Human beings don’t like things which they can’t control, things that don’t work on the basis of science or logic. Things they can’t write away with a simple explanation.

Centuries ago, magic was normal. Well, not “normal” normal, but it was something which existed, which wasn’t feared or hated.

And that’s why we had to hide, to pretend that we fear it just as much as they do. It wasn’t fun, but it was needed to make sure the magic wasn’t lost forever.

Just like writing a tough exam, or winning a running race, you needed to believe you could do it. You needed to have faith along with the hard work.

Don’t get me wrong. Humans do work hard, too hard in fact, to even enjoy the fruits of it.

Did you ever notice? If you asked a 7-year-old what they wanted to become when they grew up, they’d give the most beautiful and hilarious responses:

A puppy! An astronaut! Fairy! A mermaid! A spy! Superman!

Ask that same question to the same group of people 15 years later? You probably won’t see that colorful of a response.

Imagination dies somewhere between those two age gaps. And so does the magic within most of the humans.

Most of them. Not all of them.

And that’s what I’m here for. I find the humans who haven’t given up yet, who still have a light within them.

Who still believes.

I’m a sort of recruiter. I won’t say my name, in case you’re some of those humans who are scared of magic. Don’t need you hunting me. I have enough of my own work to do.

I pretend to be a teacher at elementary schools. I probably pose as an art teacher, or an English teacher. I try to look for those kids with a spark, with a creative gleam within them.

I go with the most basic filter. Start a debate in class.

Does magic exist or not?

It quickly filters out the boring people. Saves me a lot of time. Then I dig a bit deeper.

If magic existed, what would you do with it?

You see, we don’t want those lame people who would just use their magic to tie their shoelaces without help, or who would just multiply their cash to get rich and live in peace.

We want those whose imagination is as beautiful as the sunset sky on the beach: colorful, vivid.

Enchanting.

Then I give them a paper and some crayons. Ask them to draw their dream land.

Some turn out pretty straightforward.

But some just turn out to be… magical.

Those are the ones we choose.

We pass on the magic slowly, gently, so carefully that no one suspects, no one gets caught. A single brush against their hand. A sweet pull on the cheek.

No one notices a thing.

Their powers don’t show up until they’re 18 or so. And even then, only if they still believe. And only if they’re good at heart.

We can’t have a repeat of last time. Life has enough villains already without creating new ones on our own.

It’s the tiny things at first. They might wish that their stupid pimple goes away, or that their favorite blue T-shirt goes on clearance sale. Which can be easily brushed off as a coincidence.

Then they start seeing things. Things the others can’t (or won’t) notice.

That puppy has three eyes instead of two. That fish in the water—its scales seem to shimmer like a rainbow. The butterflies in the air seem to look slightly humanish.

Weird, right?

But… since I have chosen well, they don’t freak out. They don’t go to the police or check themselves into the psych ward.

Instead, they are in awe. And like the smart ones they are, they keep quiet.

Then I pay them a visit, and this time in my true form.

They ask me why I’ve chosen them.

“To bring back the lost magic,” I say.

…

A few decades ago, a human managed to weasel himself into me believing he was worth the powers.

But he wasn’t.

And using one of the poorer qualities of humans—jealousy and selfishness—he wanted all the power to himself, himself and only himself.

He was a hard worker, I give him that. He leaned into the fact that he possessed magic, and worked on it so well that at times, even I was impressed.