The projection device buzzed softly as Grayson Aldric manipulated its controls. The three-dimensional map of Velatria dissolved and was replaced by something older.
"This is going to be a long story," Grayson said quietly. "And parts of it are... unpleasant. But if you're going to ask questions like the one you just asked, you need to understand why those questions are dangerous."
James nodded, settling cross-legged on his bed with the attentive posture of a child ready for a bedtime story. Inside, his mind was already analyzing, preparing to dissect whatever his father was about to reveal.
The projection shifted, and suddenly they were looking at a world whole and unified. Velatria as it had been three thousand years ago. A single massive continent stretching from pole to pole, unmarred by the wound that now split it in two.
"Three thousand years ago," Grayson began, his voice taking on the cadence of a scholar reciting well-worn history, "Velatria was united under a single understanding. They called it the Axiom. The idea that everything could be known, that every mystery had an answer, that there was no fundamental divide between the material and the mystical."
The projection showed cities unlike anything James had seen in either of his lives. Towers that seemed to grow organically from the earth while simultaneously being constructed with geometric precision. People moving through streets where mechanical carriages ran on tracks of crystallized mana.
"Scholars, priests, alchemists, engineers. They all worked together. Science explained how things worked. Magic explained why they worked that way. Two languages describing the same truth, like..." Grayson paused, searching for an analogy. "...sorry bud, can't think of an analogy right now."
James leaned forward, his seven-year-old face showing wonder that wasn't entirely feigned. This was exactly what he'd suspected, what the forbidden book had hinted at.
"What happened?" he asked, though he could already guess the shape of it. The human tendency to destroy what they didn't fully understand.
"A man named Aegon Valeria happened."
The projection zoomed in, focusing on a single figure standing in what looked like a vast laboratory-temple hybrid. The man was tall, angular, with eyes that seemed to stare directly through the centuries at James himself. There was something in that gaze, an intensity, brilliance, and a terrible certainty that he alone understood what needed to be done.
James recognized that expression. He'd seen it in mirrors.
"Aegon was the greatest mind of his age. Perhaps any age. He was a master of both disciplines, able to derive magical theorems through mathematical proof and channel mana through mechanical systems. And he became obsessed with a single question: if magic and science were truly describing the same reality, then surely there had to be a unified language. A single equation or formula or principle that encompassed everything."
"The Language of Creation," James murmured.
Grayson glanced at him sharply. "Where did you hear that term?"
"You were about to say it," James replied innocently. "Weren't you?"
His father studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Yes. That's what Aegon called it. The Language of Creation. Some texts refer to it as the Reality Equation. The idea that if you could express the fundamental nature of existence in the right way, part formula, part incantation, part blueprint, you could..."
"Rewrite reality itself," James finished.
"Exactly." Grayson manipulated the projection again. Now they were seeing Aegon's workshop in more detail. Massive mechanical constructs covered in runes. Diagrams covering every surface, mixing mathematical notation with arcane symbolism in ways that made James's fingers itch to copy them down.
"Aegon built a machine. Or cast a spell. Honestly, no one alive really knows what it was. The records from that time are fragmentary, contradictory. What we do know is that he succeeded."
The projection showed the device, or ritual circle, or perhaps both, activating. Light erupted from it, not one color but all colors and none. The light spread outward in waves, touching everything, changing everything. And the end result looked like a cube in a cube that wasn't a cube, like it was four-dimensional, no... beyond that.
"For one perfect moment, Aegon Valeria held the Language of Creation in his hands. He could see the unified principle beneath magic and science. Could understand how they were the same thing, expressed differently. Could rewrite the fundamental laws of existence according to his will."
James's eye widened in anticipation. "What did he do?"
"He failed."
The word struck him hard. The projection showed the light that had been shaped into a shapeless construct(paradoxical) so beautifully beginning to fracture, to corrupt, and turn into something else entirely. The workshop began to tear itself apart, not exploding outward but folding inward, reality itself rejecting what it had just been forced to become.
"The moment the Language activated, the Paradox experiment went wrong. Maybe Aegon's understanding wasn't complete enough. Maybe human minds simply can't contain that kind of knowledge. Maybe... and this is what both sides believe now... maybe magic and science were never meant to be unified in the first place."
The projection pulled back, showing not just the workshop but the entire region around it. The distortion spread like ripples in a pond, but these ripples tore through the fundamental fabric of space itself.
"Reality convulsed," Grayson's voice dropped as he continued. "Stars flickered in the sky. Time stuttered; records of the same hour repeating three times in some cities, while others experienced three days compressed into minutes. The laws of physics and the laws of magic began rejecting each other, as if the universe itself could not contain both truths at once."
James watched, transfixed, as civilization began to tear itself apart. The very principles that had allowed magic and science to coexist were breaking down.
"This was the Great Schism. Not a war, initially, but a fundamental fracturing of reality itself. Spells that had worked for centuries suddenly failed. Machines that had run flawlessly for generations exploded or simply stopped."
"People died," James said quietly.
"Millions." Grayson's face was grim. "Not from violence, but from the collapse of infrastructure. Healing spells that kept plagues at bay suddenly stopped working. Water purification systems failed. Climate control broke down. Agricultural enchantments died. It was apocalyptic."
The projection shifted again, showing the aftermath. Cities in ruins, populations scattered. And everywhere, people desperately trying to understand what had happened, trying to assign blame, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto in a world that had stopped making sense.
"In the aftermath, two philosophies emerged from the chaos."
The projection split down the middle.
On the left side, massive citadels began rising, all sharp angles and perfect geometry. Structures that seemed to radiate light from within, powered by something that wasn't quite electricity but served the same purpose. The cities were clean, ordered, precise to the point of sterility.
"The Technomancers," Grayson said, "decided that Aegon's Paradox proved magic was the problem. That mystical thinking, faith in unseen forces, reliance on 'will' and 'intent' instead of measurable quantities, that was what had corrupted the experiment. That magic was an irrational corruption of order that had to be purged."
James watched as the technomancers systematically dismantled every magical element of their society. Ancient runes were ground away from buildings. Spell-books were burned. Mages who refused to renounce their gifts were... dealt with. The historical record was vague on specifics, but James could fill in the blanks.
"They built the Science Imperium," Grayson continued. "Colossal citadels powered by radiant engines. Fusion reactors, essentially, though far more advanced than anything we have in the Territories. Artificial suns hanging over their cities. Technology that would seem like magic to anyone who didn't understand the principles behind it."
The citadels in the projection were magnificent in their own way. Cold, yes, and sterile, but also beautiful with the beauty of pure function. Every line had purpose. Every structure existed for a reason that could be calculated and explained.
"Their creed became: 'Only what can be measured can be real.' Everything else—faith, intuition, the mystical, was classified as delusion at best, dangerous insanity at worst. They declared that Aegon's failure proved magic was incompatible with reality itself. That attempting to use it was like trying to divide by zero. Mathematically and philosophically impossible."
On the right side of the projection, a very different civilization was taking shape. Structures that seemed to grow rather than being built, made from materials that shifted and flowed like living things. Cities that floated on clouds of pure mana, tethered to the earth by threads of solidified light.
"The Mages had the opposite reaction. They decided that Aegon's Paradox proved science was the corruption. That the attempt to dissect divinity, to reduce the sacred mysteries of creation to mere equations, was what had caused reality to reject the unification."
James watched as the mages retreated from technological civilization entirely. Machines were dismantled. Scientific texts were sealed away in forbidden archives. Engineers who insisted on their methods were exiled or worse.
"They established the Magic Dominion. Ethereal sanctuaries and floating monasteries where the mystical arts could be practiced without the contamination of mechanical thinking. Their creed: 'The unseen governs the seen.' They believed, still believe, that magic is reality's true language, and that science is humanity's arrogant attempt to write its own grammar."
The floating cities were beautiful in ways that defied description. Gardens that existed in four dimensions. Libraries where books shelved themselves according to the knowledge they contained rather than any alphabetical system. Music that was visible, art that could be tasted.
"They declared machines soulless," Grayson said. "Abominations that stripped creation of its sacred essence. In the Dominion, using technology more complex than a water wheel is considered heresy. Not just illegal, spiritually corrupt. They believe it damages the soul itself."
James absorbed this all. Two civilizations, each convinced the other had learned the wrong lesson from the Paradox. Each certain that their path was the only safe one. Each willing to kill to maintain their ideological purity.
It was Ashfeld multiplied by millions. The same fear, the same desperate need to believe in simple answers, the same willingness to destroy anything that complicated their worldview.
"What began as a philosophical disagreement," Grayson continued, "turned into persecution. Then sabotage. Then outright war."
The projection showed the escalation. Border skirmishes, assassinations, acts of terrorism disguised as righteous justice. Each side becoming more extreme, more certain of their correctness, more convinced that the other side needed to be eliminated for the good of all reality.
"The war lasted seven hundred years," Grayson said quietly. "Seven centuries of fighting over which half of the truth was the whole truth."
James felt something cold settle in his chest. Seven hundred years. Generations born, lived, and died knowing nothing but conflict. Children raised to hate the other side before they could even understand what they were hating.
"Both sides developed weapons," Grayson continued. "Terrible weapons. The Technomancers built devices that could suppress mana itself, creating dead zones where magic simply ceased to function. The Mages crafted curses that would corrupt machinery at the molecular level, turning fusion reactors into bombs, making aircraft fall from the sky."
The projection showed battles that seemed to violate every principle of warfare James had studied in either life. Conflicts where the laws of physics were suggestions. Where armies could be erased from existence or transformed into different forms of matter entirely.
"Eventually, both sides recognized that total war would destroy Velatria entirely. So they agreed to one final battle. One ultimate confrontation that would settle the question forever."
The projection zoomed to a specific location, a vast plain.
"The Baxter Line," Grayson said. "The planet's literal and metaphysical center. A place where ley lines, the natural channels of mana that flow through the world, and magnetic fields overlapped perfectly. Where the boundaries between magic and science were already thinner than anywhere else."
James could see why they'd chosen it. A neutral location, in a sense. A place where both disciplines had natural advantage. Or perhaps where neither did.
"Both factions gathered their supreme forces. The greatest minds, the most powerful weapons, everything they'd developed over seven centuries of conflict. They were going to end it. One way or another."
The projection split again, showing the two armies assembling on opposite sides of the Baxter Line.
On the technomancer side, a device so massive it required its own classification. Kilometers of machinery, all focused on a single point. Reactors the size of buildings feeding power into computational matrices that would have made James's heart sing if they weren't designed for destruction.
"The World Engine," Grayson said. "A device meant to rewrite the laws of the cosmos in pure logic. To eliminate magic as a fundamental force, to make it physically impossible for mana to exist. They were going to edit reality's source code and delete magic from it entirely."
On the mage side. Not a device but a gathering of ten thousand mages formed into a single ritual pattern, their combined will focused through artifacts that predated the Schism itself.
"The Genesis of Gods," Grayson continued. "A spell to return all creation to its primordial state. To dissolve the rigid laws of physics back into divine chaos, to restore the universe to its natural state before science had imposed its artificial order. They were going to unwrite the universe and compose it anew, without room for mechanistic thinking."
James caught his breath.
"When the two powers activated simultaneously," Grayson said, his voice dropped, unable to find the words.
The projection showed what came next, and James understood why his father had hesitated to show him this. Why parents didn't tell their children these details.