Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to be a magician. Not a stage or trick magician, but a real magician. He didn't actually know this until he was an adult or whatever he became, but even as a boy he found magic everywhere. In caterpillars that became butterflies, in physics and flying, in June bugs and bats around night streetlights, and in stories--not only what the stories told but that there were such things as stories--and in the stars and that there could be stars and summer and grass and happy dogs and wild running and jumping days, and songs.

His real name can't be told because it's magic, so he's called Receiver, since he sought to receive all the knowledge of life that he could, and since he was already receiver of much of its wonder.

True tongued in two worlds,
one the fantasy of real
one the hope of ideal,
wishes climb my back,
endanger me with
impossible want.

Still ruled by my mysteries,
driving darkward,
I ride their flames,
driving lightward.

As he grew, he searched in all kinds of magic, both of science and soul, and greatened his skill. Exploring in the magic of spirits, he found a book on white magic written by an ancient magician that gave him his first great power.

But it was a power over devils and demons, so he then worked out how to change the spells, and found that with a pure heart and intent he could call up the angels, and they would help him change things and himself, and even let him dare some special creations and transformations, when he could withstand this blinding power.