All of life is a spell. Not figuratively. Literally.
The Life Spell is the original act of magic that carved out a space for existence inside the void. It is not divine magic. It is not arcane magic. It is not elemental or psionic or planar. It is just magic in its purest form, an act of shared concentration by the gods before time began. They created it together. One act of will. One spell. One weave.
It has no components. It is not written down. It cannot be cast again. It must be held. It must be focused on. Without it, nothing exists. Again, let us stress, it cannot be cast again.
The Origin of the Spell
Legend suggests that the First Three beings created the Life Spell as a sanctuary from the void. This was before the First had become what we know understand to be gods, before they were divine. They designed a metaphysical structure that would allow for identity, gravity, memory, life, death, and history. The spell was not about control, it was about space. Making room for existence where none existed before.
The Fall and the Takeover
When the mortal wizards overthrew the First Three, the gods who had maintained the spell for millennia, the weave collapsed. Not entirely. Not instantly. But violently. Within the first 24 hours of Nadan (the last of the First) died, entire swathes of existence were lost. Unreality flooded in. Cities became holes. Planes fell silent. Language broke.
The mortal wizards did not know what the spell was. They simply knew it was failing. They learned to hold it too late, but not too late. They stabilized enough of the world for many planes to exist for many millennia. On Nadan’s tomb they built the great city that was the first true wizard city, and today, is the Last City.
The full truth of the mortal wizard’s folly and how much life it cost remains hidden as confidential information.
The Cost of Imperfection
The First were united when they cast the spell. The mortal wizards are not. Every error, every flaw in the weave, every moment of distraction or dispute leads to unraveling. Not fire or war or disease. Just nonbeing. Pure erasure. What the citizens of Wuh-Zhei call the Unraveling is simply what happens when the spell is not perfect.
The Life Spell does not forgive. It does not adapt. It does not repair itself. It must be held.
The Concentrators
There are wizards in Wuh-Zhei whose sole purpose is to maintain the Life Spell. They are not public figures. Their names and locations are the most fiercely guarded secret of the Sunborn wizards of the first two plates. They are watched over by the factions and funded by the Senate. Their protection is the primary task of the Chronurgists.
These wizards are always separated. Never in the same place. Never left unguarded. Time is slowed in their chambers to stretch their endurance. But the strain is immense. They age, they suffer, they fail.
Every handoff between Concentrators is a risk. Every death must be predicted and prepared for. The fate of reality depends on continuity.
More on these mages in a future post: The Minds That Hold It.
The State Doctrine
The public knows of the Life Spell. They are taught that it was taken from the gods out of necessity.
“We had to take the Life Spell from the gods. Had we not, their tyranny would have undone reality long ago.”
This line is recited in lower plate classrooms. There are plays, holo-shows, and murals. Children grow up idolizing Concentrators and strive to be awarded the ceremonial Anonymous Veil that they are rumored to wear. Becoming one is presented as the highest civic duty.
What they are not taught is that the spell is failing. That the unraveling is not ancient sabotage or moral collapse. It is error. Delay. Exhaustion. And the wizards are running out of time.
Closing Thought
Nothing in Vitia is natural. Not space. Not time. Not life. All of it is spellwork. And that spell is breaking.