Brandon hated his job. Six years of school and now he stands beside a conveyor belt and casts simple creation spells from nine to five every day. Sure, him and five others could easily do the work that a hundred machines could do in a day, and sure the pay was pretty good, but Brandon longed for more than creating toys.

His mother had once told him a tale of his great great great grandfather the mechanic. He was a man with the mind of a genius. He could masterfully take something (anything!) and disassemble it and put it back together! He had also heard tale of barbaric men who would cut people apart all in an effort to make them well. It was all rather difficult for him to imagine, a world without magic. But oh, what a strange and beautiful world it must have been.

A quiet series of bells began to play and the room tidied itself up, it must have been quitting time. With the flick of his wand his lunch pale sprouted legs and followed him to his designated flight zone.

Brandon really hated his job.