When Devin Angel Smith was a little boy, he wanted nothing more than to learn magic. His longing carried him on a long journey to the Library of Knowledge — a grand place so vast it seemed to breathe wisdom itself. The building stretched high and wide, divided into two distinct wings. To the left, a staircase spiraled upward, vanishing into shadow. To the right, a single, sturdy door beckoned.
Devin hesitated only a moment before pushing open the right-hand door. His heart burned with a single desire: to read every book on magic he could find.
"Excuse me, young man," a voice called gently behind him.
Startled, Devin turned, his words tumbling out in a stammer. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
An old man stood there, leaning on a cane as though it alone held him upright. His eyes, though aged, sparkled with a quiet sharpness. "What exactly are you searching for?" he asked.
"I… I want to learn magic," Devin admitted, dropping his gaze. His brown hair fell forward, hiding the shame in his expression.
The old man tilted his head. "Tell me, how did you know to enter the door on the right, and not climb the stairs?"
Devin shuffled his feet. "Well… the right side of the brain is for creativity. I thought the left would lead somewhere more logical, like numbers or laws. Some people say magic is just fantasy, but to me… it's the greatest form of creativity." His voice grew softer as he spoke, his head bowed.
A slow smile spread across the old man's face. "Come with me, little one."
He guided Devin back outside the main hall. "The left staircase," the man explained, "leads to the tower where kings hold their meetings." Then, with a flick of his hand, new stairs shimmered into existence, climbing into the air where none had been before. "The right… leads to my house. And my true library."
Devin blinked, his jaw nearly dropping. Confusion and wonder tangled inside him.
"Come along, little one," the old man called warmly as he began climbing.
At the top, Devin stepped into a place unlike anything he had imagined. The chamber was cozy yet cluttered, alive with the residue of countless spells. Wands poked from cups on tables, scrolls and books lay in careless stacks, and soft chairs clustered around a glowing hearth. Despite the chaos, the room radiated comfort.
"Would you like some tea?" the old man asked. His face was lined but kind, the kind of face one instinctively trusted. Wisdom seemed to sit on his shoulders as easily as his robes.
"If… if it's no trouble," Devin said, careful not to touch anything as his green eyes darted about.
"No one has ever found my library before," the old man called from the next room. He returned carrying a tray with a steaming pot, two cups, and a plate of cookies. Setting it down, he looked Devin over with a thoughtful smile. "You're clever. I'm not accustomed to clever humans."
Devin's head snapped up. "You're… not human?"
The old man's eyes twinkled. "That is not something I can tell you — not yet. First, I must know that I can trust you with the secret." He gestured for Devin to take a cup.
Devin accepted the tea and a cookie, his hands trembling slightly. His voice grew steady as he confessed, "I just want to learn about magic… because the person I care for is full of it. And I don't know anything about their world."
The fire crackled in the hearth, its light reflecting in Devin's eyes until they seemed to sparkle like emeralds.
Part 2: Trust me
Months passed. At first, the old man taught Devin nothing, though the boy returned again and again. Devin never revealed the secret of the hidden library, not even in whispers, and the old man noticed this silence. He admired the boy's determination, the way he kept coming back with hope in his eyes. In Devin, he began to see something rare — a spark.
One morning, as Devin arrived, the hidden stairs shimmered into view before him, as if acknowledging his persistence. He climbed them with a bright smile that seemed to light the path more than the sun itself. Though no magic lessons had begun, Devin cherished every moment of the old man's company, finding warmth in their quiet talks and shared tea.
"Welcome back, little one," the old man greeted, his tone softened by fondness. He, too, had grown to enjoy the boy's presence.
"Thanks," Devin replied, his grin spreading easily. For a fleeting instant, the old man felt a strange vision brush against his mind — the memory of every smile this boy might ever give, though he knew that when the veil rose, there would be too few of them. Still, he could see past that grim horizon, to something brighter.
"Come, sit," the old man said, vanishing briefly into the other room. He returned with the familiar tray of steaming tea and two cups. Setting it down, he studied Devin with a thoughtful gaze.
"I know now that I can trust you, little one," he said at last.
Devin straightened, almost embarrassed by the title. "My name is Devin. Please… just call me that, sir," he said politely.
The old man's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. "Very well, Devin. Then today… I will teach you."
He turned to a cluttered shelf crowded with wands, each one unique in shape and wood. His fingers brushed across them until one, slender and timeworn, began to glow faintly at his touch.
"This," the old man murmured, lifting it with care, "will do. Let us begin with the basics."
Part 3: magic within
The wand shimmered faintly in the old man's hand, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat. He turned and placed it carefully into Devin's palms.
Devin's breath caught. The wood felt warm, alive, as if it were watching him back.
"Magic," the old man said slowly, "is not about power. Not truly. It is about listening. The world whispers to those who care to hear it — the wind, the flame, even the silence. A spell is only an agreement between you and the world."
Devin nodded, clutching the wand tightly.
"Not so hard," the old man corrected gently. He reached over and guided Devin's grip until it was steady but light. "Magic resists force. It wants balance."
Devin loosened his fingers. The wand pulsed again, faint sparks glittering along its tip.
"Good," the old man said, satisfaction in his voice. "For your first lesson, we begin with light. The simplest, yet the most vital. Light guides, reveals, and protects. Close your eyes."
Devin obeyed, heart racing.
"Picture a flame," the old man instructed. "Not a torch, not a bonfire. A single, steady candle. Let it burn behind your eyes until you can feel its warmth."
At first Devin saw only darkness, but slowly a flicker began to form in his mind. The flame grew clearer, steady and calm.
"Now," the old man whispered, "breathe in… and with your breath, invite that flame into the wand."
Devin exhaled softly, lowering the tip of the wand as though it might catch. To his astonishment, a tiny glow blossomed at its end — faint, trembling, but real.
Devin's green eyes flew open, sparkling with awe as he stared at the light. "I did it!"
The old man chuckled, eyes crinkling with pride. "Yes. And no. The wand lent you its patience, but the flame came from you. Remember this: spells are not tricks to impress, but truths you bring forward."
The glow flickered out, leaving only a trail of warmth in Devin's hand.
"Again," the old man said firmly, though his smile never faded. "This time, let the light burn longer. Magic must become your friend, not just your guest."
Devin raised the wand once more, determination brightening his face.
Devin raised the wand again, holding his breath as if afraid the tiny miracle would slip away.
"Relax," the old man reminded him. "Magic flows like water. If you clutch too tightly, it slips through your fingers. Breathe."
Devin exhaled and tried again. The image of the candle returned to his mind, brighter this time, steadier. Slowly, the wand's tip bloomed with light — faint at first, then stronger, until it filled the dim room with a warm golden glow. Shadows fled to the corners.
Devin gasped, the light faltering with his excitement.
"Steady, Devin," the old man said softly. "You must learn not only to call the flame, but to hold it."
Devin swallowed, grounding himself. He inhaled deeply, then released the breath slowly. The glow steadied, burning like a small star in his hand. His green eyes shone in its reflection.
"Very good," the old man murmured, a rare pride in his voice. "Now, walk with it. Do not let your mind wander. Keep the flame alive as you move."
Devin took a cautious step forward. The light flickered but held. Another step. Then another. Soon he was circling the cluttered room, the glow chasing shadows from crooked shelves and stacks of dusty scrolls.
"This is amazing!" Devin whispered, grinning.
"Do not lose focus," the old man warned. "Joy is good — but it must be anchored."
Devin tried to hold the balance of excitement and calm, but his grin widened too much, and the light suddenly flared, bursting like a sparkler. A shower of glowing motes rained down, vanishing before they touched the floor.
Startled, Devin nearly dropped the wand. "I—I didn't mean—"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "Do not apologize. Magic reflects the heart. Yours is bright, eager, and a little unruly. That flare was not failure, Devin. It was promise."
Devin flushed with pride, clutching the wand close to his chest.
"Again," the old man instructed, tone firm but kind. "This time, aim your light. Direct it, as a lantern to a path."
Devin lifted the wand. He pictured not just a candle now, but a beacon, guiding travelers through the dark. The tip blazed with a steady brilliance, brighter than before, casting long rays across the messy room.
The old man's eyes softened. For the first time in many years, his lonely chamber felt alive again. "Yes," he whispered. "That is true magic."
The glow finally dimmed, leaving Devin trembling with effort but grinning ear to ear.
"Lesson one is complete," the old man said, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Light is not simply a spell. It is your foundation. Hold to it, and it will never abandon you."
Devin nodded, still catching his breath, but his heart soared. For the first time in his life, he felt like a magician.
Devin's hand trembled slightly as the last glimmer of light faded from the wand. He was exhausted but glowing with pride, his green eyes still sparkling from the thrill of success.
The old man studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "You've done well, Devin. But a spell means nothing if it lives only in this room."
Devin blinked. "What do you mean, sir?"
The old man set down his cup of tea, his gaze sharp now, though not unkind. "Your first assignment: take the flame outside. Call it beneath the open sky, away from my guidance. Let the world itself answer you."
Devin's mouth went dry. "Outside? By myself?"
"Of course," the old man said simply. "Magic is a dialogue, not a performance for a master. If you cannot speak to the world without me, then all of this"—he gestured to the glowing shelves, the wands, the hearth—"is meaningless."
Devin tightened his grip on the wand, uncertainty flashing across his face. "What if I fail?"
The old man's eyes softened. "Then you try again. Magic is not about perfection, little one. It is about persistence." He paused, then added with a faint smile, "Besides, I would not have shown you my library if I thought you would fail."
Devin's heart steadied at those words. He rose from the chair, clutching the wand like a lifeline. "All right. I'll try."
The old man walked him to the stairway. As the door creaked open, a cool night breeze spilled in, carrying the scents of grass and earth. Stars stretched wide above, like a thousand tiny lanterns waiting for him.
"Light a flame under the heavens," the old man instructed. "If you can hold it steady beneath the gaze of the sky, then you will have taken your first true step into magic."
Devin looked back, nerves and determination battling within him. The old man gave a single nod. "Go, Devin. The world is listening."
With that, Devin stepped into the night, wand in hand, ready to test himself against the vast silence of the outside world.
Part 4: Go Devin
The night was cool and hushed, the kind of silence that felt alive. Devin stepped out into the meadow beyond the old man's hidden stairs, clutching the wand so tightly his knuckles turned white. The grass whispered around his ankles as he stopped beneath the sky.
Above him, countless stars shimmered like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Devin's heart raced. He lifted the wand, just as he had in the library, and closed his eyes.
A candle, he thought. A flame. Small but steady.
He pictured it clearly, and the wand trembled faintly in his hand. But when he opened his eyes, no glow appeared. Only the empty night answered him.
Devin bit his lip, frustration prickling. He tried again, this time imagining the flame larger, brighter, like a lantern. Still nothing. The wand lay cold and heavy in his grip.
Maybe I'm not ready…
He lowered the wand, disappointment weighing on him. But then, as he glanced up, he caught sight of the stars again. They burned with their own eternal light — and something inside him stirred.
What if the flame isn't in the wand at all?
Devin set the wand carefully on the grass. He spread his hands before him, closing his eyes once more. This time he didn't imagine a candle, but the warmth he had felt inside when he made the old man smile. The joy of possibility, the fire of wanting to learn, the hope that had carried him all the way here. He breathed it in, let it fill his chest, his fingertips tingling.
Light blossomed between his palms.
Devin gasped, eyes flying open. A small golden flame hovered there, not tied to any wood or focus, but dancing freely as though born from his very soul. It flickered, wavered, but did not vanish.
The breeze tugged at his hair, yet the flame held steady, glowing brighter. It bathed the meadow in soft radiance, the shadows of tall grasses swaying like dancers in its glow. The stars above seemed to lean closer, curious, approving.
Devin laughed, breathless and amazed. "I did it… without the wand."
Behind him, unseen, the old man stood in the shadow of the doorway, cane in hand. His wise eyes glistened as he watched the boy's discovery. He whispered to himself, "So the spark was never in the wand… but in you all along."
The flame flared, answering Devin's joy, and for the first time he felt not just like a student of magic — but as though he belonged to it.
The golden flame flickered gently in Devin's palms, its glow brighter now that his laughter had steadied it. He turned, ready to race back inside and show the old man — only to find the old man already standing in the doorway, watching him with wide, thoughtful eyes.
Devin froze. "I… I didn't use the wand," he confessed quickly, as if worried he'd done something wrong.
The old man stepped closer, the cane tapping softly against the stones. The firelight caught in his weathered face, deepening the furrows of his brow. "Yes," he murmured. "I can see that. And that… is unusual."
Devin frowned, cradling the flame like a fragile bird. "Unusual?"
"Most students," the old man said slowly, circling him as if to study from every angle, "require a wand, a focus, something to bridge the gap between themselves and the current of magic. You… do not." His voice was low, almost reverent, yet tinged with unease. "What's more troubling, little one, is that this power stirs in you as if it has always been there. My lesson should have been your first spark, and yet—"
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you certain you have never practiced magic before?"
Devin shook his head quickly. "No, never! I've only dreamed of it. I didn't even think I could until you… until today." His green eyes widened earnestly. "I promise, I've never done this before."
The flame danced higher, almost as if answering for him. The old man leaned on his cane, his gaze thoughtful and heavy. "Strange," he muttered, half to himself. "It's as though the magic already knew you… long before I did."
Devin swallowed, the warmth of the flame suddenly feeling heavier in his hands. "Is… that bad?"
The old man looked at him, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something gentler, though still full of mystery. "No, Devin. Not bad. But rare. Very rare. Magic of this kind is not learned — it is awakened. And whatever sleeps inside you… it has been waiting."
Devin glanced down at the golden flame, which pulsed brighter at the word awakened. He tightened his hands around it, his voice small but steady. "Then I want to know what it means."
The old man nodded slowly, his expression caught somewhere between pride and worry. "And so you shall. But remember this, Devin Angel Smith — gifts such as yours are never given without a cost."
The flame flared once more, as though agreeing.
Part 5: one and only student
Years passed, and under the patient guidance of the one known as the Great Lizard, Devin grew into a formidable magician. The boy who once trembled holding a flicker of light now wielded spells with ease. Determined, steady, and hungry for knowledge, Devin breezed through lessons that had taken others years to master. With every incantation, every protective charm, every spark of power, the Great Lizard grew more certain — this young man was destined for great things.
This was long before Devin ever met Sam, but already the seeds of his future had begun to take root.
One day, their lessons carried them deep into the forest. The canopy whispered overhead, the air heavy with the musk of pine and moss. As they walked, the ground suddenly shook, and a low growl rolled through the trees. A dragon, its scales gleaming like molten iron, burst from the shadows, its eyes burning with hunger.
The Great Lizard stepped forward without hesitation. His body shimmered, bones and flesh reshaping in a blaze of magic until a massive dragon stood where the old man had been. His scales glowed a deep emerald, his wings unfurling with a thunderous snap.
"Stay behind me, Devin!" his booming voice echoed in both air and mind.
But when the rival dragon lunged, jaws open to strike the Great Lizard, Devin's instincts surged. Without a thought, he raised his hands, and a sphere of shimmering energy blossomed around them both. The other dragon slammed into the barrier with a roar, but the bubble held firm, radiant with Devin's will.
The Great Lizard glanced down, his massive eyes full of astonishment. The student had protected the master.
When the danger had passed and the other dragon fled, the Great Lizard shifted again. But this time, instead of returning to the frail old man Devin knew, he shrank into the form of a young man, strong and sharp-eyed. He stumbled slightly, the battle taking its toll. Devin rushed to steady him.
"Thanks, Devin," the young man said, his voice softer now.
Devin blinked, heart racing. "Great Lizard? Is… is that you?"
The man smiled faintly and shimmered once more, his body folding back into the familiar shape of the old teacher.
Back at the library, the familiar comfort of hearth and books wrapped around them. The Great Lizard prepared tea as always, though Devin kept glancing at him, questions burning on his tongue. Finally, he muttered, "Umm…" but fell silent.
The old man chuckled, setting the teapot down. "You wish to ask about what you saw. Don't worry, little one. I can take many forms. Young, old, dragon… but this," he gestured to his wrinkled face and warm eyes, "is the one most people find easiest to trust."
Devin couldn't hold back any longer. "So… you're actually a dragon?"
"Oh yes," the old man said with a yawn, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "But one cannot spend all their days as a dragon. Far too tiring." He lowered himself into the chair, eyes closing almost instantly. Within moments, he was snoring softly.
Devin sighed, shaking his head with a smile. He covered the old man with a blanket, then sat back with his tea. Watching the Great Lizard doze, Devin felt a warmth beyond magic — a bond deeper than teacher and student. In his heart, the old man was more than a mentor. He was family. A grandfather he had never had.