“Long ago, in a distant past nobody ever remembers, witches and warlocks ruled the Earth. With dazzling magic, potions and freedom—this, was the era of life without us. This, was the era of change.”

A crowd shuffles closer to hear the King’s words.

“Beings with no magic were unheard-of, only in legends and tales meant to instil fear in little witchlings, did they have form. As the world rumbled and mountains grew, seas were formed, and split the people in two.” The King pauses. “In the southern continent,” he says, “resided peaceful enchanters. Their only wishes were for the planet to thrive. They were powerful healers, gifted with the whispers of the trees—their pride, their legacy.”

“What happened after, Sir?” a child asks from amongst the crowd, in a castle where banners are hung high and golden chandeliers glimmer with light.

“Peace wasn’t what the world had in mind for the people of the South, that’s what happened next,” the King tells the young boy. “In the East, the lightning grew, and clouds circled in the air as flowers wilted into none. These people did not believe in silence; they were savages. Savages, with too much power at hand.”

The room grows silent, all except for a few gasps.

“Wars—left and right—were fought day and night. With their magic as dark as midnight, did they seal every life in sight. The healers ran frantic as they saw their evil sisters approach at dawn. They built walls, traps and everything to doom the enemy’s destiny. But it was no use—no matter how hard they tried, how many of their brethren they gathered out of the fields and into battle, the enchanters only gained space and empty rooms as lives—more than they could keep track of—were lost to the evil of the witches. One by one, they all fell. Two by two, their sisters marched with no choices left.”

The King takes a deep breath. The sun is setting now, and a few babies cry, yet, his people wouldn’t dare leave—not when the climax approaches, not when the story of creation is being told, and by the King himself at that.

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“The wielders of nature dropped to their knees, and,” the King continues, “they looked up to the sky. They begged, and begged, and begged the gods in sobs: ‘You must stop them,’ they said. But a day passed, and then two and three and four and no answers were sent. They dropped to their knees again, amidst piles of limbs that replaced a once thriving and wonderful grass. In cries, in wails, in shouts, they said, ‘Please, we’ll do anything! Defeat our evil brothers, our sisters plagued by the darkness.’

“The gods cackled. Thunder roared. ‘Anything? Is that right?’ an almighty voice echoed in the sky.

“Their leader nodded, with a face all too tired to argue against any condition imposed. Ashes brushed her pretty red hair and dyed it in the colour of clouds, the colour of loss.

“The God laughed again, yet, he didn’t turn his back from the men whose foreheads were still stuck to stone as they implored the Almighty’s glory down to their bones.

“‘All right,’ their God told them. With a wave of his hand, he made rain fall, with drops so huge that the ships of their enemies sunk to the bottom of the deep blue.

“The witches did not ask about the price they would have to pay, the lives they would have to surrender, once the fray was over. They already knew as they remembered words from long ago.

“We want what’s belongs to us.

“Mortals should not own what you do.

“And the heathens had guessed right, for as white light and ash melded into the air they breathed, the witches all fell ill to slumber.

“Never again, would they birth their kin.

“Thousands of years passed. Witches and warlocks all disappeared. The reign of humans began, however once every decade, as the curse of the gods faded, a healer would be born. But we know better. Just like the Gods, we won’t let them destroy our planet. We won’t let them exist. A healer is only the tip of the iceberg.” The King pauses. He purses his lips together. “I’m sure that—one day,” he says, “a witch will be born anew. We must stay united. We must be ready for when that time comes.”

The crowd cheers and eats up his words. Some, because they haven’t a choice but to swear oath to the King; others, because they truly believe in the principles he has set forth.

The King smiles. It is sickly, and he knows he hasn’t much time left. Yet, he also has no fear his legacy will outlive far longer than he could ever hope to survive in this world—the thought comforts him.