There once was a humble land, surrounded by an ocean and afloat within its celestial sphere like an islet, where the sun and moon shared the sky. The stronger light shimmered upon the countryside each day, and the gentler provided a reprieve from darkness each night. Together, day and night were complete, like lovers united. But a magical war erupted between the two kingdoms. At battle’s end, one kingdom dragged the night down into the belly of the earth, along with shadows and winter and ice, and those creatures drawn to darkness or cold. There, underground, the moon made its journey across a new firmament, traversing from west to east, and east to west, never to rest again. The other kingdom held tightly to the day above—hoarding the sun and its endless campaign across the skies, with the kinder seasons and all the variants of life making everything bright and colorful. An enchanted boundary fell into place between the two planes, allowing a flash of dawn in the night realm and a dusting of dusk in the day, a routine occurrence lasting only long enough to remind each kingdom of time’s passage and what had been lost. Although the people appeared to thrive in their separation, without both day and night they were incomplete, and discontent brewed beneath the surface. For what they had forgotten, they would soon remember: disassociation breeds prejudice, bitterness, and apathy—emotions too monstrous for any one kingdom in any one land to contain, and too powerful to ever be defeated by magic alone.