You shall carry your sibling, be his support and guide.
He shall be your shelter, guardian, aegis firm.
United you stand, divided you fall.
Brendan stared at the creature in the pale moonlight, transfixed by the silvery petals that glistened beneath that perfect purity. It was not until his final breath that he gathered his wits enough to scream after the thing had descended on him, all muscle and thorns and hard, barklike skin. It was too impossible, even the crimson blossoms that shone in the light of the moon.
A world where there is a finite amount of magic present in the world, and it's almost used up. With the winds of magic being weak and unstable, how will nations built on the heavy use of magic survive?