The Eternal Sketch

Ryo awoke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the academy's high-arched windows. His body ached from the previous day's training, but his mind buzzed with determination. His summons were improving, but stability remained an issue. If he wanted to create powerful beings and maintain them, he needed to push his limits further.

The academy grounds were quiet in the early morning. Most students were still asleep, but Ryo had no time to waste. He made his way to the training grounds where Callus was already waiting, arms crossed as he leaned against a stone pillar.

"Up early again," Callus remarked, nodding approvingly. "Good. You'll need that drive if you want to master your craft."

Ryo stretched his arms. "I don't have a choice. If I can't stabilize my summons, I won't be able to use them in real combat."

Callus pushed off from the pillar and gestured toward the training field. "Then let's get started. Today, we'll focus on endurance. You need to maintain your constructs for longer durations while keeping them functional. Begin."

Ryo took a deep breath, retrieving his brush and ink. He started with something simple—an ink wolf. The creature materialized before him, its black form shifting but stable. It prowled the training grounds, eyes scanning its surroundings.

"Now, keep it active for an hour," Callus instructed.

The first thirty minutes were manageable, but as time passed, Ryo began to feel the strain. The ink wolf's form flickered slightly, and his grip on the brush tightened. He gritted his teeth and pushed through, focusing on the principles Callus had taught him.

Finally, the hour passed. The wolf was still intact, though Ryo's forehead was slick with sweat.

"Good," Callus said. "Now, summon another. Keep them both active."

Ryo hesitated but obeyed, sketching a second creature—a falcon. It emerged from the page, wings beating as it soared into the sky. With two constructs active, the weight on his mind doubled. Maintaining them simultaneously required intense concentration.

Callus nodded. "This is where true mastery begins. It's not enough to create—your creations need to endure."

The next test involved summoning three, then four creatures at once. By the time Ryo reached his fifth construct, his vision blurred, and his body trembled. The wolf faded first, then the falcon. One by one, they all collapsed back into ink.

Ryo collapsed to his knees, panting. "I… I can't hold more than four."

Callus walked over and crouched beside him. "Not yet. But you lasted longer than yesterday."

Ryo clenched his fists. "It's not enough. I need to be able to maintain Hayate at full strength."

Callus's gaze hardened. "Then let's move to the next stage."

----------------------------------

That evening, Callus led Ryo to a secluded part of the academy grounds—a vast chamber used for specialized training. The stone walls were covered in old spell engravings, remnants of past students' experiments.

"I want you to summon Hayate again,"

Callus ordered. "But this time, focus on making him last longer."

Ryo nodded, bringing his brush to the parchment. He carefully outlined Hayate's form—the flowing robes, the sharp katana, the piercing gaze. With a surge of energy, the swordsman took shape before them.

Hayate stepped forward, bowing slightly. "You called, Master?"

Ryo steadied his breath. "Yes. I need you to remain stable for as long as possible."

Hayate nodded, drawing his sword in a slow, practiced motion. He began running through a series of katas, his movements fluid and controlled. At first, everything seemed fine. But after fifteen minutes, Ryo began to feel the weight pressing down on him.

Hayate flickered, his form wavering slightly.

"Hold him!" Callus barked.

Ryo clenched his jaw, pouring more energy into the construct. The flickering stopped, but the strain intensified. Minutes turned into an hour, and by the seventy-minute mark, Ryo's body screamed in protest. Hayate's form finally collapsed, dissolving into a puddle of ink.

Ryo fell back, gasping for breath. "Damn… I still can't hold him long enough."

Callus crossed his arms. "You improved. That's what matters."

Ryo shook his head. "It's not enough."

Callus studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You need to let them think more on their own. The more you try to control every aspect of their existence, the more pressure it puts on you."

Ryo hesitated. "But if I let them act independently, won't that make them harder to manage?"

Callus's expression darkened. "Yes. And that's why you must be careful. The stronger the summon, the more dangerous it is if you lose control."

Ryo swallowed hard. He knew Callus was right. There were risks, but if he wanted to truly master his craft, he had to find the balance.

"Then I'll figure it out," Ryo said firmly. "I won't stop until I can summon Hayate and keep him stable."

Callus smirked. "Good. That's the determination you need."

As the night settled over the academy, Ryo knew he had a long road ahead. But with each passing day, he was growing stronger.

And he wouldn't stop until he reached the pinnacle of his art.

-------------------------------------

Ryo sat in the academy's grand library, surrounded by ancient texts and scrolls. If he was to truly make his constructs more autonomous, he needed to understand the fundamental principles behind it. The books detailed various magical theories—summoning arts, elemental constructs, even forbidden techniques. He read late into the night, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. His mind buzzed with theories, each one more complex than the last. Some texts spoke of golems that could think and act independently, while others warned of creations turning against their masters. The balance between control and freedom was a delicate one.

The next morning, Callus greeted him with a knowing smirk. "Ready to put theory into practice?"

Ryo nodded. "I need to test if I can give my summons limited autonomy without losing control."

They returned to the training grounds, where Ryo began sketching. He envisioned a knight—strong, disciplined, and unwavering in loyalty. With a final stroke, the construct emerged, standing tall with a gleaming ink-forged blade. It held its stance, waiting.

The knight moved, acting on its own, but something was off. It hesitated before taking its first step, and its actions were slow, almost robotic.

Ryo frowned. "It's not thinking for itself… it's just following the last command I gave it."

Callus observed carefully. "That's because it lacks true instinct. Try again, but this time, don't just give it a command—give it purpose."

Ryo inhaled deeply, focusing on the essence of a knight—a protector, a warrior, a guardian. He infused those concepts into his ink. This time, when the knight emerged, it raised its blade with confidence. It surveyed its surroundings, as if assessing threats. When Ryo stepped forward, the knight instinctively adjusted, positioning itself between him and Callus.

Ryo's eyes widened. "It's… learning."

Callus nodded. "Good. But now comes the real challenge—maintaining that autonomy without losing control."

Over the next few hours, Ryo continued experimenting, summoning creatures and humanoid figures with varying degrees of independence. Each attempt was a delicate balance—too much control, and they became stiff puppets; too much autonomy, and they began to act unpredictably.

He created birds that flew in formation but dissolved when they lost direction. Wolves that followed his commands but grew restless when left alone. Even a simple merchant construct he designed struggled to negotiate unless he directly willed it to act.

The physical and mental strain mounted.

Every new experiment drained his energy faster than the last. His head ached, his fingers trembled, and his ink reserves dwindled. But he pushed forward. He needed to understand the intricacies of true creation.

As evening fell, Callus clapped a hand on Ryo's shoulder. "You've made progress, but remember—true mastery isn't about power alone. It's about knowing when to guide and when to let go."

Ryo nodded, exhaustion creeping in. He sat back, watching the last of his creations fade away into ink. Today had been a step forward, but he knew the journey ahead would be even harder. He had learned how to make his constructs think. Now, he needed to ensure they would always remain under his control.

Tomorrow, he would try again.

And he would not stop until he perfected them.