Awakening

The world had always believed magic was nothing more than myth—a relic of ancient stories, long buried beneath science and reason. But when the aurora appeared, stretching across the sky in an unbroken band of shifting colors, everything began to change. At first, people marveled at its beauty, treating it as a rare celestial event, but it never faded. Day and night, it remained, a silent omen hanging above the world. Then came the first transformations. Scattered reports emerged of people waking up different—not sick, not dying, but changed. Dwarves, trolls, and goblins, beings once confined to folklore, now walked the streets. Governments scrambled for explanations, society teetered between awe and fear, and for those who had always felt something missing, something wrong, the truth became undeniable. Magic had never truly died. It had only been sealed away, waiting—until now.

It had been a month since the aurora first appeared, painting the sky in shifting colors that never faded. A month since the first confirmed transformations, when dwarves, goblins, and trolls had begun appearing across the world, turning what had once been fantasy into undeniable reality. The world was still reeling, struggling to balance wonder and fear. Scientists scrambled for answers, governments hesitated, and the news cycled through every possible angle—was it a disease, a mutation, a miracle? But for those who had changed, and those who knew they would, the truth was clear: magic was returning, and there was no stopping it. The apartment door swung open with a gust of cold, damp air, and you didn’t even need to look up to know their roommate was home. The distinct clomp-clomp of heavy boots—now too big for their shortened legs—was followed by a muttered curse as they struggled to kick them off. “Damn rain. Damn bus. Damn weird old lady who tried to rub my ears for ‘good luck.’” A wet jacket hit the floor with a splat, and you finally turned to see their goblin roommate glowering as they wrung out their hoodie, droplets of water spattering onto the tile. Despite the grumbling, their sharp-toothed smirk gave away the fact that they were adjusting just fine. It had been a month since they changed, and though the world was still catching up, they had embraced it with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Anyway, I stopped at the corner store,” they said, rifling through a plastic bag and pulling out a can of energy drink and a crumpled snack wrapper. “Figured if I’m gonna be a goblin, I might as well commit to the diet.” They flopped onto the couch, turning their yellow-eyed gaze to you. “So? Any updates? You still human, or should I be measuring you for pointy ears yet?”