Everyone had their own theory about why Joakim Dufer couldn't use magic. Most of them believed God rejected him, which was rather an easy guess since magic came from Him, but they couldn't answer the question that followed: why did the good Lord turned his back on the poor boy? Because he committed a grave sin? If that was the case, how come all those criminals who did horrible things could still use magic? Besides, what could a child possibly do to upset God as much?

Joakim was six when he discovered his disability. He and his father Arthur went to the Tony's Wands for kids, a boutique offering the greatest variety of the products in the city of Tarba, to buy him a wand before entering the academy. When he stepped inside the store and saw loads of glossy wands displayed on the walls, his heart overflowed with excitement at the thought of becoming one day an inspector as his grandfather.

"A wand for the future inspector, please," said Arthur, his hand on his son's head.

Joakim ran his eyes over the wands until they stopped at the little beauty of dark brown color with its carved handle in the form of dragon head. He raised his arm and pointed to it, mesmerized by its glamorous look. Tony, the shop owner, put on his white gloves and took the wand off the wall.

"DR-110, the best-selling model of the Draco line," said Tony, "the core made of dragon oil in the shell of Goolian walnut tree."

Tony continued his presentation for another few minutes, but Joakim stopped listening after 'dragon oil.'

"Do you like it?" asked Arthur.

Joakim adored it, but he was reluctant to answer as the wand looked quite expensive to his six-year-old eyes.

"No? You don't like it?"

"Yes, yes," replied Joakim hurriedly, "but…"

"But what?"

"It looks expensive," he murmured.

"Hey." Arthur gave him a serious look. "I didn't ask you if it looked expensive or not. I asked you if you liked it. Do you like it or not?"

'It's made of dragon oil, how could anyone not like it?' thought Joakim, nodding.

"How much?" asked Arthur, sounding confident.

"Seven hundred and twenty."

The number made Joakim's heart sink. His parents had to give up the idea of buying a new laundry machine due to its excessive price, and it was around three hundred zeppis.

"We'll take it," said Arthur.

"Dad, are you sure?!"

"Sure and certain."

"Wait, wait, let me check the linkage first." Tony held out the wand towards Joakim with a smile. "Since that's what really matters. Go on, hold it gently."

The level of linkage would be shown through the light emitted by the wand in Joakim's bare hand: the brighter the light, the higher the level. When Joakim carefully laid his hand on the DR-110, Tony furrowed his brow as there was no light coming out of it at all.

"Is it broken?" asked Arthur, taking off his gloves. "May I?"

As soon as he touched the wand, it shined softly but distinctively.

"No, it's not." Arthur handed it over to his son. "Try again."

Joakim took it over and the wand lost its golden glow immediately becoming an exquisite wooden stick.

"Why?!"

"It's rare but it happens," explained Tony, feeling sorry for the boy. "Don't worry, no need to panic. We'll find the right one for you. I have plenty of excellent pieces you would appreciate."

Tony did have plenty of excellent wands in his shop. There was the Polaris-V, for example, the model inspired by the wand of Polaris Skaat, the legendary wizard master of the Penheim. Or the Zinox-30, the oldest model fabricated by the Church, named after one of the head angels in the Bible. All those models Tony presented one after another were more than good enough for a six-year-old boy who were about to set his foot on the world of magic. The problem was they all refused Joakim to be their owner. After almost an hour of presentation, Tony finally surrendered as there was no wand left on the wall.

"I don't understand," said Tony after trying the last wand, Lolozulu-13. "Throughout twenty-four years of my career, I've never seen or heard of any case like this."

"Son, don't worry." Arthur patted Joakim on the shoulder. "You only need one right wand for you, and we'll find it. We won't go back home until we do, okay? I promise."

After visiting a few more shops, Joakim wanted to go back home as he was tired and started losing interest, but his father insisted to keep his promise.

"No, Joakim, we must find your wand. It's very important. Do you understand?"

It was almost eight p.m. when they returned to their apartment empty handed. Joakim ran right towards the dinner table, happy to liberate himself from his father who made him uncomfortable by being unusually serious and quiet on their way home. Perrine noticed at once the grave look on his husband's face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"We have a problem."

Since that day, Joakim and his father-along with a few wand dealers in Tarba started their quest to find that one right wand. Every Sunday afternoon after the church, the father and the son went around the stores in the city to see if there was any new arrival. They also traveled once a month to Leosedes, the capital of the Southern Alliance, where they could find all sorts of wands fabricated in the continent. The quest continued until they realized it might not be the wands who refused Joakim but the magic itself.

"You should pray," said Jemma, every time she saw her grandson. "That's the only solution."

Joakim prayed he would find his wand so that he could become an inspector and protect good people. But after fifteen years of beseeching, it turned out that the wand wasn't indispensable to become an inspector if the person had a grandfather who sacrificed himself to serve the city.

"I told you," said Jemma when Joakim announced her the good news. "God's looking after you. He loves you."

"If he does indeed, grandma, why doesn't he just help me find my wand?" asked Joakim. "That would've been much easier for me and probably for him too. Don't you agree?"

"He knows what's best for us."

'That's why he took grandpa away so soon?' he thought secretly.

"Only God knows."