

"Merlon?" the executioner asked, lowering him to the ground as a puddle of blood began to pool beneath him and into the executioner's lap. He didn't care. "Merlon?!"

Merlon blinked a few times, looking up at the executioner. He could feel right where the staff had gotten him, right in his heart. It was a strange sensation, his heart had never beat so strongly and quickly before.

"Merlon," the executioner repeated, his voice breaking again. "Merlon, you're going to be alright. I'll... I'll find a healer. I'll find—"

"Shh..." Merlon breathed, his voice softer than before. He took a shaky breath, then held the Light Prognosticus up to the executioner, his thin hands trembling. "You... have to..."

"No," the executioner squeaked, shaking his head rapidly. "No, I have the Dark Prognosticus. I can't carry both. I... you have to keep it, Merlon."

"My friend—"

"You have to keep it!" the executioner interrupted. "You can't give up now. You can't give up, Merlon. That's not... that's not what you're supposed to do. Me, maybe, but not you!"

"My friend..." Merlon repeated. "You... need to take it... you need to create a world... a world where light and dark can coexist... a world where we can all exist. Together... a world where Blumiere and Timpani can be together—"

"Blumiere's gone," the executioner sobbed. Tears were rapidly falling from his eyes now. "And I can't. I'm not like you, I'm not important. I... I can't carry both books. If they see me with it, your people will kill me. No one trusts anyone, Merlon. No one's like you!"

"That's not true..." Merlon smiled. "There will always be people like me...."

He let out a soft cough, then turned his gaze away from the executioner's eyes, looking back toward his house.

"There's... a red cloak," Merlon explained. "In my house. The one on the edge of the village with the stars painted on the walls. The cloak... it was meant for you. I've had it for years... with hopes... that someday you... or maybe Blumiere... could join us. Join me... be a voice for your people... help us all unite... but today... today it will protect you. Protect you from people who are afraid of the dark."

The executioner shook his head again, pressing his eyes shut. He couldn't form words anymore. He just wanted this nightmare to end. He wanted someone to run a sharp staff through his heart like they had done for Merlon. Why did Merlon have to save him? Didn't he know that he already had nothing left to live for? A life was just wasted for no reason. A good life full of purpose traded for the life of a mere executioner.

"What troubles you, my friend...?" Merlon quietly asked, smiling slightly through his glowing eyes as more tears fell from the executioner's face.

Blumiere's father didn't answer. Everything was troubling him. Blumiere was gone, Merlon would be gone soon, and his home was in flames, all because the world couldn't accept the fact that light and darkness could coexist.

"Here..." Merlon breathed, shakily reaching up and brushing his blue hood off, revealing his face to the world. "We'll trade places... you can hide behind a cloak now... while I keep my face exposed to the world."

His skin was slightly wrinkled, but tanned. Likely from long days in the sun during his youth. There were still a few freckles on his face.

The executioner's breathing hitched slightly and he nodded.

Years ago, he asked to see Merlon's face. He just wanted to know who he was talking to. The curiosity always ate away at him deep down. But it was a common ancient practice for people of importance to keep themselves hidden.

Blumiere's father nodded, then slowly let Merlon go, setting him down on the ground. He wiped a few stray tears away with the palm of his hand, then picked up the two books, hugging them to himself.

"I promise," he whispered, turning and running to Merlon's house to find the cloak.

. . .

Timpani waited by her lonely tree on the hill until the screams died out and the fires tricked down. The sky was filled with a cloud of smoke so thick that she couldn't see the moon or the stars. She sobbed to herself, knowing that she and Blumiere would never lay side by side beneath that tree and talk about the stars again. Flowers bloomed in the meadow all around her, she wished they wouldn't. How dare they bloom, knowing Blumiere was gone. He loved flowers, he always talked about how beautiful and delicate they were.

She wiped a few tears and stood up, then slowly walked back home. Or, to what was left of home.

When she arrived back in her village, the streets were flooded with dead people, beings born of both darkness and light. They were all dead. Once upon a time, the roads between homes were paved with beautiful white stones. Now, they had turned a deep, thick red color.

Her eyes fell upon Merlon, whose golden eyes were still open, though they didn't glow anymore. She gasped, then sprinted to him, sliding down to her knees and grasping his shoulder.

"Merlon?!" she asked, her voice shaking. "Merlon, please tell me you're okay. Please say something. Merlon!"

He didn't speak, though. He didn't squeeze her shoulder and tell her things would be alright. He didn't smile through his eyes at her and talk about stories that were thousands of years old.

He leaned over him and let out a loud sob. Her heart clenched in her chest. She couldn't stop the screams from escaping her lips.

Everything, every single thing she ever loved was gone.

She stayed that way and cried until the sun rose and the smoke started to clear. No one spoke, there was no one left to speak. Everyone was gone. Not one person lived.

No one deserved to live. All these people were what humanity truly was. Filled with hate and violence. Filled with an urge to kill each other.

"Timpani..." the executioner breathed.

The girl winced, then looked up.

The executioner was standing about twenty feet in front of her, holding both the Light and Dark Prognosticus. He was wearing a deep red cloak now, though he kept the hood off.

"You stole it..." she whispered, her eyes going to the Light Prognosticus. The moment she shoved the book into Merlon's arms flashed through her mind.

A deep, red rage bubbled up from within her.

"You killed him," she gasped, slowly sitting up. "You killed him for the book, didn't you?!"

"Timpani," the executioner said. "I didn't hurt anyone. I came to—"

"LIAR!" she screamed as loud as she possibly could. "DON'T SAY YOU DIDN'T HURT ANYONE! THAT'S ALL YOU EVER DO! YOU'RE AN EXECUTIONER! YOU HURT PEOPLE!"

Tears flooded from her eyes as she stood up, clenching both her fists.

"You've hurt Blumiere, you've hurt Merlon, you've hurt my home," she hissed, her voice shaking with intensity. "And now... I'm going to hurt you."

She let out a scream, then sprinted toward him, tackling the executioner to the ground. He let out a gasp, then tucked both the books into one arm, summoning his staff with his now free hand when she suddenly grasped the Light Prognosticus.

"Timpani, stop!" he begged, letting go of his staff and fighting to get the book back. The two continued a tug of war until she ripped the book out of his arms, but not before he could grasp one of the pages inside, tearing it from where it had been sitting for thousands of years.

She gasped as his eyes widened, looking at the page he had gotten his hands on.

"Timpani, I-I didn't mean—" he started when she grasped his fallen staff and pointed the tip of it at his throat.

He clutched the torn page and the Dark Prognosticus as her eyes glowed a deep blue color that wasn't natural for her, her entire body flooding with dark magic from holding his staff.

"Timpani," he cried, gritting his teeth. "You're not... let that go... you're not adjusted to dark magic—"

"Shut up," she calmly demanded, her voice softer now.

He had seen many people look at him with hate in their eyes. He was the executioner, he was used to being looked at like that. He built a shield around his heart, no longer allowing those looks to wound him. But this one coming from her... it felt harsher.

She pressed the staff to his chest and the blue gem glowed. A cold sensation, colder than ice, spread from his chest throughout his entire body. He let out a cry as she grinned.

"Timpani..." he cried, his voice strained now. "Please—"

"No," she said. "You don't understand. A world without him is empty. A life without him is meaningless. You don't get it, because you didn't love him like I did. You're the one who gave him that scar over his eye. You don't even wear your old wedding ring anymore. I bet you didn't even try to make your wife happy. No wonder she left you. You didn't love her. You didn't love him. You only love yourself. You just stood by and let your superiors kill him. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if you lied and did it yourself."

The staff continued to glow a deep blue color. Blumiere's father opened his eyes, only to see all the color fading from his arms and hands as if all the life and warmth were being drained from his body inch by inch. He felt his strength and power all draining, along with his life force. It was the kind of physical pain that made it almost impossible to think of anything else.

He hoped that Blumiere's final moments didn't feel quite this horrific... he hoped the tribe was kind enough to make his death quick and painless like he did whenever he was ordered to execute. Although, how did he even know it was painless? He never experienced it.

He was the worst kind of person, and he knew it. This was what he deserved.

Blumiere's father squeezed his eyes shut in horror and pain as he felt the color drain from everything. His arms, his neck, his face, his hair.

"He's gone because of you," Timpani hissed. "You never loved him. You don't even know what love is."

That's when he opened his still blue eyes, looking into Timpani's. His eyes were perhaps the only part of him still filled with the same vibrant blue color.

"Didn't love him...?" he asked, sharply inhaling for air so he could say what he needed to say. "I loved my son... I love my son... with all my heart. And I'll always love him. I will cry for him every single day... wishing I could take back everything that led up to his death. Wishing it was me instead. Wishing I could be a better father. Wishing I could give him my life."

He paused, still trembling, as waves of pain seemed to flush throughout his entire body. This must have been what dying felt like, but he didn't care. If he died now, then this war would finally be over for him.

But was that what Merlon wanted? Or was dying now when there was still work to be done selfish? He made a promise to his friend, so would it be fair to give up?

"I'll feel pain and grief for them both every single day," the executioner continued. "I'll miss them each moment I spend alive, wishing there was something I could do. That's what love is."

Perhaps that's how the families of the people he had executed felt. But now, in this moment, these were his feelings. His burdens to carry. He was holding all the grief and loss from both the Tribe of Ancients and the Tribe of Darkness.

Timpani's eye twitched as his eyes shut and he fell back to the ground. She dropped the staff, allowing it to land on top of him.

She stilled for a moment, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. He was unconscious now, his skin having all faded to a dull gray color. All life had been drained from him, leaving him with black hair and ice-cold skin. A practically lifeless husk of who he used to be, which wasn't much.

She held the Light Prognosticus to herself and leaned down, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper.

"Remember this well," she warned. "You're only alive because I let you live."

She scoffed, then kicked him as she walked past him, taking the Light Prognosticus and leaving what was once her childhood home filled with light and pleasant memories in the ashes.

She made her way to the end of town and stopped without turning back.

"Killing you now would be mercy. Someday... when I'm stronger... I'll find a way to take everything from you, like what you've done to me," she warned. "And when that time comes... you better run."