Wand

Meran was surprised as he walked in to the wandmakers shop to see not dozens of wooden beams flying in every direction, shedding layers away as they became the new devices for future magicians, but a few men working meticulously and manually away at a series of work stations, carving down wood, sanding them to shape, carefully examining them for mistakes and weaknesses that would lead them to breaking before their time. If it weren't for the final station, in which the head of the shop was installing them with the feathers of magical creatures which he plucked from the air around him using the newly forged wands, sucking them in through the pores of the oak and willow as though it were only natural for the two substances to become one and the same.

"Expected more magic?" came a voice from behind Meran's shoulder. It made the boy jump, and he quickly turned towards the source of the voice. It was a smaller man, his back slightly hunched over, with a lazy eye that made him look unsettling, though the smile on his face was genuine and kind. "Everyone does. In a place that makes the source of everyone's magic, one would expect much more. But if we were to use our own magic to forge them, it would interfere with their natural buoyancy, so to speak, and weaken their ties to the next plane. It has been tried. It leads to mistakes, mishaps, and misspeech. People get injured. And we prefer for that not to happen."

"But..." Meran was struggling to take in the information. Everything was just so different than what he had expected. He didn't have that many expectations to begin with - he was still coming to terms with his magical powers - and yet this had still caught him off guard. "But what about the feathers?" he asked. "That's being done magically. That doesn't interfere?"

The man smiled and nodded, more so to himself than in response to the question. "A good question," he said, looking over at the final station. "But it's not our magic that's doing it. It's the feather itself, imbued with its own magic, which inserts itself into the wood. It chooses its shape, its material, its home. And when it finds it, it makes its way in on its own. We merely present them and give them the opportunity."

"How do I know which wand to choose?"

That made the man laugh. "I tell you that those feathers choose their homes for their magic, and you think you're going to be the one to choose your wand?"