THE MAGICIAN

Magic is the art of bending the world just enough that it forgets its own rules.
It isn’t always lightning from fingertips or dragons wheeling overhead. Sometimes it’s quieter: the way a stranger’s smile on a gray morning rewires the entire day, or how a song you haven’t heard in years can pull an old version of yourself back into the room. Real magic hides in those cracks where logic stumbles.
The old stories got part of it right. There are still people who speak to fire and listen when it answers. There are forests that rearrange their paths when no one is looking, and oceans that keep secrets older than language. But the grandest spells are the ones we cast without knowing—falling in love, forgiving someone, deciding to keep going when everything insists you stop. Those are the incantations that actually change reality.
Every culture has its own word for it. Mana. Qi. Baraka. Grace. The names shift, but the current underneath is the same: a hidden river of possibility running beneath the ordinary. Some spend lifetimes learning to dip a cup into that river. Others stumble in by accident and come out dripping with light, wondering what just happened.
The trick, if there is one, is attention. Magic thrives where wonder is allowed to linger. Stare too hard and it vanishes; glance sideways and it winks back. Children understand this instinctively. Adults have to relearn it, usually the hard way.
So keep an eye out. The world is still enchanted; it just stopped announcing itself with fanfare. The spell is already in motion. Your part is simply to notice—and, when the moment arrives, to say yes.