When my parents saw my small base, they were left speechless.
First they were startled when I disappeared right in front of them, and after I added them to the protective wards, they were stunned all over again.
I hear my father say,"How?"
I answer with a single word:"Magic."
My mother lets out a small laugh, while my father grumbles,"Know-it-all brat."
Stepping inside brought another wave of sighs and widened eyes. My mother became fascinated by the engravings on the walls — simple images of animals and landscapes, yet they conveyed a sense of calm.
"Did you build all of this with magic?"my father asked.
"Not only magic. Magic was just the tool. The rest was a lot of creativity and knowledge — and knowledge is what gives magic its strength."
As I answered, I noticed my mother looking at the books, so I spoke before she could ask:
"The paper was made by me — manual work and knowledge, no magic involved."
She looks at me, offers a brief smile, then returns her attention to the books.
Distracted by her, I fail to notice that my father has found the stairs leading to the rest of my base. I ask him to wait — there is something I want to show them first.
I then lead them to the greenhouse.
"With this, we won't have to worry about food. The glass lets sunlight in but keeps the inside and outside temperatures separated, so I can plant whatever I want all year round.""I'm also trying to find a way to speed up growth."
I show them everything, explaining whenever they have questions. My mother is fascinated by the bathroom when I explain the plumbing.
It is harder to notice, but I realize my father is fascinated as well — especially when I talk about what I have built.
Watching them, I notice something.
It seems I have discovered where my curiosity and fascination with building come from.
When I finish showing them everything, we return to the library. My mother looks at the books again. I tell her she may read them if she wishes. She hesitates for a few moments, but I see her eyes begin to shine.
I walk to the shelf, take the book where I recorded my discoveries about meditation, and hand it to her.
"This is what I've discovered about the mind — it's also the first step to learning magic."
Both of them freeze when I finish speaking. My father speaks slowly, as if he does not know which words to use.
"Learning magic? Is it possible to learn it? The stories say you have to have aptitude."
I let out a small laugh.
"Yes, learning magic. The 'aptitude' the stories talk about is nothing more than mental strength — and meditation, or at least my method of meditation, helps with that."
Then I open my arms, trying to project all the scholarly dignity a ten-year-old can manage, and ask:
"So, would you like to learn magic?"