Mary's father was the first to speak.
"Uncle Nicolas, we've come to bring you a little gift." He stepped forward slightly and, as if pulling it from thin air, produced a large gift box. A rich, wonderful aroma wafted from within.
Nicolas had noticed the group the moment they stepped into the shop. Hearing the father's words, he let out a hearty laugh.
"Come in, come in! Why so formal, Dwayne? If you need anything, just ask your uncle—there's no need for all these gifts."
Despite his words, he accepted the box and ushered the three of them toward a large table in the back to sit down. With a casual flick of his wand, three teacups appeared out of nowhere. Mary's eyes lit up as she stared at the cup in front of her with intense curiosity. Her mother leaned in and whispered, "Mary, it's just ordinary tea, dear."
Mary looked up, her hands waving excitedly as she tried to describe what she had just witnessed. "No, Mom! The cups just popped into existence! I clearly saw that there was nothing on this table, and then suddenly—poof—tea! Is this magic too, Mom?"
Her mother nodded, gently poking Mary's cheek. "That's right, Mary. This is magic."
"It's just a little trick, little one," Nicolas said, seemingly appearing out of thin air, causing Mary to jump. He cleared his throat and spoke in a gentle tone. "Bé con, I've heard your father's request. Now, let's go find you a wand."
Mary, still a bit dazed, was gently pushed by her father toward a row of shelves overflowing with wands. Nicolas began his selection process, opening and closing several boxes, but each time he shook his head and moved on to the next, sensing they weren't the right match.
Mary watched Nicolas's every movement, then glanced back at the mountain of boxes before her. It all felt surreal, like a fragment of a dream she might wake up from at any moment.
After some time, Nicolas finally found a pair of wands that seemed promising. He hurried back to Mary with excitement, handing her the one he felt most confident about. "Here, give this a wave."
Nicolas watched her with bright, sparkling eyes—not like an old man, but like a child showing off a prized collection. Mary followed his instructions and gave it a flick.
CRASH! RUMBLE! The boxes inside the shop began to shake violently, as if an invisible pressure was crushing the entire building. Mary panicked and dropped the wand. She looked at the fallen shelves and the damaged boxes, and her eyes immediately clouded with mist, looking as though she might burst into tears at any second.
Beside her, Mary's parents froze, their eyes widening in shock. Nicolas looked at the chaos surrounding him and suddenly erupted into loud laughter. He slapped the father on the shoulder and said cheerfully, "Look at that! Your daughter is even more destructive than you were back in the day!"
The father's face darkened, but Nicolas eventually stopped teasing him. He stepped toward Mary, who was trembling on the verge of tears, and ruffled her hair. His voice was as soothing as a lullaby. "Bé con, why are you crying?"
Mary looked up, meeting his kind gaze. The overwhelming emotions she had been holding back seemed to settle, and she felt more relaxed than ever. She sniffled and managed to say, "Grandpa... I..."
Nicolas smiled and pulled a small, star-shaped biscuit from behind his back. "There's no need for tears, little one. Do you know why the sorcerers in fairy tales are so powerful?"
Mary blinked, stunned, and shook her head. "I don't know, sir."
Nicolas gave a mysterious grin. "It's because..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...those fairy tales don't have this old man in them."
With a wave of his hand, time seemed to hit a rewind button. The rows of boxes levitated back into place, repairing themselves until the shop looked exactly as it had when they first walked in.
Mary stood with her mouth agape, remembering the destruction and then seeing the perfection before her. Everything that had happened today had completely reshaped her view of magic. In her storybooks, mages just waved sticks to call down storms, which was impressive enough, but seeing the reality left her with only one thought:
"It's... it's wonderful..."
"Heh heh, wonderful, isn't it? Surprising, right? The man standing before you is a truly talented High Mage!" Nicolas puffed out his chest boastfully. On the other side of the room, Mary's father covered his face and groaned.
"This old man is having another ego trip. Always talking big... one of these days someone's going to come to his door to beat him up, and he'll be crying and clutching their legs."
The father spoke very softly, but Nicolas's ears caught every single word. A blue vein throbbed on the old man's forehead, and his face twisted. "Little Dwayne, it seems you've forgotten the 'loving' fists of your dear uncle?"
The father swallowed hard and offered a fawning smile. "Uncle Nicolas, I'm sorry! I know I was wrong. Please, spare me!"
"Hmph, brat."
While the adults were bickering, Mary picked up the wand she had dropped. She bit her lip and looked at Nicolas. "Grandpa, I feel... this one isn't right for me."
Hearing her words, Nicolas was genuinely surprised. While the kind of accident that just happened was a common occurrence in his shop, the scale of Mary's destructive power was among the largest he had ever seen. Usually, the more power a wand unleashed, the better it matched the owner.
Nicolas asked with a hint of shock, "You don't feel it's a match?"
"No, sir. I don't."
He stroked his beard, his eyes scanning the wand boxes as the light in his pupils intensified. It was as if a new idea had struck him. He reached for a wand kept in a silver-plated box. "Here, try this one."
Mary took it and gave it a test wave.
Instantly, the shop erupted in a blinding radiance—a light so intense it dazzled the people walking outside on the street, illuminating the entire corner of the neighborhood.
Nicolas waved his hand, and the light vanished. He looked at the wand, then back at Mary, his eyes asking if this was the one.
Mary gripped the wand a little tighter, then shook her head. She didn't feel any connection to it at all. The movement felt stiff and awkward, and she didn't feel comfortable holding it.
Nicolas stroked his beard once more, deep in thought.