He sent it down to humanity and said, “Have fun with it. But I want it back.”
“What do we do with it? How do we get it back to you?” Humankind asked, watching the glowing golden mana pouring down.
“It’s good stuff.” He winked, and He vanished.
The humans pondered the shiny substance’s purpose amongst themselves, and asked Him the next time He appeared, but He was busy overseeing a plague He’d devised and couldn’t hear them over the agonized shrieks and gnashing of teeth and so on. He would only say He wanted it back.
Soon enough, on their timescale, the clever humans worked things out for themselves–the good stuff could grant wishes. Once its power had been expended, it returned to its maker in a rush of sparkles. At a mere prayer, a handful could be turned into a bushel of grain or a new shovel. It could ease sickness; it could end loneliness. If gathered in larger amounts, the good stuff could move mountains.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The people used their gift well at first, harnessing its power to reshape the world in their image. Unfortunately and inevitably, the competitive species came to covet the good stuff beyond all else. Humans fought amongst themselves and cheated and swindled their own kind to get it.
He watched things proceed as predictably as the unwindings of a clock: the humans with the largest hoards of the good stuff used its power to accumulate more–ever more until a few upjumped primates sat atop great mounds, looking down on all others–but piling too much of the good stuff in one place proved hazardous. Those kings who sat atop the largest glittering piles suffered, corrupted by an excess of potential magic. They became targets, vulnerable to one another–and to the masses whom they enslaved.
Nevertheless, the clever primates solved their problem: a mountain of the glittering prize could be broken up–spread around to so many places that the treasure became nearly invulnerable, immune to the graspings of anyone outside its increasingly-exclusive ownership.
Their great sorting complete, the humans concentrated the good stuff in the hands of the fewest possible, leaving most of their vast tribe with nothing. The people used it less and less, and, as a result, the good stuff was not returning to its maker. He grew annoyed at the humans. He had explicitly told them he wanted it back. Yet, the hoard of golden good stuff continued to be buried ever deeper, ever further out of reach. With neither magic nor motivation, the humans stagnated. They hastened their own end, tearing one another apart, their maker watching, doing them no favors.
Later, He looked down upon the world, scattered as it was with the bones of humanity. He gave out a great sigh. It was then that He decided to give birth to the race of dwarves.
“Hey y’all,” He said, appearing before dwarfkind. “You’ll never guess what’s buried in them-there hills.”