Before time itself, two beings always were. Perfect and delicious, clad in the sweetest of garments, a witch aptly known as
Treat, watched over the land during the time of the Reaping ensuring those would not go without sustenance during the dark, cold months to come. Opposite her in all his dastardly and mischievous splendor was a reaper called
Trick. Though Treat would be trusted to keep the land plentiful, it was Trick’s duty to keep the atmosphere sinister and foreboding. For no Reaping would be a reaping without Trick, the reaper, swinging his scythe across the land to freeze it for the months to come.
To those presently living in the realms, the balance of Trick and Treat is known as
“The Reaping Ritual.” It is common knowledge to those in all the realms that each year Trick and Treat bequeath gifts to one another as a display of the balance between them. This balance is proof that neither has dominion over the lands and that they maintain a neutrality between them when it comes to their duties as guardians of the Reaping. The two of them quietly even consider it a friendship.
On a night not so long ago this year, Trick came upon an abandoned house. In that house was an ancient text with pages tattered from eons of wear and tear. Trick pried the book from its dusty slumber and thumbed through its contents. It didn’t take him long to realize that this was a spellbook, and one that countless witches over time had likely possessed and used. Something like this would definitely be a fitting gift for Treat.
Although as the Reaping drew nearer, an ominous presence lurked in the shadows. As Trick began his surveying of the lands for reaping, the unknown enemy crept into his lair, stole the book he had procured as a present for Treat, and made off with it into the night.
“N-n-no! W-wait!” Trick stammered, chasing after the shadow. The enemy rapidly flipped through the book’s tattered pages, frantically searching for a spell. After chanting a few incantations, a flash of green light engulfed Trick’s enemy and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Suddenly, dozens of imps burst forth from the same spot and caused Trick to lose sight of his enemy. They all fought for the book at once, tearing and scattering its ancient pages in a frenzy. The more Trick tried to chase them down and regain the pages, the more and more they spread.
Worst of all, the Reaping was tomorrow, and Trick had no gift to exchange with Treat.
The next evening at twilight, Treat awaited her frantic friend under the largest, gnarliest maple tree in all the realms--the annual meeting place for their ritual.
“H-hello, T-T-T-Treat,” Trick stuttered as he climbed the hill to the tree. He was clammier than usual, but Treat did not notice anything amiss as the reaper normally had trouble with words unless he was taken over by the madness of his task.
“Trick, it is good to see you,” Treat spoke in her calm, dignified tone. “I trust your scythe is ready for its upcoming task? I have already made the necessary preparations to ensure all the citizens in the realms will be well fed this season.”
Trick began to quiver, eyeing the long object Treat held under her cloak. He could only wonder what amazing gift she had brought for him this year. As if reading his mind, Treat pulled forth the concealed gift--a shining, glinting blade to replace Trick’s current scythe. Reflected in its metal was the nebula of the beyond. Trick felt as if he would faint.
“I-I-I don’t have anything f-for you, Treat,” he managed. Treat raised a brow at his uttered words. “I-I’m sorry.” He hung his head, cloak covering his face from Treat. Her stare pierced through him even though his eyes did not meet hers.
“But this is our tradition, Trick. Why would you forget something we have done for centuries?”
Trick opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead a hesitant, high-pitched laugh slipped from his mouth which angered Treat almost instantaneously.
“How could you do this to me?!” she shrieked, hurling her gift into the tree’s bark. It buried itself deep in the trunk of the tree.
Losing his control to the madness dwelling within him, Trick began to panic, trying to fight against the other half of himself. “No--it wasn’t meant to be this way, I swear it. They came and stole it--”
“You will NEVER trick me again!” Treat bellowed. Before she could close her mouth, Treat disappeared in a large cloud of purple smoke. Trick coughed and gasped, heaving the vapor into his lungs which sent a terrible heat coursing through his chilly veins. Before he realized it, his entire body felt as if it were on fire, and the hot feeling made him feel as if he were melting from the inside out.
Treat had cursed him for betraying their friendship, and Trick had no way of telling her the truth now. All he could do was attempt to collect all the scattered pages of the spellbook the imps had spread throughout the lands. However, moving just a step caused the fiery feeling to reignite over and over in Trick’s body. He was never going to be able to regain the book’s pages in his current, cursed state.
Trick made his way to the nearest city, Voltra, seeking help. If citizens of Voltra could find the pages of the book for him to reassemble it for Treat, perhaps their friendship could be saved. “H-help me, good f-friends,” Trick called, looking for any Volties to aid him in his nearly-impossible task. “I p-promise, I will make it worth your w-while.”
