They fought beneath a mountain of God, as all mountains belonged to It.

  An army of copper men controlled the fires of the world, gifted by He Who Burns For Us - the son of God - and raged with them against their foe.

  An army of ebony men, they who allied with She Who Breaths For Us, used this daughter of God's control over the air to extinguish the flames of their foe.

  Each soldier from each side was Magus, users of internal magic that affected the external world. Their war was for the trap that all humans fell for: control over each other. Dominion over a world which was not theirs to take or ruin. But who are men to look inward at the destruction that is born of them, when even the sons and daughters of Gods were not above squabbling and warring amongst themselves?

  So war they did, those children of Gods, and those men.

  The ground trembled under their numbers, the trees sprung to flame, the clouds parted to the wind. Swords of bronze fell next to bleeding bodies, with the last breath of dying men being spent praying to the children of a more powerful being: It, the true creator. Forgotten in the stead of those lowly goals that only war and hate could win.

  Aquila witnessed all from up on the mountain. This peace maker had not long stood between the two armies, torn between them, as her blood was of both. But peace could not be won, and now another prayer would have to be made, but to a higher power than even those godly sons and daughters Who Toil For Us.

  Feet blistered and bloody, arms and legs tired and ripped ragged and red, cold setting into her bones, Aquila climbed. Her sight taken by tears for the people who died needlessly below. Why, when the magic of the world had once fed the hungry, built great wonders, brought happiness and contentedness, must it be used to demolish all that anyone would ever need? They had once utilised great power, to create great things, to earn their place in the greatest of heavens. So why was that not enough?

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Aquila lamented and climbed. Lamented and climbed. When all strength was gone, when her chest heaved, lips cracked, feet numbed, only then did Aquila stop the ascent. She laid against solid rock and snow, lit by moonlight, the glow of the fires below no longer able to reach this great height. She sucked in with shallow breaths and spoke the last prayer she would ever speak.

  “God.” Aquila coughed. “The one true God, not your children. I tried to save your people. All of your people. I tried to do your duty, you useless God, but they only turned me away, your once loving people. Even your son and your daughter would not see reason, they laughed at me. They said I was too young to conceive of their godly tribulations, that all men were too young. And they may be right, you God, if you are listening! We are young, and we die young, even the oldest of us die young... So we may never understand...” She coughed up her resentment. “You did that to us. You made us die too young.”

  With numb hands she pointed down into the dark night below, where war continued. “I am not too young to know that this is wrong, in all of its forms. So I come to you, at the highest place I could find, so you can hear my voice over the others. If you hear us at all, you deaf God. So listen: stop your people from becoming something other than what they were born to be. Teach them that they can create wonders again, that they can be happy. That they do not have to hurt each other.”

  Crumpled at the edge of the mountain cliff, Aquila pleaded. “Make them understand.” But when God did not answer, Aquila gave up hope. “Then all is lost, but I will not die here alone. If this is our lot in life, if this is how man's world should die, with bloody murder and war, then I will not wait for the end in the cold. I will die amongst them, knowing that this is what you have wanted. Even though it is not right.” And Aquila mustered the strength to roll over the edge of the snow capped mountain, falling into the darkness.

  As she fell, as if down from Heaven itself, Aquila and the world heard a voice that shook the universe.

  “Bear witness to the first prayer that has been answered by my creator, for I am She Who Speaks, eldest of my siblings: You have taken the gift of my progenitor and used it to bring destruction to Its creations. The trees and the land are aflame, the sky weeps burning water, the world wastes away while you extinguish precious life. The gift was not meant to be used in this way. It took only one of you to realise this, and only that one was needed to bring hope for your salvation to God. The gift was meant to unite, not to divide. Now that gift must be taken away. Be thankful to the one you turned away, they alone convinced the creator that all you see around you, all you do in life, was not just a failed experiment.”

  As the voice spoke, Aquila found herself transformed. A new child was born that day. That single person was turned into the lightning that struck into the souls of all men.

  “Meet She Who Enacts Its Will.” Said She Who Speaks. “And Its will is this: only when you learn to work together as true brothers and sisters, will the gift be returned. Until then, She Who Breaths For You, and He Who Burns For You, will return to the mountains, and you will know only the power of your own hands and your own hearts. Learn this lesson well.”

  Then the lightning struck, and the magic of the world was locked away... For a time.