History

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Once, long before anyone now living was born, there lived a boy. He was the strongest magic-user ever to live, a master of his craft by twenty. He spun light into dancing, twisting shapes, picked up any magic and many physical skills quickly. He grew up beautiful, proud, and strong, and eventually came to marry a princess, thereby becoming a prince, then a king.

As king, he inherited the last king’s war. He made an end to it quickly, his powerful magic backing his soldiers as they conquered and laid waste to the world. Generously, he allowed conquered rulers to maintain stewardship over their lands, so long as they swore fealty to him. If they did not… he killed them, going down the line of succession til someone swore loyalty.

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Thus the Empire of Light began. It was an era known for peace, its birth marked by blood and slaughter. Peace reigned as the Emperor demanded it, his word made law through fear and bloodshed when his propaganda was insufficient.

It was not to last.

Sometime during the Emperor of Light’s rule, the first child with the power we would come to know as wizardry was born. This child was… unremarkable. They grew, lived, and died, hardly ever having touched the river of energy within them. I do not even know who they were, only that I was not the first, second, nor even twentieth such child to be born. Any of the others could have done as I did, could have risen to legendary greatness, had they only been lucky enough, had they only stepped forth. But they did not.

I did.

And I died for it.