"Magic is a scourge!"

Everyone looked at him in shock, still contemplating the plan they had just been presented.

"If we don't banish it from our world for good, salvation will never arrive!" the High Magus continued. A suffocating tension filled the room.

"I know that we have brought this on ourselves, but I'm afraid the price is..." Meiron, one of the generals, voiced his concern.

"Is this really necessary, Anathor? Our power—" a woman in a black dress tried to interject but was interrupted instead.

"Our power is built upon the very suffering of this world! Have you not noticed yet, the harm we exert on this planet? Everything you can do with your O' so great powers will only make it worse!" the High Magus said, grasping the initiative of the meeting once more.

"He's right, Apokrypha. But what about it? It has been amusing so far, but I will neither play the sacrificial lamb nor the hero. I'm out," a hooded figure in a dark gown said and turned to leave.

"There is no running from this! Once it has started, even you won't be able to escape from the consequences, Vrazok." the High Magus known as Anathor declared firmly, his last words sounded like if he had spat something foul from his mouth.

His words seemed to be effective though, as the shadow turned around once more, a cold and dangerous glint flickering where his eyes were supposed to be.

"Don't you dare use that name you old fool!" he grumbled thunderously, but quickly suppressed his emotions again.

"What do you know? I have my ways." Vrazok, the Undead King, said and finally left the council for good.

**********

After several more hours of discussion, Murphey too stepped out of the improvised tower that functioned as their current headquarters. Everything had been said.

They all needed time to contemplate the matter, but indeed, there was no running away from it.

As soon as the young man stepped out of the gate, he zoomed off into the distant, dark sky like lightning; he was going for a walk.

Dust and gray fog covered the land under his feet; only the occasional dead tree hinted at the past beauty of these once-fertile plains. The land had been ravaged, the rivers poisoned, even the air had become toxic for mortals. What had happened?

Murphey could still remember the time when sun rays were able to penetrate through the thick clouds of dust and reach the ground. Back in his youth, more than 200 years ago. As a child, he had been able to play outside, an inconceivable privilege for today's remnants of humanity that took shelter in their tunnels, deep within the earth. This world had been devastated by war, even back then, but it was far from the ruin it was now.

When had it all started? As a mere Rank 8 Low Magus, he was not aware of all that happened behind the scenes, but most of civilization and almost all historical records had been lost in the Great Destruction about 100 years ago. The Old Ones were not a great source of information either, most of them reluctant to talk about the past.

The war...

Was it really about to end? Peace was something unusual for Murphey, something he could hardly imagine. Not that he would experience it himself, but maybe some of his descendants could.

Murphey let his gaze wander over the endless horizon where the ruins of the once-great cities were still visible.

"These must be the remnants of Al'Kathra, the old capital of the Great Magic Empire," he mumbled softly. Once, these streets must have been humming with life. Now, only cold, dead stone remained. It didn't matter to him though; it had fallen a long time ago and he did not grow up in this area.

The Demons had taken the city, just like everything else on this planet.

Vicious beasts that infiltrated this world in hordes, directly from the Void. Every single one of them as powerful as a Magus, incapable of negotiation, and crueler than words could describe.

It almost seemed to be their mission to exterminate every living being on the planet, and maybe it was. Magic had lured them here after all. The irresistible stench of a wounded, dying world.

The scholars of the past must have felt exhilarated when they discovered a way to circumvent the conservation of energy, a way to reap more than what they sowed: Magic!

The ultimate weapon, the perfect fuel, an unlimited resource.

Yet they were fools, whoever they were! The energy, the power, which they took for themselves, had to come from somewhere. It did not belong to them. And eventually, they paid the price. 

Would they have acted differently, had they known that they were sapping the very lifeblood of this world? But haven't we done the same as well? 

Maybe Anathor was right, and Mana was a disease after all. One we willingly spread across the land, that changes and mutates the planet as it pleases. One that eats away at this world and leaves it vulnerable to foreign attacks.

"We can only blame our foolish ancestors who valued their own desires over the fate of humanity, as well as our pitiful selves who have failed to learn from their mistakes. If there is still hope for this world, no price is too steep, no sacrifice too large!" Murphey concluded and disappeared back into the dark clouds. He still had much to prepare; for himself, his descendants, and for the future.

Everyone who attended the meeting today had similar thoughts to a varying degree. Many seeds would be planted today, and many would sprout eventually.

Only time could tell if the grand plan would be successful. If the world could still be saved and if the Great Barrier of Dawn, they were about to construct, could shut out the Miasma of the Void. Even if they succeeded, none of them would remain to see the result.

The High Magi of an era, the legends of the past, nothing more than manure to nurture a better future for their children.

For that, they would give anything. Even their lives. Even their Magic.

All for the vague hope that the world will survive this ordeal,

and that their children would not emulate their foolish mistakes.