The dust swirls through the air, illuminated by a thin blade of light that peeks through an open door. The light cuts its way through the dust, coming to rest gently on a dusty bookshelf.
In the thin swathe of light, a pair of keys lay on the rotting wood of the shelf. Their once shimmering silver was now a dull grey, a dullness accentuated by the thick veil of dust that covered them. If one were to look closely at the keys, they would see a crux and a clock etched masterfully into the surface. As the dust begins to settle, the dark room takes on an almost unnatural eeriness. Shadows flicker in every corner, hiding from the light like they hadn't seen it in years. The rotten wooden floor, grey with dust and splintering in places, seemed to shrink away from the penetrating glow. Even the keys on their ancient pedestal seemed to hide behind their own age and disuse.
So it was that these keys tell a story. The keys themselves are insignificant, mere ants compared to the large world of mystery that is Fiore's history. But what they represent is a long line of magic, power, joy and sorrow. A root, burrowing deeper into the mysterious past of Fiore. Much of it is forgotten. Names that were once common knowledge are distant memories of the deceased.
Time and Knowledge. Together, these things would bring back long-repressed memories of a better age. It is time to shed a ray of light on the ancient mysteries. It is time to unlock the history of Fiore.
The door swings open further, tempting more light into the room. The dull light was teasing the shadowy room, and causing the dust to swirl in a frightful dance. And with the light came the breeze. Gently at first, the breeze merely caressed the room that had been abstinent for so long. Then the rough handling began - larger gusts, that made the dust ripple and cower on the corners. One key, however, is brave enough to face the tempest. As the wind howls outside, it races through the doors. Like a coin slapped from a hand, the key flew to the floor. Amidst the slowly easing winds, the soft, dull light and the eerie silence, a monotonous and disembodied voice begins to speak.
"It is the year X891. The last century has left tremendous scars on magical and non-magical folk alike. In the year X849, magic had reached the peak of its hold over the Kingdom of Fiore. Magic was everywhere, it did everything. And the people who were able to harness its power became the dominant force in Fiore. No longer was a Magic Council able to support the immense power struggles that various mage guilds began. No longer were the non-magical people able to take the back seat, and let the mages sort out their problems. For with the fall of the Council came the fall of organisation. As much as the Magic Council was rued, it did hold together a legal, organised balance of sorts - a balance torn asunder in the years to come.
Fairy Tail. The Baram Alliance. Sabertooth. Blue Pegasus. Hundreds more guilds just like them. All had their own motives, and all ran completely unchecked. Even those who strive to do good in the world were amongst the chaos that led to the schism.
And just when the fighting could escalate no further. Just when nobody thought it possible for there to be any more death, any more destruction. It was around the Year X853 when the Schism happened. The non-magical peoples of Fiore revolted. Not against a single guild. Not against Fairy Tail, or the Dark Guilds, or any group of guilds. They revolted against magic. The power struggles, the chaos, the devastation, the death. It was all too much for the good-natured but fearful common man. And their fear drove them to wild extents. It was shortly after the time of the Schism when the mage-hunts were formed. Or, as they were more commonly known, 'Witch-hunts".
Now, many would have assumed that the non-magical folk would be powerless against the mages. This was true for many cases. But what the humans lacked in power, they made up for in numbers. Fear makes a man do many things he will one day wish he didn't. The Schism was no different. Many a mage was silenced for the last time, all memories of their deeds burnt along with their bodies. The true nature fear was realised that day.
The hunts continued for another three years. Neither side would relent. Many mages opted to go into hiding, saving not only themselves but their family and friends from certain destruction. However, so the non-magical people feared magic, the magical folk feared the savagery of humanity. Ironically, many more mages began their own hunts, slaying many non-magical folk in retaliation. It is with great sadness that age is recalled.
The Schism would have lasted much longer, had it not been for the Guilds who had some shred of humanity left, and the decency to understand what drove the non-magical people of Fiore. One of these Guilds was Fairy Tail. They realised how much the magical body needed order. The chaos they had contributed to was enough to make them see what they had turned the world into. And so they proposed to reconstitute a magical council. Their work was done alongside a scattering of humans who could put aside their distrust, fear and even hate to work together to save the land.
It took another 2 years, but finally it was done. A new Magical Council took over as a governing body for the world. It took many months for the fighting to stop. But with an organised, ordered body of mages, those who were still rebelling or reveling in the discord were stopped. Over time, the mages stopped their all out wars with not only the humans, but to a lesser extent each other.
Even though the Schism came to an end in X858, the world was still at a loss. It was filled with mages, who had suffered terrible casualties, had been consumed by unchecked power and had been forced to form order in a world where there was nothing but hate. It was also filled with non-magicals, the people who separated themselves from magic, feared it and loathed it to its very core.
Deep gashes in the wellbeing of the world had been made. Too deep to heal over, they had formed scars. Scars in which a lot of memories are embedded. Scars that will take many more years to heal...even today, in the year X891, those scars are still mending. Guilds are now more common, and some have trust by the common people. But people will never forget what magic can do, especially if there is nothing to limit it. And mages will never overestimate their stability..."
The voice cuts off abruptly, the droning voice fading into the sounds of soft snoring. A shadow rises and falls gently in a smooth rhythm, flickering in the light that still penetrates the dark and abandoned room. Noises outside the room become more prominent - bustling crowds beginning to stir, the sounds of several dozen feet parading around in the strange unknown beyond the door.
A blinding flash of light illuminates the entire room for what it is - mouldy, rotten and dusty. The sudden torrent of light reveals every corner of the room, every nook and every cranny. The sleeping figure is gone. A shining key is left on the ground before the rotting, half-collapsed bookshelf. A voice mutters something, and a cool breeze rolls in. At its heart is the trace of magic. The dust is herded out the door, scattering into the air as if desperate to be free of its prison. As the cloud of dust rises over Magnolia City, life goes on for mages and commoners alike. Bonds are to be formed, friendships to be made and work is to be done. The world spins on, slowly healing. One day, the scars will fade...
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Join date : 2012-04-02
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