They say the world used to turn. They say that night would follow day in an endless dance. They say that dawn rose, dusk fell, and we worshiped both sun and stars. That was a long time ago. The dance has died. The world has fallen still. We float through the heavens, one half always in light, one half always in shadow. Like the moth of our forests, one wing white and the other black, we are torn. My people are the fortunate. We live in daylight, blessed in the warmth of the sun. Yet across the line, the others lurk in eternal night, afraid... and alone in the dark. I was born in the light. I was sent into darkness. This is my story.

We are in darkness. We are alone. They came from the lands of light. They came with torches, with lanterns, with the banners of the sun. The children of endless day—they came to banish the darkness. And they came to kill. We are the children of never-ending night. We are the dwellers of shadow. In the light of our enemy, we are dying. We were born in darkness. We must cast out the light. This is our story.

Our world is broken. Our people are torn. The sun no longer rises. Evening no longer falls. In the lands of endless sunlight, we fear the darkness, we forge swords, we march to war. In the shadows of eternal night, we hide, we pray, we die. Soldiers of sunlight and children of darkness—we were once one. We were torn apart. We must be one again. We are the people of Moth. Our world must once more turn.

I am broken. I am lost. Our world has fallen still. One half lies drenched in eternal daylight, the other cloaked in endless night. Our people are divided, some living under the sun, the others hidden in shadow. All is light or darkness. All is the sun or the moon. All but me. My father was born in the never-ending sunlight of the west. My mother is a daughter of darkness. I am split in two. Like the moth of our forests, one wing white and the other black, I am torn. I am a child of dusk, a stranger in both day and night. I am alone. This is my story.

Our world burns with war. In the west, the people of eternal sunlight invade the darkness, armed with swords, arrows, and torches. In the east, the children of endless night fight from the shadows. Soldiers of sunlight and dwellers of darkness. Their war flares across the world of Moth. And I am torn between them. My father was born in the sunlight. My mother is a daughter of the night. I am a child of dusk, a stranger to both camps. As fires burn and blood spills, I must heal this shattering world. Yet how can I stop a war between day and night when a separate war rages within me—a clash between my sunlit and moonlit halves?

Our song fades. Our children perish. Our world, a land torn between day and night, runs red with blood. For countless years, Moth has been frozen still, one half drenched in eternal daylight, the other cloaked in endless night. For countless years, the soldiers of sunlight and the dwellers of darkness have lived in isolation. Now we kill. Now we die. We are the children of Moth. We were born in sunlight or in shadow. We can stop the fire, or we can watch our world burn. This is our story.