The Eternal Sketch

The weight of his trial still lingered in Ryo's body as he returned to the academy grounds. Though he had succeeded in stabilizing the anomaly, the experience had left him with more questions than answers. His ink magic had interacted with the corruption in ways he had never anticipated. If he was to truly master his abilities, he needed to understand the fundamental nature of his power—what it could do and, more importantly, what it could become.

As the morning sun cast long shadows across the academy's stone pathways, Callus walked beside him in silence. The former warrior-turned-instructor had observed everything, yet he had spoken little since their return. Ryo could sense there was something on his mind.

Finally, Callus broke the silence. "That trial was only the beginning. You controlled the anomaly, but you still lack the ability to create something stable on your own."

Ryo frowned. "You mean my summons?"

Callus nodded. "Your ink-born creations are still fragile. They rely too much on your focus and energy. If you ever hope to use them effectively in real battle, they need to be able to function independently—at least to some degree."

Ryo thought back to Hayate, the swordsman he had summoned before. Hayate was his most stable creation, but maintaining him took an immense toll on Ryo's concentration. Even a minor lapse could cause him to unravel. If he wanted to summon more powerful beings in the future, he needed to overcome this limitation.

"How do I fix that?" Ryo asked.

Callus crossed his arms. "By experimenting. Testing your limits. You have to push yourself beyond simple sketches and instinct. You need to learn the structure of what you create—the way life itself forms. That's the only way to give your summons true stability."

The words settled deep into Ryo's thoughts. He had always treated his ability like drawing on a page, but if Callus was right, then it was far more intricate than that. It wasn't just about summoning a shape—it was about crafting an existence.

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That afternoon, Ryo stood in an empty training field within the academy grounds. The area was secluded, far from the main courtyard, and often used for advanced spellcasting exercises. The perfect place for him to push his limits without distractions.

Callus observed from the sidelines, his sharp gaze never leaving Ryo's movements. "Start with something simple. An animal."

Ryo nodded, pulling out his brush and sketchbook. He thought for a moment before settling on a small, common creature—a bird. He dipped his brush into the ink and began sketching. The form was simple, yet elegant—sharp wings, a streamlined body, piercing eyes. As the final stroke connected, he channeled his magic into the page.

The bird fluttered to life, lifting off the paper in a flurry of black ink. It soared into the air, wings beating naturally. For a moment, Ryo felt a spark of satisfaction. But then, just as before, the magic began to waver.

The bird flickered, its form distorting as if something unseen was pulling at it. Within seconds, it collapsed into streaks of ink, vanishing into the air.

Ryo cursed under his breath. "Still unstable."

Callus stepped forward. "You're focusing too much on form, not function. Think—what makes a bird a bird? What allows it to fly, to survive?"

Ryo furrowed his brow. "Wings? Hollow bones?"

Callus nodded. "And what about instinct? Awareness? A creature doesn't exist in isolation—it has a purpose. You need to give it one."

Ryo took a deep breath and tried again. This time, he didn't just focus on the shape of the bird, but the feeling of a bird in motion. He imagined it flying freely, reacting to the wind, searching for food. He poured those ideas into his ink.

The bird emerged once more, but this time, it was different. It hovered in place, its head tilting curiously. It did not flicker or distort. It remained.

Ryo exhaled in relief. "It's working…"

Callus smirked. "Now keep it that way."

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Over the next few days, Ryo continued his experiments, each time pushing himself further. He created different creatures—small mammals, fish, even insects. Each one required him to refine his control, to understand the nature of their existence beyond mere ink.

But the real challenge came when he attempted to summon something humanoid.

Hayate.

The ink swordsman was his greatest creation so far, but he had never managed to keep him stable for more than a few minutes. The energy drain was immense, and each time, Hayate would eventually dissolve back into ink.

"Try again," Callus ordered as they stood in the training field.

Ryo gritted his teeth and focused. His brush moved with precision, sketching every detail—the sharp eyes, the flowing robes, the blade that rested in its sheath. He channeled his magic into the ink, willing it into reality.

Hayate emerged, standing before him in full form.

For a moment, Ryo felt the familiar strain, the weight of maintaining the summon pressing down on him. But he forced himself to focus. He tried to recall the lessons he had learned, the principles of stability and instinct.

Hayate turned his head slightly, looking at Ryo. Then, to Ryo's astonishment, he spoke.

"You've improved."

Ryo nearly dropped his brush. "You… you can talk?"

Hayate nodded, his expression calm but serious. "You gave me awareness. A purpose. And because of that, I can act on my own."

Callus let out a low chuckle. "Now that is progress."

Ryo was elated, but his excitement was short-lived. The strain began to grow unbearable. Hayate's form wavered, and within moments, he disintegrated back into ink.

Ryo fell to one knee, panting. "Damn… still not enough."

Callus sighed. "You're improving, but you're still overextending. The more independent your creations are, the harder they are to maintain. There's a reason most ink-users never go beyond simple constructs."

Ryo looked up. "Then how do I fix it?"

Callus's expression darkened. "You don't. At least, not entirely."

Ryo frowned. "What do you mean?"

Callus sat down on a nearby bench, arms crossed. "There's a danger in making your creations too independent. If you give them full autonomy, they become harder to control. There have been cases where powerful constructs turned against their creators. Some even outlived them."

Ryo swallowed hard. "So… you're saying I shouldn't make them fully independent?"

Callus nodded. "Not yet. Your body is still that of a mortal, Ryo. You're not a god. If you lose control over a powerful summon, it could mean your death."

The warning hit Ryo hard. He had never considered the true risks of his magic. But now, he understood—this wasn't just about mastering ink. It was about maintaining control.

He clenched his fists. "Then I'll find a balance. I won't stop until I can create something that's both stable and loyal."

Callus smirked. "Good. That's the right mindset."

As the sun set over the academy, Ryo knew that his journey was far from over. But now, he had a clearer path forward.

And he would walk it to the very end.