The classroom was quiet now, filled with the scent of old parchment and faint traces of residual mana. Corven sat at his desk, watching the teacher move among the students, demonstrating the delicate balance of power needed to craft a simple object.
To be a Maker means more than just magic—it means understanding how every element of creation fits together.
First, there's mana—the raw energy flowing through every living thing, the air, and even the earth itself.
The teacher held up a small glass vial containing a swirling, glowing mist. "This is pure mana essence, the lifeblood of creation."
Mana alone isn't enough. You need ingredients—materials that correspond to your genre and the item you want to create.
For example, a Life Maker might need fresh herbs and water, while a Tool Maker requires metals and wood.
But ingredients by themselves won't create anything. You need knowledge—the deep understanding of what the ingredient is, how it reacts to mana, and how to shape it.
The teacher waved his hand, and a small blade of grass transformed into a glowing dagger, humming softly with power.
Every creation is a delicate dance of energy, matter, and willpower.
Corven thought of his own strange genre. How could he use ingredients and knowledge to bring his anime-inspired creations to life? What ingredients could possibly represent worlds and heroes from another reality?
This is the true challenge of a Maker.
Creation Magic isn't just casting spells.It's a precise science, an art, and a philosophy combined.
In this world, mana is the invisible thread weaving life and matter together. It flows through the ground beneath your feet, the air that brushes your skin, and the blood that pumps through your veins. Without mana, nothing can be created—no tool, no creature, no food.
But raw mana is wild and unstable. To harness it, a Maker needs ingredients—physical materials tied to their genre. These ingredients act as a foundation, a canvas on which mana's energy paints creation.
For example:
A Life Maker might use herbs, animal parts, or even drops of blood to craft a living creature or heal wounds.
A Tool Maker needs metals, wood, and stones to shape swords, machines, or vehicles.
A Food Maker works with fruits, spices, and grains to create dishes that can nourish or grant effects.
The Bird Mythology Makers—like the Blackfeather family's true genre—require feathers, bones, or even the essence of legendary birds.
But Corven's anime genre?It's different. It's a genre with no physical history here. No scrolls, no herbs, no known ingredients.
Then there's knowledge—the deep understanding of how ingredients and mana interact, how to shape energy with precise gestures, spoken formulas, and the right timing. Without knowledge, ingredients are just objects, and mana is just a storm.
Knowledge is passed down through ancient scrolls, tutors, and practice. It's why the academy is so important—it's the crucible where knowledge meets mana.
The problem?Most knowledge here assumes your genre fits the world's accepted categories.Corven's anime genre lacks any reference material.He must find or invent the knowledge himself.
Lastly, there's the individual's mana capacity and control—how much raw power they can wield and how precisely they can direct it. High mana lets you create bigger, stronger, or more complex things. Low mana limits your range but not necessarily your creativity.
Corven was weak in mana.But if he could combine that with unique ingredients and knowledge from the memories he carried, maybe he could break the rules.
The teacher's lecture wound down, his voice softening as the last rays of afternoon light filtered through the cracked windows.
"Remember," he said, "creation is not just power—it's patience, knowledge, and respect for your craft. You all have a long road ahead."
As students gathered their things and murmured among themselves, Corven stayed seated a moment longer. The weight of the lesson settled on him like a familiar cloak.
This is just the beginning.The path ahead won't be easy, but it's mine to walk.
Outside the classroom, the murmurs followed him—some curious, most doubtful.
Corven stepped into the corridor, tightening his grip on his notebook. Tomorrow would bring more challenges, but also chances.
For now, he walked forward.
The academy halls buzzed with energy as students poured out of classrooms, their voices echoing against high stone walls. Corven followed the flow, clutching his notebook tightly.
"Dormitories," a nearby student muttered, pointing toward a towering wing of the building. "Every Maker gets their own room here. No sharing—unless you want to be distracted."
Corven's footsteps echoed on the cold floor as he made his way to the dormitory entrance. The doors, heavy and carved with ancient runes, swung open with a soft creak.
Inside, rows of modest rooms stretched down the corridor. Each was small but functional—stone walls, a bed, a desk, and a small window overlooking the academy grounds.
Corven's assigned room was near the end of the hall. The door was plain, marked only with his name and class: C-9.
He pushed it open and stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of old books and dust. The bed was neatly made, the desk bare except for a single candle holder.
A small world of my own.A place to think, to plan, to create.
He set down his bag and pulled out his notebook, flipping to a blank page. The memories from another world flickered in his mind — heroes, battles, and stories yet untold.
A soft knock came at the door.
Corven turned, curious.
A girl's head peeked in — a fellow C-9 student with keen eyes and a friendly smile.
"Hey, you're the Blackfeather kid, right? Corven?" she asked.
He nodded cautiously.
"I'm Elira. If you need help around here, or just someone not to ignore you, come find me."