The night air was cool. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh grass. The sky stretched above us, deep and endless, speckled with stars.

Chia stood at the doorway, arms folded, rocking on her heels. She wasn’t leaving yet. Not really.

She was stalling.

I leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

Finally, she spoke.

“Hey, Akul…be honest. Do you think I’m weird?”

I blinked. “…What?”

She huffed, turning to face me fully. “I said, do you think I’m weird?”

That wasn’t what I expected.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean… yeah. Obviously.”

"Ouch..."

Her fist hit my arm way too fast.

“Akul! You’re supposed to comfort me, not make fun of me!”

I laughed, shaking out my arm. “Ow, okay, okay! Relax, will you?”

She pouted.

I smirked. “Besides, you walked right into that one.”

Another punch.

I sighed. “Alright, alright. What’s this about? Is it… the way you cultivate?”

She hesitated. “…Maybe.”

I studied her face. She wasn’t just being dramatic this time. Something was bothering her.

I leaned back, thinking. “Why do you care as long as it works?”

She let out a small sigh. “I don’t know. I just… I do.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then—

“…How do you cultivate?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how did you create your Beast Space?”

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

I shrugged. “My father taught me to visualize myself as a painter. When I cultivate, I imagine a brush in my hands, and I use mana to paint the space inside my artifact. That’s how I shape it. That’s how I build it.”

She blinked, eyes widening. “That’s so cool.”

I smirked. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Show-off.”

Then, her expression dimmed slightly.

“…Sadly, my dad doesn’t have a technique like that.”

I frowned.

Chia’s family was different from mine. Her parents were awakened, sure—but they were commoners. They never went to an academy. Never had elite training. Their contracts were simple, and their traits weren’t particularly special.

Her father had a D-grade trait. Her mother, an E-grade trait.

Neither of them had the knowledge or resources to teach her advanced techniques.

And she knew that.

I stayed quiet.

She exhaled, staring up at the sky. “That’s why I want to go to the academy.”

I glanced at her.

She wasn’t just saying it. She meant it.

“I want to learn,” she continued. “I want to get stronger. I want to see what’s out there—what’s beyond this city.” Her hands curled into small fists. “I don’t want to stay here forever, Akul.”

I nodded slowly. “Then go for it.”

She looked at me, startled.

I shrugged. “If that’s what you want, then do it.”

She hesitated. “…There’s an academy open day next month, right?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “You should go. Check out what each academy has to offer. You can even apply for enrollment.”

She bit her lip.

Then—

“Would you come with me?”

I tensed.

The question was casual. Simple.

But something in her voice made it feel heavier.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

I exhaled, looking away. “I don’t know.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I have plans.”

She stayed quiet.

“I don’t know if an academy fits into them,” I admitted.

Still, silence.

But then—

I nudged her. “Hey.”

She glanced at me.

I smirked. “You never know. Maybe we’ll see each other there anyway.”

She let out a small chuckle. “Yeah. Maybe.”

I grinned. “Besides, no matter what, we’ll always be friends, right?”

She blinked.

For a moment, she didn’t respond.

Then—

“…Yeah.”

She repeated the words softly, almost like she was testing how they tasted.

But something about the way she said it wasn’t happy.

It was… something else.

I didn’t think much of it.

Instead, I patted her shoulder. “Chia, you’re my best friend. No matter where you go, you’ll always have a place here. That’s never gonna change.”

She smiled.

Happy. But sad.

I didn’t get it.

And before I could ask—

“Alright! I should go before my dad sends out a search party.” She spun on her heel, flashing a grin. “Goodnight, Akul!”

And just like that, she was gone.

I watched her go, exhaling slowly.

Something about that conversation stuck with me.

I wasn’t sure what.

But for now—

I shook my head.

It was time to cultivate.

The magic light flickered softly against the walls of my room. Shadows danced, stretching and shifting as I sat cross-legged on my bed, grimoire hovering before me.

I exhaled, closing my eyes.

Focus.

Mana flowed through my veins, feeding into the visualization—the same visualization I had done hundreds of times before.

The grimoire took shape in my mind. The cover, smooth yet firm beneath my fingers. The spine, stitched with precision. The pages, crisp, unmarked yet infinite in potential.

Perfect.

My artifact was perfect.

And yet—

Something was wrong.

I could feel it.

No matter how many times I visualized it, no matter how much mana I poured into refining its presence, my artifact wouldn’t reach its next stage.

It was stuck.

I was stuck.

A cycle. A loop.

Over and over and over—

Frustration flared in my chest. My concentration wavered, the image in my mind flickering. My mana rippled, destabilizing.

I exhaled sharply, and like that I lost my visualization.

Why?

Why wasn’t it enough?

I had done everything right. Hadn’t I?

So why wasn’t it complete yet?

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.

I blinked, glancing toward the door just as it creaked open.

Father stepped inside, silent as ever. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.

He just pulled up a chair and sat down.

Waiting.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “You’re going to say something, aren’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to?”

I let out a humorless chuckle. “Guess not.”

His gaze flicked to my artifact—still hovering in the air, pages shifting restlessly.

“You’re frustrated,” he noted.

I huffed. “Yeah. No kidding.”

He leaned back, arms crossing. “Tell me.”

I hesitated. Then—

“I don’t get it,” I admitted. “I’ve been visualizing my artifact every day. I know every detail of it. Every page, every stitch, every texture. It’s perfect. But it won’t move forward. It won't reach its true materialization.

Father didn’t react immediately. He just watched me. Studied me.

Then—he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, he asked, “Which is easier—building a house from scratch or finishing one that’s already half-built?”

I blinked. “Uh… finishing, right?”

Father smiled faintly. “Wrong.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How does that make any sense?”

It's because you're missing the point.

"If you build a house from scratch, you know its foundation. You know where every brick goes. But if you inherit a half-built house? You don’t know its weaknesses. You don’t know if it’s stable or if someone else’s mistakes are hidden inside it. Finishing it is harder than starting fresh."

I stared at him. “…Okay, and?”

He tapped his finger against the arm of his chair. “Your grimoire is at the semi-manifestation stage. When it first took form, it was also at the same stage. Meaning—it wasn’t built from scratch.”

Realization clicked.

“It’s… half-built.”

Father nodded. “And now, you’re trying to finish something that wasn’t fully your own from the start.”

"Son, Each summoner possesses a unique artifact that emerges from their soul based on their personality, willpower, and desires."

"Some artifacts are inherited through bloodlines, while others are born from personal experiences, dreams, or even traumas."

"Some purely from ones nightmares."

I couldn’t accept that. “But I know it. I’ve been cultivating it every day. I’ve visualized every part of it.”

Father tilted his head slightly. “Really?”

I hesitated.

“…What’s on the hundredth page?” he asked.

I opened my mouth—then stopped.

He continued. “What’s the exact thickness of the cover? How many fibers make up the binding? How does the spine feel when it bends? How much weight does it have in your hand? The true weight, not just the one you imagine?”

I stared at him.

I knew the general shape. The structure. The appearance.

But the details?

The depth?

I swallowed.

Father leaned forward. “You’re looking at your artifact with your eyes, Akul. But an artifact isn’t just a tool. It’s not something you own.”

His gaze sharpened.

“It’s part of you.”

His words settled deep in my chest.

A quiet weight.

“If you closed your eyes right now,” he continued, “could you feel every corner of it? Every inch? Every imperfection?"

"Could you be the artifact?”

I clenched my fists.

“You’re trying to shape something outside of yourself,” he said. “But your artifact isn’t separate from you. It’s an extension of your soul. If you can’t find yourself inside of it—if you can’t become it—then you’ll never reach the next stage.”

I exhaled slowly.

Father leaned back. “That’s why reaching Bronze Rank is difficult. Finding a beast is easy. Making a contract? Doable. With the right resources, even the weakest can summon something powerful.”

He met my gaze.

“But developing yourself? Strengthening the foundation of who you are? Understanding your own soul and materializing it into an artifact? That’s the hard part.”

I stayed quiet.

“Most people can’t even accept who they truly are,” he murmured. “And that’s why they never make it past Common Rank.”

I swallowed, who i truly was?

Father stood up, stretching slightly. “Your cultivation isn’t just about closing your eyes and playing with mana. Dig deeper. Find yourself. Then—put what you find into your artifact.”

He placed a hand on my head, ruffling my hair lightly. “You’ll get there, kid. Remember, put yourself into the artifact.”

I scoffed. “Since when do you give pep talks?”

He smirked. “Since my reckless son decided to overwork himself trying to force progress instead of understanding it.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

He chuckled, turning toward the door. “Good.”

Just before leaving, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Your mother told me about Chia’s cultivation method.”

I blinked. “Chia?”

He nodded. “The way she approached it… it was instinctual. She didn’t overthink it, didn’t try to force it. She just did what felt right.”

I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“She created her own way, without even realizing it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Where most would struggle, hesitate, or second-guess, she just did. It wasn’t about techniques or following steps—it was natural. Like breathing.”

I exhaled, shaking my head. “That’s just how she is, I guess.”

Father chuckled. “That’s exactly why it worked. She didn’t stop to wonder if it was right—she just made it hers. That’s rare, Akul.” He gave me a pointed look. “She’s a natural.”

I scowled. He laughed.

“One advice, stop thinking of cultivation as a chore.” His voice was quieter now, but firm. “It’s not about what you create. It’s about who you become.”

The door shut behind him.

I sat there.

Thinking.

Then, slowly, I looked at my artifact.

Really looked at it.

And for the first time—

I stopped trying to force my artifact into being something I imagined.

Instead, I let it show me what it truly was.