The pieces clicked softly onto the old board, their worn edges telling a story of our many previous games.
"Pawn e2 to e4 Your move, father." I set the piece down gently onto its square, rushing to secure the center.
"I'll mirror." Father, with his typical nonchalant expression, moved his black pawn to counter. "Let's have fun this game, Ereth!"
"..." That smile was filled with nothing but deceit and trickery. He could not get past me this time. "Knight g1 to h3."
He raised his brow. "Pretty simple tactic, don't ya think? Though, simple approaches to problem solving have always been your forte. Knight b8 to c6."
Father is baiting me - I know him all too well. "Queen d1 to h5."
"Ah~ How aggressive! Has the pitiful child finally grown fangs? Knight g8 to f6."
"No thanks to you. Pawn d2 to d4"
"Pawn e5 to d4."
The Scottish opening - a flexible opening that allows for early center control and forward movement.
Our pieces slowly shifted across the board, my pinpoint precision contrasting his lackadaisical attitude.
"Bishop f8 to c5," he said.
An opening? How vulnerable.
"Knight captures at c6." I'll keep pressing the attack.
"And that's checkmate. Queen to f2."
"...Eh?! What do you mean checkmate? That quickly?"
Father broke out into a hardy laugh, his hand stroking his thin, patchy beard. "You're far too predictable, Ereth. Despite that poker face, my son is a rather emotional boy, isn't he?"
"...Just how many games does that make?"
"Mmmm..." Father placed his hand on his chin, recalling some distant information. "Around 7,345? You must think it's pretty fun if you're willing to lose that many times."
"It's not like that..."
Father got up and stretched his back like an old man, yawning and wiping his eyes. "This game was fun, but there's something else I want to talk to you about, Ereth. Come with me."
I followed him out of the living room and embraced the abundance of warmth in the air.
In its place: an endless horizon bathed in golden sunlight. It's rays of light shimmered off the surface of the distant, crystal blue sea. The wind carried no scent, no hint of corruption or sound - only stillness.
Countless bookshelves were suspended in mid-air, containing information from every era and culture imaginable. The hallway dissolved behind us. Some were bound by leather, others in metals or strange glass that pulsed faintly with light. They drifted across the sky like an isle of memories.
Amidst the sprawling fields stood gigantic monuments of alien creatures. They struck various poses, some lying in agony, some clasping their hands in pray, as though their tragedies were forever unbound by the passage of time.
At the center of it all stood my father, his head upturned at the Eternal Twilight.
"Ereth, are you familiar with miracles?" His voice shook with a slight sadness.
"A miracle? Such as those you've shown me in those novels? Well, I haven't seen anything particularly spectacular, so I can't say I have."
"That's right...you've never experienced it within this unchanging world, have you?"
The Eternal Twilight was quite literal in name. No matter the events that may occur within the Eternal Twilight, all things shall ultimately remain "unchanged." Thus, it was impossible for the "un-ordinary" or "impossible" to occur here.
"The land in which I was born was a cruel world. It was ravaged by war, hatred, and animosity. The weak and ailed of society stretched out their hands for salvation, and I, in my infinite arrogance, believed I could save them all."
His words were tinged with sorrow, regret, and remorse.
While it was a rare sight, I could occasionally catch a glimpse at my Father's body. It was covered in a myriad of scars, the tissue malformed so greatly that one could hardly imagine what his life was like before the Eternal Twilight.
"I couldn't save anyone - not a single person. This isn't some exaggeration or emotional spiel either. It's the honest truth."
Father turn to me with the same radiant smile he always worse. "I'm sorry, Ereth, but you'll have to indulge in my selfishness for a bit longer."
He drew a familiar broken sword from the ground and tossed it my way. Despite its clearly weathered state, it's fine golden ornaments were as clear as day.
It was Father's very own sword that he had treasured his whole life. The Blade of Promised Victory.
"I'd like you to become the Immortal Sword Saint, Ereth. Seek the path of victory and put an end to this ceaseless bloodshed. It can only entrust this to you."
They called him the Immortal Sword Saint- a living legend who once carved his legacy into the sky during the Great Heavenly War.
To the world, he was Zoltin of The Promised Victory.
To me, he was simply my father.
"Father…can I really do something like this?"
All my life, I've living in his shadow- followed his teachings, mimicked his steps, studied his battles. But no matter how far I chased him, that ideal never grew any closer.
He laughed—a full, warm sound that, for a moment, broke the heaviness in the room. "No… that's exactly as it should be. You are not me, Ereth. And you never should be. That's why I'm sending you out. The world needs you, not another Zoltin."
"It's not like that."
I wanted to fulfill his dream. Truly, I did.
But I already know the truth.
I was just an automata, an artificial creation. Something like me was less of a person and more akin to a blade without edge, a name without weight.
What could an automata like me do to make this man proud?
"Of course," Father said, his voice like wind rustling through the withered leaves of time, "none of what I'm saying really means anything. You're by no means obligated to become the Immortal Sword Saint if you don't want to."
I blinked. "...What?
My words came out softer than intended. "Then why send me away at all?"
"No...this would won't do you any good. Even with all the knowledge in the world, it won't mean anything within such a stagnant, pitiful world like this."
Pitiful- a strange description. Not once during my many years within the Eternal Twilight have I felt any dissatisfaction or resentment. Perhaps this was a gap in our experience, Father and I.
This world was all I had known. I could hardly imagine letting it go.
I glared at him, hoping to find even a sliver of hesitation or instability, yet my father, Zoltin of the Promised Victory, was calm.
He patted my head, just as he did when I was a child. It was heavy, yet gentle.
"Ereth, just live. Make mistakes. Lose. Overcome. That's something I can never teach you here."
The space around us shimmered—the Eternal Twilight unraveling, parting like mist under morning light. I felt the pull of another world, raw and real and waiting.
He smiled, though he did not look at me. Perhaps he couldn't bear to.
"Go."
Before I could speak, before I could promise anything-
The world fell away.
And I began to fall with it.