Chapter 2: A World of Forgotten Magic

Long before history as we know it was written, magic was woven into the fabric of the world like threads in an intricate tapestry. Every forest, river, and mountain thrummed with arcane energy, and the people understood magic not as an unnatural force but as an essential part of life itself. Scholars and sages discovered ways to harness it, to shape it with words, symbols, and gestures, passing their knowledge down through generations. Villages and cities had learned practitioners, respected figures who knew how to summon light to stave off the dark, conjure rain for crops, or protect the village from beasts that prowled the night.

Magic was the world’s breath, its lifeblood. People didn’t simply wield it—they lived with it, coexisted with its subtle power as much as they relied on their swords and shields. It was taught like any other skill, as much a part of life as hunting or farming, and in those days, the lines between the ordinary and the extraordinary blurred. Children learned the basics of elemental spells alongside their letters, and warriors trained in not only steel but in spells that could turn the tide of a battle.

Yet, as magic spread, it began to alter more than just the people. Ancient texts spoke of strange occurrences—of animals that began to show signs of arcane influence. The foxes in certain forests grew faster, their eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence. Deer would disappear into shadow, merging with the darkness so completely they were nearly invisible. Birds sang in tongues never heard before, their songs drawing others into a trance.

And then, the true change began.

In some places, magic seemed to pool, almost like it was alive, slipping into the land, spilling into lakes and caves. It created tears in the veil of reality, cracks through which creatures of unknown origins slipped into the world. Some scholars believed that magic had opened gates to other realms, worlds parallel to their own, places inhabited by beings as old as time itself. Beasts that had only existed in nightmares began to roam the earth.

The first to appear were creatures small and slimy, with eyes that glowed faintly in the dark—what people began to call slimes. They oozed through fields and forests, seemingly harmless until disturbed, at which point they lashed out with acidic strikes. But the slimes were only a warning. Soon, other creatures emerged—goblins with shrill laughter and an unsettling cunning, then trolls and ogres with bodies as tough as stone, whose very presence shook the ground. Villages that once thrived on peace and magic found themselves under siege by these new, monstrous beings.

And then, as if mocking the people’s attempts to survive, the dead began to rise.

It began in the most desolate places: the forgotten battlefields, where the bones of fallen soldiers were picked clean by time. Skeletons clattered to life, and corpses, in varying states of decay, lurched from their graves. These undead marched with purpose, as if driven by some unseen force, and they struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest souls. Towns were fortified, watchtowers manned day and night, but even that was not enough. The undead were relentless, their hollow eyes empty of life yet filled with a strange, malevolent spark.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

The people fought back, but the world was changing too quickly, and it seemed as though magic itself was turning against them. Heroes emerged, wielding enchanted weapons, spells of lightning and fire, and magical wards. And for a time, they held back the tide, their deeds becoming the tales of legends, stories of bravery and defiance in the face of darkness. Warriors trained in ways to counter not only sword and spear but claw and fang, flame and shadow.

However, the people began to fear that magic had brought these monsters upon them—that the forces they had once revered and relied upon had, in fact, unleashed chaos. Whispers spread of the dangers of magic, of how the world would be safer if it were sealed away forever. People spoke of the ancient beings who had slipped through from other realms, beings that were both terrifying and powerful, and who had no place in the natural world.

And so, in the end, fear triumphed. The kings and rulers, driven by a desire to control this escalating terror, declared a war on magic itself. The temples of learning, where magic had once been taught freely, were burned, their tomes and scrolls turned to ash. Practitioners were hunted, accused of consorting with the beasts they had once fought against. Magic users, once revered, became outcasts, forced into hiding or slaughtered if they dared practice their craft openly.

Bit by bit, magic was purged from society. The spells and rituals that had been a part of everyday life faded into legends, and the once-living force of magic receded, leaving only traces—whispers in the dark, the occasional spark in the bloodline of a forgotten family. Those who survived were few and scattered, forced into secrecy, learning to hide in plain sight.

Generations passed, and with time, memory softened. Stories of the monsters became bedtime tales, and the people believed that they had purged their world of both magic and the terrors it had brought. Most believed the monsters were no more than old folktales, warnings of a forgotten age. Only in the shadows did the remnants of that time linger—strange creatures that still lurked in the forests and mountains, places where magic still thrummed faintly, waiting.

Now, as Elias poured over his findings, he began to understand the enormity of what had been erased. The artifacts he had collected—amulets and stones, fragments of enchanted jewelry—seemed to pulse in his hands, remnants of that age when magic had been as natural as breath. And yet, they carried a heavy weight, a reminder of the horrors that magic had once brought upon the world. Or had it?

Elias wondered: had magic truly summoned those monsters? Or had something deeper, more sinister, used humanity’s own fear to drive it to wipe out what little remained of magic? What if the hunts that had scoured magic from the world had not been born out of the need to protect, but rather from the need to control, to erase a power that might one day threaten whoever truly held dominion over the world?

As he pieced together the lost history, Elias sensed a truth hidden between the lines, a whisper of something vast and ancient that had manipulated events to wipe out not only the monsters but those who might one day have the strength to face them.

The old amulet on his desk pulsed again, its surface warm beneath his fingers. Whatever lay in the forgotten pages of history, he was certain it had been twisted and buried to serve a purpose that had nothing to do with protecting humankind. But what? And who—or what—had made certain that magic was all but erased?

There were no answers in the candle-lit room, but Elias knew one thing: he would find them. The time of reckoning was near, and perhaps the creatures that still prowled the world’s dark corners were only the beginning of what had once existed, waiting to be awakened.