Long ago, before the days and sciences and magics we know now, the world was ruled by vast kingdoms.

The Kingdom of Ruby, of Emerald: all in all seven castles rose over the different lands, each one home to an emperor and his family that guided their people with wisdom and strength. It was this way for millennia, a peaceful turn of seasons for all those lucky enough to be alive then.

No one knew where the monster called Darkness came from. They only knew of his existence when the red suddenly drained from the roses in every garden, their color now a terrible, lifeless black. Word flew from the Kingdom of Ruby that their ruler had been murdered, his castle having crumbled into itself when he died.

The Emperor of Amber was next: he bravely stood his ground in his own great hall as Darkness effortlessly cut through his guards. He watched as the color drained from them with every slash of his sword, and the blackness seemed to grow around the intruder.

He understood how hopeless it was then, how much stronger Darkness was than his own magic, and he went to the grave with dignity, kneeling and awaiting the final blow without pleading or trembling.

Darkness rampaged through the lands, and two more rulers died, their kingdoms plunging into chaos and their colors sinking into the pitiless, spreading black before the final three banded together and summoned the world’s best swordsman, a mysterious warrior named Light.

Light was tall and strong and with hair as white as the ice of a glacier. He was as cold as one as well, his famed skills matched only by his complete lack of emotion.

The warmth that radiated through the people of the seven lands never seemed to reach him. He stood in absence of it, and it was this invulnerability the kings were counting on, though they feared him almost as much as they feared Darkness.

Light met his opponent outside the newly fallen ruins of the Emperor of Lapis’ palace. The wreckage smoked behind them, sending dark columns into the now-black summer sky. Night laughed, his own long hair drifting strands of the same color. "One man? They send one man?"

"One man like you. Their magics have no effect on me."

The fearsome soldier paused, his sword lowering as he examined him. "If you’re like me, why do you fight with them?"

"They pay me."

He laughed again. Darkness loved to laugh, to wallow in the emotions of those he’d overtaken and absorbed into himself. "Money is worthless. Come fight with me."

"With you?"

"I’m not afraid of you, my empty brother."

Light studied him. He saw no fear on Darkness' face, none of the caution and nervousness people always regarded him with. He saw an equal. Perhaps he saw a friend? No one can say. He tightened his grip on his sword. The faint crackle of burning timber drifted around them. "Agreed."

The two cut a swath across the realm of Indigo, Light a precise and cold-blooded compliment to Darkness' orgy of violence. Two days later the king was dead, cut down after a valiant but futile battle with both swordsmen.

The world was becoming a place for nightmares, nearly all black, when they came to the last kingdom standing, that of Amethyst.

Now, the Emperor of that kingdom had a son who was his dear pride and joy. The boy was young and strong and before the Draining had begun, everyone had said what a wonderful king he’d make someday.

But as the emperor looked at him now, the messenger's panicked news that the Twins had been seen on the horizon, he had only fear in his heart.

"I'll be brave, Papa."

The little boy sat next to his father and prayed, refusing to move even when his shaking mother tried to pull him away. He was quiet, and still, and his father finally led his mother away and kissed her goodbye, telling her to go see to their other children.

She went quietly, in tears. Everyone knew the murder of the king would kill everyone else in the bloodline as well, but what could they do?

When Light and Darkness burst into the throne room, the Emperor stood. "Please," he began in the same deep voice his people were familiar with from much happier times and festivals. "Have mercy on us. We are the last of our kind left in the world."

"And soon you will be no more." Darkness smiled, crossing the floor with Light next to him. They had become like the Twins they were now called: white and black operating in perfect tandem with one another. "Your time is over."

The young prince, forgotten, remained by his father's side, his lips still moving in silent prayer. The emperor put his hand on the boy’s head and closed his eyes as the Twins raised their swords, a temporary blackness falling before the final one to come.

The boy moved. His father saw and cried out too late, as the prince welcomed the swords into his chest, his arms open.

The Twins stared, and Night’s customary grin dropped away into a look of horror.

For the boy was not dead. Or even injured.

His eyes glowed, and he reached out to wrap his small hands around the blades of white and black piercing his body. He pulled them out to show no wounds, a strange voice far too deep for his age echoing as he spoke. "We, the Gods of Heaven, have heard this child’s prayers, for he is strong and pure of spirit. He has begged that you be bound to him. We grant his wish."

The screams of the two monsters almost deafened the king and his men as they lost shape and substance and swirled down into the two faint scratches on the boy's chest. Only a lingering bit of white and black remained, and all of the stolen colors returned to the world.

From that day forward the prince, and all of his children, could only see in black and white, their loss the price paid for stopping the evil of the Twins.

And that is why we honor those born without the sight of color on this day. They are his descendants, and worthy of our respect.