Peter stood up and let a wicked smile slide across his face. "Time to play.

Men-kind shared this world for but a blink, then, sadly, they became enlightened, found science and religion. The new world of men left little room for magic or the magical creatures of old. Earth’s first children were driven into the shadows by flame and cold iron, by man’s insatiable need of conquest.

But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people?

Children like yourselves are full of magic, but the men have turned, they've lost their magic to the fear and hatred they harbor for all that they can't explain, control, or understand.

Peter finds the lost, the left-behind, the abused. Is that not why you are here? Did Peter not save you?

Peter," she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. "My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.

Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.