World WARming

Most great stories begin with “once upon a time”. This one doesn't. You see, this story isn’t set in the past.

For years, it happened quietly. Magic, once rooted in the Earth, began to flicker beneath our neglect.

The skies had once shimmered gold. Stars danced like fireflies. Rivers flowed like pathways to the heavens, and magic ran wild.

But something crept in. Slow. Silent. The guardians of the wild disappeared, and now, only one remained.

Not because of a sorcerer, nor a curse. The true villain was the one we created: a world where we stopped listening to the Earth’s voice.

A violet-black feathered raven soared over the trembling forest. Her body glimmered like the twilight. She was named Violet. She watched all the bluebirds sing their songs. Eventually, she flew back to her nest, where she found a congregation of animals staring in horror in the direction of Mother Tree.

The moment Violet reached her nest, she felt it too. The Tree was weakening, and if Mother Tree was facing its demise, then the forest stood no chance. You see, Mother Tree was the supplier of the magic of the Earth. After what seemed like a decade, the magic had stabilised. All the creatures heaved an uncertain sigh of relief. No one dared to say the question that was in all their heads: “The magic was there now, but how long until it never returned?”

All the commotion woke the last phoenix guardian in the forest, Ember. She had feathers that burned with the hues of sunrise. She knew it was time to tell the animals the truth of what was happening. She felt the magic flicker, uneasy and fading. If her plan worked, it might help. If it didn't… she didn't want to think about that. Moments later, she was ready.

“You deserve the truth,” her voice brittle, but unmistakably clear.

“Humans, once a part of our harmony, have grown reckless and selfish,” she continued, her voice cracking. “They poison the oceans. They stay ignorant whilst the world is diminishing.

“Most still care, promising change, but never act. Remember, we are not helpless. We can destroy these horrors before they destroy us.”

“Our magic can come from each other if we are willing. I give what I have left—my soul.”

With a flare of a golden flame, Ember was gone. The forest waits with bated breath for…

Nothing.

The trees were still withered. The sky stayed dull. The animals mourned the loss of their leader, ready to give up. But Violet didn’t stand for that.

“This is not where we end,” she said, her voice strong. “We are not helpless.”

She looked across the trembling creatures.

“We are still magic. In every breath. In every choice. If humans will not rise, we will.”

The wind stirred. Heads lifted. The forest held its breath and listened.

And though the sky did not split and no blossoms bloomed...

The phoenix always finds a way to rise from its ashes.