Ambrus and The Gods

Ambrus tensed, his heart pounding like a war drum. He pondered on what the goblin had informed him. But it just made no sense. Ancient Gods? Ambrus was clueless. He had never heard of Ancient Gods and he was almost the most knowledgeable person in the village. Ambrus read the expressions on the whole government’s faces, and each told the same story. Confused and worried.All apart from one. The Elder Wizard. He looked very worried, but certainly not confused, knowledge brimming behind his bright-blue eyes…

 Ambrus walked towards him, each step feeling like he was wading through thick fog, his thoughts tangled like vines. He wondered how to ask for the information he had, for as old and weak as he was, Ambrus knew he was the most powerful person in the village, able to wield spells so strong that the mountains shook in his wrath, as if the earth itself feared his anger. At last, Ambrus spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of a storm. “Elder Wizard, I sense that you are concealing something. Would you be willing to share it with the leaders and the government?”

All of a sudden, flames danced in the man’s eyes, wild and untamed, and the whole government recoiled as if struck by a ghostly wind. However, the fire stopped, and the sorcerer just sighed, his breath heavy like the final note of a sorrowful song. “I will reveal something that few are aware of, and even fewer accept as truth. Let me explain how the war began and the reality of how it concluded.”

A few fairies gasped, their voices like wind chimes caught in a sudden gust, as if recollecting long-forgotten memories. The old wizard continued, “Before the war erupted, every magical being resided in separate realms, each like a star in the vast cosmos, unaware of the others’ existence. All were under the dominion of the Gods: the Ice God, Fire God, Water God, Earth God, Wind God, and Spirit God. These five rulers of the world eventually started to turn on their worshippers, like cruel shepherds who despised their own flock, as they gained a deeper understanding of the world and magic. The deities feared that the mystical community would grow so strong that they would tear the Gods from their thrones. Eventually, the immortals spun a web of deceit, weaving a plan to eliminate all magical beings.”

Abruptly, a faint glow appeared in the Ancient sorcerer’s eyes, as though his very words carried the essence of magic, flickering like a dying candle in the wind. He gasped and stood as if the air had been stolen from his lungs, his body rigid like a statue cursed to life, but then the light faded, and he collapsed back into his chair like a crumbling tower. He continued, “The Gods decided to tell each race about the others, spinning lies as fine as spider silk, turning them against one another, ensuring their downfall through war. So for the following weeks, the Gods whispered venom into the ears of each race, telling them deceitful tales of betrayal and treachery. Only one race refused to drink their poisoned words—the fairies. They saw through the illusions, through the veils of deception, but before they could stop the war, the bloodshed had already begun…”

On the spur of the moment, the glow in the wizard’s eyes returned, brighter and fiercer than before, as if the very knowledge he shared fought to break free. Again he gasped, rising to his feet, his face twisted in a silent scream. This time, something was different; his hands clawed at his throat like unseen chains were tightening around it. The medi-wizards tensed, and the government leaders rose to their feet like waves before a storm, but then, just as suddenly, the elder Wizard slumped back down, his breath rattling like dry leaves in the wind.

“Elder Wizard?” Ambrus asked, his voice filled with the cautious concern of one standing on the edge of an abyss. “Are you alright?”

The sorcerer looked at Ambrus with eyes like dying embers, burning yet dimming with sorrow. “I am fine, young centaur, but the words I am speaking are not. This story I speak with my lips is forbidden, and once I finish it, I shall be cursed… with death!”

At the words “with death,” the room exploded into chaos. The elders whispered in hushed, frantic tones, some clutching their staffs as if they were lifelines, while others cast wary glances at the towering shelves of ancient tomes, their spines brimming with forbidden knowledge. “The curse will drive me to madness; it will make me strangle myself,” the enchanter said through gritted teeth, his voice like the grinding of stone. Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, a sudden, deafening crash shattered the air like a thunderclap.

From the shadows emerged a figure—an old sage whose presence carried the weight of untold stories. “Let me!” he bellowed, stepping forward with the conviction of a man walking into a storm. “I know this tale!” His stance was rigid, his expression unyielding, as if he were a mountain standing against the raging sea.

“No!” the Elder Wizard cried out, but it was too late. The sage’s voice surged like an unstoppable tide, pouring forth words that twisted the very air. With each syllable, reality itself trembled, as though the world rejected the knowledge being spoken. The elders fell silent, their faces carved with a mixture of awe and terror. Then, suddenly, the sage collapsed, a look of horror frozen on his features as a dark energy coiled around him like a serpent ready to strike.

The old sage recited, “When the war ended, the fairies had persuaded everyone to a peace treaty, but the treaty didn’t need the Lunar Prism Crystal to bind it; any common crystal would do—Fablestone Emerald, Whispering Topaz, or even the weakest of them all, Dreamstone. However, the fairies chose the Lunar Prism Crystal because they didn’t just want to seal the treaty, but to imprison the Ancient Gods, preventing them from rising again. So, the fairies and goblins worked together, weaving their most powerful magic, and trapped the Gods inside the crystal. But now…it is broken. The Gods are free, and they will seek to reclaim their dominion over this world!”

At those words, another loud ‘crack’ rang out, a sound like hell splitting open. Suddenly, the old sage who had spoken the truth fell to the ground, his hands clawing at his throat. The onlookers could do nothing; they stood frozen in horror as the wizard choked himself. His gaze, filled with gratitude and finality, locked onto theirs before his body went limp. Silence followed, deep and suffocating. Only the soft sound of the Elder Wizard’s tears broke the hush. With a flick of his wand, the fallen sage’s body erupted into ceremonial flames, his ashes drifting like whispers of a forgotten past.

After minutes of silence, the head fairy spoke, her voice barely more than a breath. “We must prepare for war.” And with that, she turned and left, followed closely by the other leaders.

After that meeting, the village looked like an army camp. No, it WAS an army camp, a hive of warriors bracing for the storm to come.

The war began with an earth-shattering roar, as the sky split open and the Ancient Gods descended, their presence like a storm that had waited centuries to unleash its wrath. Fire rained from the heavens, rivers turned to ice, and the winds howled like a chorus of enraged spirits. The magical beings fought valiantly, their spells weaving through the battlefield like bolts of lightning, striking down the divine forces with everything they had. But no matter how hard they fought, the Gods did not falter. They were eternal, their power unfathomable, and one by one, the magical races began to fall.

Ambrus found himself in the heart of the battle, his hooves pounding against the scorched earth as he cast spell after spell. Around him, fairies darted through the air like shooting stars, goblins hurled explosive concoctions, and the Elder Wizard, though weakened, summoned walls of fire to block the advancing deities. Yet, for every victory they gained, the Gods responded tenfold, their fury boundless, their magic unyielding. It was a war they could not win.

A desperate meeting was called amidst the chaos. The leaders of every race gathered in the ruins of the great hall, their faces marked with exhaustion and despair. “We cannot keep this up,” the head fairy admitted, her usually melodic voice hollow with sorrow. “The Gods are too powerful. There is only one way to stop them.”

The room fell silent. It was the silence of realization, of knowing the only path forward was one no one wished to take. “We must sacrifice all magic,” the fairy continued. “If we rid the world of magic, the Gods will lose their power. They will be no more.”

A heavy pause followed. Some of the leaders exchanged glances, reluctant to speak. The goblins in particular bristled, their faces twisted in grim reluctance. “And what of us?” one finally growled. “We were born from magic. Without it, what will we become?”

“There will be no ‘us’ if we do nothing,” Ambrus said firmly, his voice cutting through the hesitation. “We will all perish, or worse—become slaves to these tyrants. This is our only chance.”

The Elder Wizard, his hands trembling with age and exhaustion, nodded. “It is decided,” he murmured. “Let the magic end.”

A great ritual was cast, one so powerful that the very air trembled in anticipation. The fairies led the incantation, their wings glowing with the last remnants of their fading magic. The goblins, though hesitant, lent their strength, forging the runes that would seal the Gods away forever. The centaurs, the elves, the wizards—all channeled the last of their magic into a single, blinding burst of light.

The Gods screamed, their voices shaking the heavens as the light swallowed them whole. Their forms cracked like ancient stone, their essence unraveling as magic itself dissolved from the world. Then, all was still.

Ambrus opened his eyes to a world stripped bare of enchantment. The once-glowing trees of the elves stood as mere wood, their whispers gone. The goblins, once creatures of cunning and alchemy, felt their intelligence dull. The fairies, their wings now useless, fell to the earth, no longer able to defy gravity. The wizards, once the architects of reality, were reduced to ordinary men and women.

The world mourned its loss, but in time, they adapted. They built with stone instead of spells, healed with herbs instead of enchantments, and discovered new ways to thrive. No longer bound by magic, the magical beings changed, evolved, and became something new.

Ambrus stood at the edge of a vast plain, staring at the horizon. The world felt different, yet full of promise. “What will we become now?” he wondered aloud.

The Elder Wizard, now just an old man, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Something new. Something great.”

And so, as time passed, the magical beings faded into legend, their descendants walking the earth as something else entirely—humanity.

The age of magic had ended. The age of man had begun