Wish Spirit

“We're born from a wish, you know? A starving farmer prays for a bountiful harvest or a lonely man prays for love or a scared child wishes for salvation. It doesn't matter, so long as it's an earnest wish. However, we're beings of balance, so we can't take from the land that which does not go into it.”

She reached down and scooped up some dirt in her hand, letting it fall between her fingers.

“Luckily, life is a wasteful thing. All the effort put into caring for the land makes it easy to bring forth luscious crops. All the kindness put into his heart makes it easy to find someone that can come to love and be loved. All the hope put into their future makes it easy to unite them with warm souls.”

Where the dirt falls, shoots began to sprout.

“That's all there is to most of us. We shine for the briefest moment to bring about a wish, then we're gone. A very lucky few are given a name. In their wish, they ask someone to grant it and so that someone answers.”

Snaking around each other, the dozen or so stems braided themselves into a single one.

“Since they have a name, others may call on them as well. No matter what happens though, they are born from that first wish, so that determines how effective they can be. One born to care for crops will struggle to pull together two halves of the same whole.”

Together, they all blossomed into white roses, the heads arranged so that the bunch looked like a single flower.

“Yet, the more they are worshipped, the stronger they become, so that even one born to bring life may casually bring death.”

In an instant, the colour left the plants, turning into a charcoal sculpture, with ash petals that blew away on the breeze.

“Though, no matter their strength, there will always come a time when the wish becomes too distant. All wishes are ground at their birth, so every moment after makes replicating the wish more difficult. Thus, all spirits must come to an end, once they lack the power to grant even the simplest of wishes.”

Cracks formed on the surface, spiralling down to the ground.

“A spirit that grants no wishes receives no worship, gains no strength, grants no more wishes.””

Shattering, the fragments fell.

“If they have had a long life, they may have enough power left to watch over their lands for decades. After all, it is only natural to become attached to that which you have nurtured.”

From the shards, a dozen or so shoots sprouted and she stroked each one.

“That is our existence. No more, no less, just a wish.”

They stayed as little more than stubs poking through the dirt.