Apotheosis

A story in the world of Dusk and Dawn. Cover Art by Kim Holm.

He awoke on a bridge at dusk. The air was temperate, and it was silent aside from the gentle whispers of the wind. Autumn leaves that never change rustled in the distance, barely lit by the orange glow of a suspended sun that shyly poked above the horizon beneath the deep azure sky. In the West, two moons observe the crossing of a bridge in which there isn’t a visible beginning or end. All that can be seen is the eternal westward currents of black water that belong to the river below.

He was sitting on a padded chair, a checkered kingsboard set on the table before him. The stonework of the pieces was nothing special, but it was all it had to be—something he could understand. It was often said that the board would always appeal to the sensibilities of those that played.

It seems this is a rare accuracy of the mortal mythoi.

Sitting across from him was a pallid woman clad in blackened steel. Her eyes were the very embodiment of dusk. Without a word, she picked up the white and black kings, shuffled them underneath the table and held out in two closed fists. He didn’t hesitate, he picked left.

“Interesting choice.” The woman said, her voice was pleasant and steady as a hammer. She opened her left hand and handed him the white king; he flipped the board so the pieces were on the correct side. He’d read about this several times. Imagined it even more.

He made his move.

“This is it, isn’t it?” He asked.

“Afraid so.” She said as she made hers, not a hint of condolence in her tone.

He looked at the board for a time before deciding what came next. He shifted in the chair, which was perfectly comfortable. He no longer felt the wound in his leg and to his surprise, his armor and small clothes were dry. Not a drop of blood in sight. He moved his knight.

“Another interesting choice.”

“I like to keep my adversaries guessing.” He said. Not a boast, just a fact. Such was his way.

“What makes you believe that I am your adversary?” the pallid woman said as she moved her rook down the board. His king was already threatened.

“I need to go back.”

“I know, but that’s not how this works.”

He castled, saving the king. “Then why play?”

“It’s said that silver runs through your veins.”

An insane claim, but what use was lying to one such as her?

She moved another piece, he took it.

“Do you play often?” she asked.

“I haven’t for many years.”

“I can tell.” She took one of his pieces, his king was threatened yet again.

“And, if I lose?”

“You finish crossing, like everyone else.”

He took the piece threatening his king, now threatening hers. “And if I win?”

“Then you might be given the agency to fix the mess you left behind.”

For but a moment, he was overtaken by longing. What a damned fool he was. He left her behind and now he could only hope that she survived.

“She’ll be fine.” The pallid woman said.

He was surprised, but not alarmed. “It’s bad manners to be in your opponent’s head.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of this folkway.”

The board seemed to be at a lock.

He sat in silence for what felt like hours as he considered his next turn. This wasn’t just about him. He had a chance, which was not something to waste at a time like this. The pieces were on the table, and he needed to consider them carefully.

“Don’t take too long,” she said, “you don’t have much time.”

She wasn’t taunting, this was a fact. Time was moving quickly and even quicker his memories. So much had left him already—he couldn’t recall his own name. But he could see her in his mind’s eye.

He said her name under his breath repeatedly so that he wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t forget her.

He made his move and the board seemed to open back up. There was an avenue for victory.

She bridged the gap with her next move, closing off his path. “You’ll forget her too if you don’t figure this out.”

Emotion burst through him, so much rode on this. He stared at her, hot tears beginning to well up in his eyes. “She would have been here…”

“If she shared your fate? No, unfortunately not. You’re on the bridge because of the silver in your blood. All others who fall victim to the Simulacrum will likely find themselves torn and screaming in the depths of Pandemonium.”

The tears turned to rage. He stood up, wary of the old pain in his thigh despite that it would never ache again. “You lie! I am not as you say. Surely, she would have been here. Everyone crosses.”

Her blank face twisted into a devilish smile for but a moment. “Finish the game.”

Terror, fury, and everything in between gripped him. Memories flooded his mind and enveloped him in nostalgia. Visions of his privileged childhood, his cruel upbringing. He saw his wife, the day they married and the day she died. He witnessed his rise to power, how he soared the ranks of the elite. He felt temptations, the bitter edge of corruption that came with power and his steadfast refusal of its allure. He saw the face of a bright-eyed recruit; a woman determined to change the world and defend those who were helpless. He heard her screaming after she was slashed across her beautiful face in the line of duty. He remembered her wistful smile turn to a determine frown that she wore firmly as she rose through the ranks and collected accolades.

His heart burst with a yearning so intense, he thought he’d collapse as he remembered the only time, he’d seen her interrupt that signature frown. No, not seen—he could feel it. That night they’d spent on the outskirts of Wystra as they huddled in a ditch, battling the bitter cold of the winter night. Something between them, an unspoken bond that could stand the test of eternities kept them alive.

My champion, my most trusted advocate—my love.

He tore the board off the table and flung into the black river below. He turned to face the pallid woman, who was now standing. The table and chairs were gone. She held his gaze with an iron grip. Conviction burning in her silver eyes.

“A man dies, and a brother is born.”

“What?” His rage was bubbling, close to boiling over.

And then it was gone. As quickly as it all washed over him, it all washed away into oblivion. All that was left was the drunken essence of freedom. Free of hurt, compassion, and conscience. Free of humanity. His veins seared within him as they bulged with silver. The twin moons loomed over him, their bright visages shining light in the encroaching darkness of a place that is meant to remain in perpetual dusk. Darkness that belonged to him, just as the Dusk belonged to the pallid woman, whom he now recognized as his sister.

“I see the glint in your eye. You’ve been reforged. Once a man of steel, now ascended in silver.”

He went to the edge of the bridge and took in his dull reflection which stared mercilessly back at him in the dark ripples. The metallic glow of his eyes tore through the water’s surface. He searched for meaning, possibilities surging through his awakened mind at a speed he’d never before knew. Truth was no longer a mystery as it had been during life. If he were still a man, he would have been entirely broken by what he now knew as absolute.

“You cannot interfere directly, Tenebris. But you can nudge. You can help them restore the balance.”

He turned to her, as if that name had always been his. As if he’d known his sister for an

eternity.

“She can live.” He said.

“You can never reveal yourself.”

He nodded. This made sense. For the first time, everything made sense.

And it was intoxicating.

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