When a Real Magician Entered a Magic Show

Once upon a time, not too far from here, there lived a wizard named Othar the Old. He was one of the last remaining true wizards from the ancient age of magic. Othar remembered fondly the days before electricity, mobile phones, and the Internet—times when every town had its own wizard to light fires, deliver messages, heal the sick, and ward off curses.

But as the world changed, so too did its needs. Wizards like Othar had been replaced by technology and medicine, and so he withdrew from society, living in a lonely hut deep within the dark woods. He spent his days drinking stale beer and watching an ancient, dusty television just to stay somewhat connected with human happenings.

One evening, while flipping through channels, Othar’s attention was caught by a glittering stage and a booming announcement — a televised magic show. The very notion thrilled him. It had been centuries since he’d witnessed a public display of magic. Perhaps, he thought, there were still some real practitioners left in the world.

The first performer was a man named Dan, who proudly declared himself a wizard from a strange land called Dudley. “What an odd title for a wizard,” Othar grumbled. Dan the Dangerous? Dan the Dull? Dan the Dunce? he mused sarcastically.

But it didn’t take long for Othar to realize that Dan wasn’t a wizard at all — just a mere trickster, dabbling in illusions and sleight of hand. Outraged by such deceit, Othar grabbed his staff and teleported straight to the Ministry of Magic to report the offense.

“Ebus the Enforcer!” he bellowed upon arrival. “Our noble craft is being mocked before thousands of humans by a fraud claiming to be a wizard!”

Ebus, the wise and aged Minister of Magic, listened patiently and then chuckled softly. “Times have changed, old friend. The humans no longer believe in real magic. These shows are simply theatre — harmless entertainment.”

But Othar was far from satisfied with such an answer. Determined to defend the honor of true magic, he returned home and, with the help of a telephone spell (and some frustration with the buttons), he called the show’s hotline.

He registered himself under the grand title:
“Othar, Slayer of Demons, Curser of Witches, Defender of England, and Founding Wizard of the Ezekiel Tribe.”

When the day of the show arrived, Othar stepped onto the stage, his long grey beard, flowing robes, and ancient staff a stark contrast to the glitzy backdrop and flashy lights. The judges stared at him, both bemused and bewildered.

“What trick will you perform for us tonight, Mr… Ofair?” the lead judge asked, misreading his name.

“Tonight,” Othar declared proudly, “I shall show you real magic.”

With a casual wave of his wand, Othar conjured a flock of pigeons from his tall hat — a classic spell from his days in the Shires, where people had delighted in catching the birds for supper.

The judges, however, remained unimpressed. “We’ve seen that before,” one of them muttered, already gesturing for the next contestant.

Furious but undeterred, Othar cast a disguise spell on himself, transforming into the identity of the next participant. This time, he decided to demonstrate power beyond question. He levitated smoothly into the air, hovering before the judges, reading their minds as he floated.

“Ropes, wires, dull,” one judge thought.

Not willing to accept their skepticism, Othar conjured a magnificent phoenix made entirely of living flame, its fiery wings lighting up the entire hall as it circled majestically overhead. The audience gasped, and the judges, albeit more impressed, waved for him to return backstage.

It was then that a frail, nervous boy — no older than twelve — stepped onto the stage. His clothes were worn thin, and his small form looked underfed. Off to the side stood his mother, her eyes shining with hope but shadowed by exhaustion. Othar peered into their minds and learned the truth: the boy had no father, and his mother, burdened by crushing debts, had spent her last coin just to enter him in the competition. She often went hungry so her son could eat, though even then, there was never enough.

The boy performed a simple trick with a supposedly bottomless hat. Hidden beneath his foot was a small pump, which he used to inflate hidden objects before pulling them out of the hat, creating the illusion of endless space.

Watching this, Othar’s heart softened. The boy was clever, resourceful, and desperate — a combination that touched the old wizard deeply. With a subtle flick of his wand, Othar transformed the hat into a truly bottomless marvel and filled it with treasures beyond imagination: bars of gold, gleaming silver, sparkling gemstones, and ornaments of platinum.

The boy stared in astonishment as he pulled item after item from the enchanted hat, each more splendid than the last. The judges, equally amazed, could scarcely believe their eyes. With cheers from the audience, the boy was declared the winner of the night.

Thanks to Othar’s intervention, the boy and his mother left the show with newfound wealth. They paid off their debts, bought a cozy home, and filled their kitchen with enough food to last a lifetime. The mother never went hungry again, and the boy, full of joy and gratitude, grew up to become a renowned inventor — one who always claimed that a real magician had once helped him, though no one ever believed his story.

As for Othar the Old? He returned to his lonely hut, a little less lonely in his heart, having used real magic not just to impress, but to change a life.

Moral of the Story:
True magic doesn’t lie in flashy tricks or the desire for recognition — it lives in the kindness we show others, especially when we expect nothing in return.