When Magic Died

The tree was dying. That was the first thing Aldric noticed when he finally reached the heart of the magical world.

It rose from the center of a crystal cavern, its branches once reaching to impossible heights, its roots supposedly extending into every reality. The World Tree. The Source.

Now it stood gray and withered, its leaves falling like tears.

"You came," a voice said. It was old—older than language, older than time. The tree itself, speaking its final words.

"I found your messages. The artifacts you left behind." Aldric knelt before the trunk. "What happened to you?"

"Humanity stopped believing. Magic runs on faith, little seeker. Without it, we starve."

Aldric thought of the ridicule he'd faced. The dismissals. The way modern society had rejected anything it couldn't measure or control.

"I can change that. I have proof now. I can make them believe again."

The tree's laugh was like wind through dead branches. "One man against a world of skeptics? It would take generations."

"Then tell me another way."

A seed fell from the dying tree, landing in Aldric's palm. It glowed with the last of the World Tree's power.

"Plant this in your world. Tend it. Protect it. And maybe—just maybe—magic can begin again."