A story by Gabby Alder
It was terrifying when the king died. Everyone lost their powers. Everyone was fighting for a chance to be what they once were. They were afraid of their being made vulnerable, so they tried to learn again.
They remembered how they were before the king died, gifted with flight, healing powers, speed, telepathy, and the ability to create illusions in thin air. They wanted, needed that again, were terrified that they had lost it all.
It was a slow process, trying to be as powerful as they used to be, but they were determined. They searched high and low for any indication that they could be great again and once they found it, they latched on hard.
At first, it was small. Some people could heal a papercut, some people had grown a feather out of their back. This was because of the old magic, the residue of the great downfall. As they continued to use it, it began to come back to them after generations of hard work and dedication to what once was. But this came with a price. They forgot what they could be. They began to separate themselves by the magic they possessed, by where they put their time and effort into, by what powers they believed to be better than the others.
The king had created a barrier between himself and the people so that the dragons, once through with him, could not begin to attack his citizens. Of their own accord, the people began to manipulate the barriers and separate themselves. The healers and the winged people split, the runners and the storytellers fought each other until a magic wall was put up before them. And then, the land began to break apart as well. Connection was blurred and finally broken between the peoples, and after many generations, as they grew their different powers more and more, they forgot each other. They forgot who they once used to be, fluent in every power, great beyond all imagination. All their imagination anyway.
The king’s land was soon fully broken because of the dragons’ arrival. Because of the king’s death. But there is said to be a way to bring us all back together, so that we might learn the old ways again, might be given flight and speed and mind reading again. No one knows how, though. And no one cares quite as much as the king’s blood.
You care? How sweet. It’s time for bed now, you’ve been up far too late. Well, I don’t know if its real or not. It might be. Now, it’s time for sleep. Say goodnight to your mother. Sweet dreams.
