At the college, Brightboots, a dwarf professor entered his class, peering up rows of wooden desks occupied by students from all over the world. Naturally, most of them were dwarves, however some seats were occupied by humans. He also spotted one elf, not only because he was the only one, but also because the other students glanced at him with suspicion. They proceeded to ignore the elf, chatting amongst themselves, hyping each other up over the latest gossip, community events and upcoming concerts.

  “I’m Professor Fullhorn,” he thundered through a massive, curly white beard. He slammed a giant tome, nearly the size of himself, on a desk. Plumes of dust floated out, pierced by the sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I am older than your great-great-whatevers, I know what I’m talking about, and I will not put up with any shenanigans.” He paused as all students turned their attention to him, and very sternly said, “You are students of history, assuming you are in the correct classroom, and of Brightboots, no less.”

  He gestured to the right, aiming to the college crest sewn on a tapestry that spanned the entire classroom wall. It depicted a red boot on the path of knowledge, at the end which glorious golden rays beckoned it. Other symbols surrounded the image, a sword and pen crossed over it, a skull, an opened book, and an opened pair of hands, as if begging.

  “Students of history are serious. History might be filled with adventures, world shifting events, even legends. We must look at it all objectively, for history is one thing we don’t want to make light of. Objectivity requires diligence. Diligence requires endurance and a steeled will. Weak wills are swooned by fantasy. When you finish my course, not only will you know more about our wonderfully dangerous world, Dohmon, but hopefully you’ll be wiser too.”

  One of the students, a smaller dwarf with a freckle-faced and brown hair, shot her hand up.

  “Yes?” said Fullhorn.

  “Isn’t this just an introductory course?”

  “Just an introductory course,” Fullhorn mimicked. “Look around you, lass. Everywhere you’ve been, everything you’ve seen and accomplished or otherwise is the result of that which came before you. Even those in this very room are a product of their past. There’s no introducing you to history. You’re in it.”

  “You’re talking about magic, right?” asked another student, a lanky human. “When you say, ‘products of our past’ you mean ‘products of magic’ am I right?”

  Fullhorn sensed apprehension in the young man’s voice, as if he was daring himself to ask the question.

  “Perhaps, I do mean that,” said Fullhorn. “I suppose we should hash this out now,” he said, more to himself than the others. He pointed to the elf. “What’s your name, son?”

  “I’m Isaac,” he said. Isaac was thinner than most elves, but just as tall, with red hued skin and pointed ears – though his points were more subtle than his kin. He fixed his glasses and presented himself as studious as possible, though Fullhorn easily sensed his nervousness.

  “The name of your god?” pressed Fullhorn.

  “I’m a historian. I have no god.”

  “Your people then?”

  Isaac uncomfortably shifted in his seat. He didn’t want to answer.

  “I have nothing against you and yours, Isaac. In fact, everybody in this room will maintain the same amount of objectivity as I have. I am the standard, and you will follow. Isaac has done the impossible, though some of you may not know that.”

  “You mean because his kind are cursed and ostracized from greater society?” chuckled a fat dwarf. “He managed to make it to class. Very impressive!” Some of the other students braved a short laugh, but most, especially the humans, remained silent.

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  “Indeed, elves are left to their own ways,” said Fullhorn. “Come now, hash it out, I say. Why are they excluded?”

  A young woman spoke timidly, her voice cracking, “Because they’re responsible for killing my kind.”

  A pin could drop and all would hear it. Isaac held his breath, waiting for accusations, waiting for the students to turn on him and devour him. Another moment passed, but no one said anything.

  Fullhorn nodded, “Indeed, that is part of history. There was peace and life - a charade distracting us as a devastating famine flowed from the north. The elves, possessed by desperation and hunger, invoked a new terror born of unholy magic. They invoked Maugeofortune to turn the tide of their fate.”

  “This produced a second plague,” said Isaac. “Humans well-nigh perished. A few fortunate were totally consumed by the red mist, while most were left as soulless husks ripe for necromantic experiments and…” his words were broken, filled with shame, “demonic possession.”

  Now the undead reign over all the land, thought Fullhorn. Necromancers might have done well for themselves, but wizards playing with the dead aren’t the worst of it. As Isaac noted, we have demons to deal with too.

  “The Plague of Fortune,” said Fullhorn, “How horribly named? The new god of your people demanded immense sacrifice; one they could not have foreseen.” He eyed the students, “Self preservation makes us all blind. In fact, some historians believe that the elves did not even know of Maugeofortune’s existence. They thought magic came from within themselves. It did, to a degree. In the end, the elves acted as a doorway for unnatural magic to enter our universe, making their kind the most powerful in the world.

  “Dwarves recognized this threat and rose to the occasion to trap that power. A wise move, considering if they hadn’t the plague would have continued its course: mankind made extinct. It is thanks to dwarves that you have prospered as you have so many centuries later. This too is history that must be remembered so that mankind may honor it.”

  Another student, a small dwarf, raised his hand. Fullhorn nodded in his direction, permitting he speak. “How did we stop the magic?”

  “We didn’t stop it, we trapped it. Once upon a time, dwarves used magic as well. Humans aren’t inclined to use it themselves, requiring contraptions and trinkets. There was an ancient kingdom ruled by the Stonebreakers, dwarves who had literally cracked the foundations of our planet and revealed a deep, earthly magic found in toilstone. While most of the Stonebreakers history is waiting to be discovered, we have some their tomes. If any of you are interested, one resides in our own library. The magic of the elves was unnatural, unholy even, so a dwarf wizard by the name of Madgrace assumed a natural spell was called for. His spell, famously known as the Quickbraid, bound the magic to elves. This is why their skin is red.”

  Isaac looked down at his hand and watched glowing strands of light intertwine with one another. It was the magic playing with sun rays, bending and scattering wild patterns under his skin. This is also why they felt so warm relative to other races and why his people were able to live in the harshest of winter environments.

  “What happened to their god?” Isaac didn’t see who had asked the question.

  “That seems to be a mystery to most, even elves,” said Fullhorn, eyeing Isaac. “Can you tell us what happened to Maugeofortune?”

  Isaac shrugged, “Despite his silence, many still worship him. Some think he abandoned us. Some of our stories attest to this. We weren’t able to fulfill our part of the deal. Mankind lived. Others say that Maugeofortune didn’t abandon us, but that something else came in his stead, either killing him or scaring him off.”

  “A god running with his tail between his legs?” snorted the young man next to him.

  “We really don’t know,” said Isaac.

  The young man folded his arms, disapproving of Isaac’s god, “Sounds petty.”

  “What we do know,” said Fullhorn, “Is that our world is full of danger, war, and tragedy. Sometimes, though, there’s a glimmer of hope for a better future. Sitting in this room now is an elf with all odds stacked against him, including your sneering. Yet, he remains. As I said to you earlier, young lass. You’re in history. Now, dust of your books, get your papers ready, I want to hear rustling! We’re going to be looking at early world creation myths. Oh, did you forget your book? I’m closing this classroom door in three minutes! Snap to it! History students are supposed to be serious!”

  Professor Fullhorn continued on, writing on the chalkboard behind him, shouting off page numbers, breaking down in further detail the topic of creation myths and their relationship to recorded history. Isaac listened, but his gaze turned right, looking out the hazy classroom window. He saw the college. He saw his peer dashing across the yard towards the dormitory.

  It’s as dangerous as Fullhorn says, he thought. I see potential too. I think the elves could reunite with the other races. He saw clear skies and a blazing star illuminating a beautiful world. And we could use our magic for good.