In a kingdom in another world, a man wielding a scythe was walking through the streets. After arriving at what he assumed to be his destination, he went up to one of the guards.

  “Where is your king?” He barked at the guard, who had just woken up from his slumber. His sweat trickled from his brow at the sight of this intimidating newcomer.

  “R-right t-this way!” He blurted, his eyes shuttering open and closed with a rhythm that matched his stuttering words.

  The guard led the newcomer through the torchlit castle halls, up to a large doorway that halted their progress. The guard knocked on the door in what sounded like a code, a tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap-tap.

  “Y-your majesty? There is s-someone here to see you.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me L’Arc!” The king groaned; he didn’t like to be regarded as anything related to his station. He looked over, his gaze fixated on his new guest.

  “Sorry about that. I see you have a scythe, too! Tell me, what’s your name?” He smirked, his hand on the grip of his weapon.

  “Marluxia,” the pink-haired stranger remarked, his eyes meeting the challenge that this king seemed to be asking through actions rather than words.

  “Interesting— You’re not from around here, are you?” L’Arc said, almost interrogatively. He proceeded to rise from his throne; his tall frame seemed to line up with his challenger’s. Though neither one was intimidated, Marluxia was the first to break the tension.

  “Shall we take this outside?” He invited, impressed by L’Arc’s strength of character.

  “Let’s go and get this party started!” L’Arc exclaimed, signaling with his hand which way he and his challenger had to go.

  Once they left the castle and entered the grounds, L’Arc made sure that there was nobody near the soon-to-be battlefield that he and his opponent were about to clash upon. As they left to go to their destination, the air grew stale, almost as if the world itself was trying to catch its breath. Each step from L’Arc was met with a similar footfall and stride from Marluxia, who was timing each step precisely to psyche out his opponent.

  “I see what you’re trying to do, but it’s not going to work. I’ve been in more battles than you can shake a scythe at.” L’Arc, who was undeterred by Marluxia’s mind games, countered; the battle not just being of strength and skill, but also of the mind. He was half excited for the battle to come, and half annoyed at the assumed disrespect in Marluxia thinking of him as green to the rules of battle.

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  Arriving at the destination of their duel, the two combatants stood at opposing ends of the courtyard. L’Arc signalled for everyone in the vicinity to head inwards, to the interior of the castle, for safety.

  “Ready whenever you are!” L’Arc shouted from across the battlefield, his hand on the snath of his scythe, prepared for what he assumed would be an easy fight. Marluxia, who was on the other end of the battlefield, appeared behind his opponent.

  “What the–?” L’Arc was shaken by the speed of Marluxia. His instincts, however, were usually right, and he immediately turned around and blocked the attack from Marluxia with the snath of his weapon.

  “Hmmph, interesting. Tell me, should I really put your skills to the test?” Marluxia smirked as he teleported back to the starting point, but L’Arc was having none of it—

  “Flying Circle Disc,” He shouted, a projectile forming from the blade of his scythe and flying toward Marluxia. L’Arc sprinted behind his projectile, hoping to end the fight in a couple of moves. He jumped up and swung his scythe down to Marluxia’s head, hoping for a quick knockout. Marluxia, though, had other ideas. He quickly and gracefully dodged the projectile while parrying the downswipe from L’Arc’s follow-up attack.

  The fight continued for a while, each combatant countering the other, blow for blow. It wasn’t until a woman with green hair came running out to the courtyard.

  “L’Arc!” She chastised, not putting up with the rash behavior of his actions.

  “Therese? What are you doing here?” He questioned before finally getting knocked off his feet by Marluxia.

  “Consider this a coup d’état,” Marluxia exclaimed with a hint of humour in his voice. L’Arc, who could see how his screwup would be considered amusing to an onlooker. He got up, dusted off his clothes, and said–

  “I may never have heard of you, but you must be somebody where you’re from, being able to go toe-to-toe with me.”

  “I’m a nobody, really–” Marluxia replied, his voice showcasing an amused yet melancholic tone. L’Arc, who was bewildered by his opponent but enthusiastic at the battle that had just transpired, said–

  “So, what brings you here?”

  “I’ve come to share some rather unfortunate news with you.”

  Marluxia mentioned to L’Arc about an upcoming wave that was doomed to destroy this world. L’Arc, whose shock echoed throughout the ridges of his face, raised his scythe and decided that they were going to take the battle to the invaders first.

  “You know what they say. A good defense is a strong offense!” He looked at Marluxia, whose hands were trembling. Though they were not trembling with fear. No, this was a feeling of excitement about the plans that he just set in motion.

  A battle between light and darkness, but which world was the light, and which was the darkness? No– This was a battle between dawn and dusk, one where the twilight of a new age was about to begin.