The guardian of the day stood boldly on the ledge overlooking the soon to be crimson valley where the battle had been arranged once again.  He looked down at the other knight, stood in the middle of the shadowy field, hands primly folded over the hilt of his blade, draped in lighter armor with a moon placed on his own breastplate.  The black clad knight knew the other well, his own blood brother, the guardian of the night.  He felt no emotion, having blocked it out ages ago when he and his brother had been informed of where they stood.  At least he told himself he felt nothing because emotion would only make his duty harder.

The almost deafeningly silent field drove him nearly insane, the armor on his body weighing heavily on his shoulders as he continued to stand on the ledge.  His brother made no move, nor did he make a sound.  He knew that the night was silent, so must her guardian be, but it was not something he had been accustomed to.  The day had always been light, cheerful, challenging, and loud.  It was beautiful chaos, his master had said, so he was trained to match the way of his lord’s creation.

This was not the first fight, nor would it be the last.  Time after time, the brothers fought mercilessly.  Night, the dark mistress of the moon, had always wanted to rule over her husband, taking the day from humanity and allowing those who enjoyed the dark silence, to enjoy it eternally.  The day, master of the brilliant sun, had never disliked his wife, but wished for there to be endless day so that joy and light would bring timeless joy to the mortals who basked in his creation.  And so the fights happened, creating what mortals called dusk, the miz between the day and the night when the moon showed her cool face and the sun cast warm colors across the sky.  It was the brothers clashing that created the mix, and it would happen as such for eternity until one defeated the other.

“Brother,” called out the day’s guardian, slowly shifting and jumping into the field across from his brother with the grace of the mortals’ feline companion.  He rose from his crouch, removing his helmet as the night’s guardian threw back the hood of his cloak, revealing hair locks of silken hair, the opposite of the day’s own onyx hair.  Neither smiled, but silently soaked in the feeling of being so close to their own flesh and blood, putting aside their lords’ quarrel.  “It has been some time.  How was your rest?”

“You know we do not rest,” night said gruffly, glancing down at the renewed grass.  “It has only been hours since the ‘dawn’ of the day, brother.  It is as good to see you again as it is bad.  I only wish our lords would reconcile with each other and end our torchure.”

“As do I, but as that has not happened…”  Day trailed off, both nodding and putting on their helmets.  They took their places, both minds going from friendly thoughts to dark images and intentions.  They raised their swords, bending both elbows and knees, getting into the proper stance as the training and schooling they went through comes to them, eliminating any bond the two had.

And then, they clashed.  Swords met in sharp metallic chimes, bodies flying to and fro as they attempted to bring down the other.  Years and years upon of training and ideas playing across their minds as they clashed violently, no trace of the previous reunion present.

The night caught his brother’s arm with his sword, drawing some blood that looked back in the rising moonlight and fading sunlight.  The day did nothing, continuing on as if nothing had happened, almost imperceptibly shielding the appendage.  The day managed to clip his brother’s leg, causing a gash to appear in the armor, made by the magical blade.

The fighting continued, neither gaining any ground as they each attacked with equal levels of skill and power.  The fighting didn’t stop, not once, for hours upon hours.  Blood spilled, dirt tarnished, and pain and fatigue dulled the senses.  They still continued to fight relentlessly, until once again, the darkness that had overtaken the field, mixed with light and became dawn as the sun once again rose.

Both brothers knelt down, bowing their heads and relaxing in the new light as both lords shared the sky and silently commanded that they stop and return to their sides to heal until the time came once again.  The two spouses may fight, guardians warring against each other, but they still loved each other.  It showed through when the master of the sun kissed the mistress of the moon before boisterous day took over from silent night.

“Until dusk,” the day’s guardian said, righting himself and turning his brother, bowing at the waist as his master called him back to the kingdom.  His brother agreed, repeating the words and bowing.  “Praise the sun.”

“And praise the moon.”

Then, in the lights of dawn, both knights turned and walked to their sides, across the now crimson valley and to their lords’ beckoning arms.  They faded, each being mended and prepared for the next fight.

.+.+.+.+.+.+.

Back in his master’s kingdom, the day guardian sat in a corner of the vast gardens, armor shucked off in favor of a darkly colored set of clothing pared with the cape he had been gifted when he was first introduced to his destiny.  He thought back to the fights he and his brother had in the beginning of time, before the homosapians were even an idea, and their blades were non-existent.  He remembered how brutal they had been, throwing around elements that, were they not immortal, would have killed both of them long before they hurled them at each other.

One in specific brought up the mural painted in the main hall of the palace, one that his lord had created of him during his first battle.  It was a beautiful portrait, but the fight it depicted was anything but.  Before the blade, the bolt was a common tool for the day guardian, producing light and a deafening sound similar to the day, ending the silence and darkness of night.  It produced little to no blood, but was nothing if not lethal.

The battle had put them both out of commission, his brother far to tired and battered, he himself injured by his brother’s own elemental weapon, water.  Their lords had stitched them back together, allowing their warriors to bathe themselves before sending them back out, but the wounds took far longer to heal, even with the assistance of their lords.

It was times like this, even knowing that his brother was his enemy, he thanked his master that he could not kill the other man.  Them memory, the smells, the sounds, the sights… they haunted him.  They were all images of his brother, bloodied and bruised, and quite frankly, he didn’t care if they were enemies.  They were still brothers.

And as he sat in the middle of a bench surrounded by fragrant roses, he wondered why he and his brother had not been allowed to be normal, to be brothers.  He wondered why their masters put them through such torture, why they had not chosen another pair of brothers. 

The guardians did not rest again after that.  They did as they always did, got up and headed back to battle, as they would until the end of time.

.+.+.+.+.+.+.

Millennia later, time did end.  The day guardian’s lord had made the sun, but all creations fail.  All beings, mortal or immortal, returned to the dust of their creation.  The night and the day ceased to exist as the sun had self destructed, leaving not only the earth, but solar system in shambles.  But, life did not end for those mortals who had discovered a refuge in a world far away from their broken home.

This new home, as rich in resources as Earth had been, was sculpted in the image of the home they had known so long ago.  Although the old lords, Day and Night, had fallen victim to their own achievements, had not made it out, the stories of them and their guardians traveled with the mortals who had escaped.  The stories and images of their rulers fell into the hands of the new lords, and so the shrine was formed.

The tomb of Night and Day, a beautiful stone cathedral that, later in time, would be used as a place of worship.  The stories of the two times would become legend, much like the old religions. 

And in a separate place, sacred on the new planet, stood two twin palaces, surrounded by heroes and soldiers of the new world.  Inscribed in the stone and metals of the palaces, were the images of both guardians.  None did dared disfigure the palaces, not out of respect for their own fallen, but for the fallen of the old world, which existed only as dust in space.

And the palaces, the shrines built for the guardians of the old world, were guarded by two new twins, two sisters.  And as history is bound to repeat itself, they suffered the same way, and shared the same fate as their predecessors.