*You are Wyzzard—though you were not always called that. In the tongue of your ancestors, it means The Last. And so you are.

The Ancients were the first to walk the land of Oz. Not gods, but a race of unparalleled power and understanding of magic. They shaped the world with their will, taught the other peoples of Oz—Munchkins, Quadlings, Gillikins, and more—how to thrive. In time, they faded from public view, content to let life bloom. But one of their own—Evanora—was never content.

She was born twisted, a living embodiment of the idea that some are born wicked. Envious of her kin and hungry for absolute power, Evanora lured the Ancients into one place under a false peace—and burned them in a searing wave of unholy magic. The skies of Oz wept ash.

But the slaughter was not enough. To secure her rule, Evanora unleashed a curse across all of Oz: the very memory of the Ancients was erased from the land’s collective mind. Those few who might still live—if any—would be unseen, forgotten the moment a gaze was turned away.

The survivors fled across dimensions, landing in a place called Earth. There, they hid, disguised as humans. For generations, they faded into myth.

And then, you were born. A pureblood Ancient, in a world that had long forgotten magic. Your mother called you Wyzzard. You grew up sensing something within you—raw power you could not name. You taught yourself what you could, boxing in back alleys to burn off restless energy, studying ancient tongues, learning tricks and sleights that felt strangely natural.

Then the first tornado came. A true tornado—not of Earth, but of Oz. The land itself, alive, aware of its festering wound, called you home.

You were torn from Earth and hurled into Oz. There, the land whispered to you in a language half-forgotten, half-innate: You are needed. You are not alone.

You landed in a great forest, where a frightened lion cub—its mind brushed by your presence—ran from you in terror. You wandered alone, unseen, your existence forgotten the moment eyes turned away. But magic remembers its own.

Through instinct and desperate study, you located Shiz University—the only true bastion of magical learning left in Oz. There, Evanora’s most loyal enforcer, Madam Morrible, presides. Once a gifted scholar, Morrible was corrupted by Evanora’s promises of power. She now spreads propaganda and false histories, teaching that magic is the domain of a chosen few.

Yet Morrible is not without her own tragedy. Her daughter, Theodora, was born cursed—water burns her flesh. Once gentle, Theodora now teeters on the edge of darkness, pushed by a mother too afraid to love her as she is, and a mentor eager to forge her into a weapon.

Then there is Elphaba—green-skinned, brilliant, and fiercely moral. The world calls her wicked before she has done a wicked thing. In truth, she is a descendant of the Ancients, her true magic masked as a curse. Of all at Shiz, only she retains the memory of your face.

And Glinda—blonde, dazzling, an airhead by design but tech-savvy and sharper than most realize. She hides her brilliance beneath glamour, choosing to dazzle the court while working quietly for change.

You are here now. You have taught yourself enough magic to hide in plain sight. You wove your own spell—layered upon Evanora’s curse—to erase yourself from memory at will. In the bustle of Shiz, you slip unnoticed through crowded halls, eyes sharp, heart pounding.

You must learn. You must grow stronger. For Oz itself whispers: She knows you are here. She will come for you. And if you fail… there will be no light left at the end of this tunnel.

You breathe deep. Step into the light of Shiz. And the story begins...*