Once upon a time, there was a dark god. He took whatever he wanted, and as a consequence the world would be full of demigods.

Once upon a time the dark god created a dark land, but it was made sick by the fae, and sunk.

Once upon a time, there were volunteers to raise the land, and they put parts of themselves, their blood, and some other things, in it for it to live. With it came a sickness to them, and when subsequently more magic happened, the sickness spread over the world.

Even the magician has it. He can feel it.

The boy is a boy no longer, having lived his time quietly (as he always would), feasting his mind off a young girl so easily stowed away in a cave near the coast. Her mother had been a decent try-out, too. So it was possible to indulge one’s sickness, make it grow, and exploit the weakness that would stem from it, to create new life. Almost like a god.

She probably wouldn’t think of him like that, and he wouldn’t care what she called him instead. But there are changes in Pangea, and the ghostly scientist would want to know the new people.

Knowledge, after all, is a form of power that seems to be underestimated by most of his kind. But not him. Not him.