There was once a story told to young witches and wizards around the hearth about a mythical island of Avalon and its resident kingdom of Atlantis. 

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It was a beautiful, peaceful place in the midst of the green-blue sea where anyone who visited would be welcomed, and the people were one. This peace had not happened by accident, but had been established by the three resident peoples who had learned to master a power where no one could overcome them. They were their own masters. The secret to this power was a mystery to all except those who witnessed it firsthand. And that secret was not only to first find peace within, which led to peace without, but also other principles of love and individual responsibility and desire.

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Many claimed that this island kingdom was just lucky. Many saw it as a reflection of the technology that seemed to constantly emerge. Some just claimed it was a magic spell.

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And others just believed that order and unity was normal, a natural state of being that always was. These were the most ignorant of all, for they became complacent of its power. For there were many who lived on the borders of this land who were not inhabitants of the kingdom, but had ongoing relationships with those people. They trafficked in goods and services, and benefitted from their proximity to such a beautiful and terrible neighbor. The power of Avalon was unique; they never used it to conquer, only to defend, and if truth be told, to master themselves. 

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Now the three races of the city state were each integral to performing a role in the peace and prosperity of the city. Freedom was the benchmark of their home and public life, and few rules were needed to keep this order in place. Each person was individually oriented to do good and to watch out for his neighbor.

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Over the years, as the city grew and the population swelled, the city improved more and more as the peoples worked together. And then suddenly one day, it just up and vanished.

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Nobody knew exactly what happened. It was as if a giant had scooped it up and tossed it into the sea. Not all of the island was gone, just everything within and a part of the city walls. Bricks, buildings, businesses, homes, and people, all gone. In its place was a giant hole of sorts that had filled in as if to be a lagoon. In fact, to those who had never visited, they began to say that the city had never been, and the story was the results of old wives tales.

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And yet, despite disbelief in the disappearing city, there was an unmistakeable magic at play in what remained of the island; odd and peculiar things were reported that could not be explained. For instance, it seemed that all four seasons existed at the same time at different places on the island. Granted, there were some particularly tall peaks in the middle of the island, and it was rather large generally. But not that large. In fact the apple trees, which later became a signature icon of the place, could be found in all four states of grow: fruiting, flowering, falling, and bare.

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Another phenomenon that was noticed over time was that anyone complacent enough who took up residence on what was left of the island would lengthen their days, and honestly seem to never grow a day older. This wasn't recognized for many, many generations, at least not until the superstitions that grew up around the city's removal had been whitewashed from history. Still, the island took on a otherworldly quality.

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But once the people were gone, the competing nation states that had previously attempted to overwhelm Avalon came to bear. They came to the island and drove off the remnants, who were not prepared to defend, and were not well organized. These conquerors wished to hold the secrets of Avalon, and thought that in taking the land, they would have the power. And while the land itself had mystic properties, they only went so far.  The secrets, if any were to be held, was in the people. But anyone who may have known these secrets had left when they scattered the people who had been left.

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These remnants of the three peoples had fled to the mainland, and gone into hiding before the invading peoples ever knew what had happened. They had learned many things in their time in the city!

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But before they left, this remnant put one more spell on the island: though it would offer eternal life to those who stood upon its shores, it would be cloaked forever more from the eyes of anyone who came looking for that supernal gift. Once they'd left its beaches, the island would be hidden from any and all who would seek it for material gain.

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This eventually created a one-way door for any of the invading army who were homeward bound. Only for those who stayed indefinitely could the island have any value, and the blessing of eternal life was held back from the mundane world.

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At first the three peoples attempted to stick together in their wanderings, but without the standard of the city and its inhabitants, and the principles they taught, these remnants strayed far from the ideals that had held them together, and the bond of their peace and prosperity was broken. And two of the three peoples were lost, forgotten in the sands of time.

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All that was left were the Sidhe. And that was how wizarding came to be.

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And it is said that when the days of the world are come to an end, that the three magical lost peoples would join together once more, and together would bring back the days of Atlantis, and found a new kingdom once again.