Hugh J. O'Donnell

The ritual is held every year out in the Bluesand Desert. Witches from all over the kingdom gather to be a part of it.
In ancient times, the rite was held beneath the rising Greenbud Moon. Over time, as word of the event spread to the non-magical community, it was moved to the day. Viewing stands were erected in the dunes. The ritual became a spectator sport.
Broomstick in hand, Sol waited for the starting signal. She lowered her goggles over her eyes and grinned. The Great Flying Race was about to begin. This year would mark her tenth victory.

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Whenever we went through a hyperspace gate, I marveled at their size. Each was the size of a moon. They were so large that most of them had breathable atmospheres supporting life. The gates themselves were constantly flowing with traffic, and a hundred cargo vessels of our size could easily pass through one at the same time.
“Why’d they make the gates so big?” I asked as we passed below the verdant landscape of a stabilizing ring. Isn’t it a huge waste of resources?”
The captain smiled. “Did I ever tell you the old Earth legend of the ‘Ever Given’?”

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“Tell me about Prometheus,” she said.
I cleared my throat and tried to calm my nerves. “Prometheus was a titan who loved humanity and stole Fire from the gods.”
“Any child could tell me that,” she snapped. “What makes this meeting worth my time?”
“The question is, what is Fire?” I asked back.
“In some legends, he taught mankind how to make and tame it. In others, it stands for that certain spark that allows Civilization to flourish.”
I unrolled the map and shook my head. “The Fire of the Gods is real. And I know where Prometheus hid it.”

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The light, nimble pirate craft circled the wounded airship. Its envelope was already leaking helium at a prodigious rate, and it wouldn’t be long now.
The leader took another shot, ripping another hole and guiding the ship down towards the target area. The ground crew waited in the clearing below, ready to separate the passengers from their valuables.
Aboard the slowly sinking ship, the crew was paralyzed, caught between trying to fight off the attack and repair the damage before they hit the ground.
The pirate leader smiled. He always found it easiest to let gravity do the hard work.

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When the Legendary Hero came to our village, we were honored. Out in the middle of nowhere, we only had to deal with slimes or the occasional goblin raid, but he thought we were worthy of his attention.
When he ate at the inn, we served him the finest meal we could.
When he stayed the next day, we were pleased but confused.
After a week, we asked why he was still here and he said he was ‘Level Grinding,’ whatever that meant.
When he choked on a fishbone and died, I took up his sword, because someone had to.

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The village had been abandoned in his grandfather’s time. Now it was a monsters’ nest and den for even fouler things. Barely anyone even remembered the place had a name, once. It was simply called the Valley of Darkness.
Despite the danger, he snuck off to the outskirts every chance he got. He was always careful, and always quiet. He would watch the monsters and make notes of their habits as they stalked through the crumbling ruins.
His elders told him that place was lost, and he should look to the future. But someday he would lead them home again.

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I studied magic all my life, and finally unlocked the secret to manipulating Time itself.
I could speed its flow, slow it down, or lock objects or even people in place. I could even travel to the past, and assert my will over those events.
But like all magic, my powers came with a cost. I had cut myself off from time’s river, and while I could manipulate the past, I was unable to influence the present.
My actions were erased by fate like sand in the wind. I had found power, but in using it, made myself a ghost.

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