"They aren't using magic. Why are they still not using magic?"

He looked down at the world he had created and saw the war his people were waging. It had only been thirty years since the first generation, and they were already at each other's throats. A few dozen thousand stood lined up, a sea of ash between them. Bows, swords, pikes, even catapults.

No magic.

The entire point of the thing was to use magic, the point of their very existence. It took him nearly an entire semester to program the magic system, and it was installed for at least a decade, their time. He thought it might've been another bug in his code, but he realized soon what the problem was. The system was built upon the power of will. The human AI was generated from donors of his time, and so they had no knowledge and no belief of magic. It was likely even a forgotten word by now.

And so he needed to remind them. To show them the new world he had crafted for them.

He dived in and brought his usual avatar for the occasion.

He would not be forgotten.

Even at 25% sensory load, the sharp sting of smoke and ash flooded his senses. The cold air of the upper atmosphere pulled goosebumps from his skin. The rush of the fall flapped his cheeks and made his eyes sore from squinting too hard. He lost his awesome wizard hat on the descent. With a click of his fingers, he flashed onto the field between the armies as a bolt of lightning. Crackow! The sudden burst of blue light and tremendous thunder shocked the two armies mid-charge, but they didn't stop their sprint until their eyes fell on him.

Before them, stood a bald old man with a majestic beard. A pink star tattoo on his left cheek. Bolts of blue static arced out from his presence, pulsing out a foreign, ominous buzz.

He could feel their terror.

The wizard thrust his hands into the air and called forth a storm. The smell and applause of rain found them. Beneath, he sent ripples of life through the ashen field, pulling up grass and flowers to swallow the black and gray. Green moss raced outwards and up the soldiers' legs and took root in their armor, locking some in place. When he felt the two sides had been watered enough, he flicked up a red mass of fire into the sky. Like a heartbeat, it pulsed once, twice, then exploded into an inferno that swept the battlefield. A shockwave of rain and moisture boiled into steam and into mist, before resting again on the stunned and the weary. The fighting was already over, and he had won.

In the best wizard voice he could muster, he said, "Bring me your commanders."

They were brought in a hurry. Both pale, rigid, sweaty. Between them, they looked the same. Leather armor, iron helmets, frightened eyes.

"Stop fighting," the wizard said.

"We have stopped," the first man said.

"No, I mean the war."

"Oh." The commander's eyes glossed over the battlefield, his men and that of his rivals, the new meadow he was standing in, then back to the wizard. "Okay."

The wizard rested his hands on his waist and nodded at them both. The commanders looked at each other, their heads bobbing up and down in nonverbal agreement to appease this alien before them, before redirecting the nodding back at the wizard. "Alrighty," he said. "Tomorrow, bring your kings or queens or leaders or whatever. I'll have you sign a peace agreement, then I'll teach you magic, or something."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Okay," the commander said.

The wizard stared. "Well, okay then. Go home." Thousands of eyes collectively looked at him, as if his words were just a song for them to hear. They didn't move. "Now," he ordered.

In a rush, the soldiers picked themselves up, helped the others rip free from the moss and grass, and hurried home. Within minutes the wizard was alone again.

He then set the simulator to run at a faster ratio so he could grab some lunch. The wizard left his avatar to sit in that field, with a stone expression like a monk in meditation, for almost a full day of their time.

When he returned, he opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the floor of a wooden cabin. Lit only by torchlight, it was large enough to house a few dozen people, of which were staring into his soul with worried faces and mouths agape. They were dressed in fancy robes and jewelry.

"When did this house get here?" the wizard asked.

"P-pardon me, sir," a young man approached with downcast eyes. He was trembling. "Or your highness?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Your majesty, we arrived to find you sitting in the rain. You didn't respond to us, so we thought you might be... busy. So we tried covering you with branches or fabric to fight off the water. It... it only made it worse, so we decided to build this temple in your honor. To keep you from the elements."

The wizard looked at him with narrow eyes as his mind parsed what the guy was saying. He realized he was soaked, but at a quarter sensory load, he could hardly tell.

"I-I apologize for any offense, sir!"

"I told you we shouldn't have done it," a woman hushed in the back. More whispers and grumbles in agreement and objection.

"It's fine," the wizard said. He stood up and looked around at his new audience. It seemed they had brought the entire royal family of both sides. A few closest to him shook back and kneeled, prompting the others to follow suit. "Guys, you don't have to—"

"Great warrior," an old man interrupted. "Please forgive our ignorance, but we know not who you are."

"I'm a wizard." He tilted his head in thought. There likely wouldn't be a better time to tell them the truth. "I am the creator."

Some pulled their heads up to take in what he had just said. Mouths fell open, eyes widened. The old man grasped at his heart. "So... so you are God?"

This was a bad idea, and he could feel the social anxiety grip at his core. "No! Sorry, I meant the creator of magic. I am the original wizard." A collective sigh and the tension in the room deflated. "Look, man," he continued. "You don't have to be so formal. Just talk to me like you would talk to anyone."

A smile eased across the old man's face, crow's feet gripped at his eyes. "Thank you, great wizard. Now, why have you summoned us here this day?"

"In exchange for a hundred-year peace between your nations, I will offer the gift of magic."

***

"And so, even a child such as this can create a flame." He kneeled down and molded her hand to a snapping motion. With a little extra help from impromptu coding, he clicked her small fingers.

“Fire,” she whispered as she had learned.

With a faint click, a roar of fire leapt up. Its heat pushed their faces away, and its flames licked at the ceiling before vanishing into gasps and cheers. The lecture was a success.

By now the people were much more comfortable with the wizard and rushed him with more questions. Ideas about what types of magic, how it could be used for war or trade or daily life. Their excitement was contagious, for even he hadn't given it that much thought. Before he could answer any of them, he felt the pain of anxiety return.

Yet this, this wasn't anxiety. The pain and cramps and terror in his gut were the result of his most recent, his most grave mistake. Week-old leftovers from the Stella Vallis shrimp festival was not a good idea. It was time to leave.

Without realizing it, his expression had turned dark and his arms wrapped tight across his body.

"Master wizard," the queen said, "are you well?"

"My... time is short in this realm." He could feel the sweat bead on his forehead. "I must... I must go."

Some of the people still had questions to ask. It was too soon for them.

"Where are you from?"

"What will we do from now on?"

"What will become of us?"

"Oh no," the wizard muttered.

"What is your name?"

His eyes widened, and his gaze drifted across the room. He felt cold and empty and defeated. The unthinkable happened. With a voice so low, an utterance so barely audible, he spoke. "I shit myself."

And with those words, he vanished from them forever.