It was Day 14. Two weeks since the summoning.
The Mage Tower was buzzing with energy. Sayaka Minori had mastered [Mana Bolt]. Hanae Igarashi could now hold a barrier for five minutes straight. Even Rika, terrified as she was, had learned to cloak her presence well enough to steal an apple from the cafeteria without the lunch lady noticing.
But Noa Yukimura sat in the center of the summoning circle, surrounded by chalk runes and expensive crystals, feeling absolutely nothing.
"Focus, Initiate," Master Elara commanded, her voice patient but strained. "Reach out with your mind. Feel the pulse of the Spirit Realm. Offer your mana as a contract."
Noa closed her eyes. She felt the mana. It was there—a hum in the air, thick and heavy like static electricity. But when she pushed it toward the circle... nothing answered. No beast. No spirit. Just the empty whistle of the wind.
"Still nothing?" one of the other instructors whispered. "Her Mana Capacity is high. Why is the Spirit Realm rejecting her?"
"Maybe she has no affinity," another muttered.
Noa opened her sleepy, dark eyes. She stood up, dusting off her skirt. She didn't look angry. She didn't look sad. She just looked… bored.
"I'm done for today," Noa said quietly.
"Initiate, we have another hour of—"
"I said I'm done," Noa repeated, grabbing her bag. She walked out of the training hall, ignoring the whispers.
"Noa, wait!" Ayaka called out, jogging to catch up. The Saintess looked worried, her long dark hair flowing behind her. "Don't let them get to you. Summoning is the hardest school. It takes time."
"I'm fine, Ayaka," Noa said, adjusting her headphones around her neck. "I'm not upset."
"Do you want to come with us?" Mei asked, popping up behind Ayaka. "We're going to practice combative magic. You could watch?"
Noa looked at them. They were trying so hard to be nice. It was exhausting.
"No thanks," Noa said. "I'm going to find a view."
She left them in the corridor and climbed. She went past the dorms, past the library, all the way to the highest accessible point of the East Spire—an open-air observatory used for stargazing.
It was empty.
Noa walked to the edge and sat on the stone railing, her legs dangling over a drop that would definitely kill her. The wind whipped at her pale skin and messed up her dark hair, but she didn't care.
The view was breathtaking.
Below her, the Royal Gardens spread out like a quilt of emerald and gold. Beyond the walls, the city of Eldoria was waking up, smoke rising from chimneys. And above... the Shattered Moon, Lua. A broken white crescent hanging in the violet-blue sky, bleeding faint sparkles of dust into the atmosphere.
Noa reached into her bag. She didn't pull out a wand or a grimoire.
She pulled out a sketchbook, a set of paints, and a brush.
"Stupid magic," she muttered, dipping her brush into a jar of water. "Stupid contracts."
She began to paint.
She didn't use mana. she just used her hand. She painted the curve of the horizon. She painted the jagged edge of the floating islands in the distance. She painted the way the light hit the castle spires.
For the first time all day, the tightness in her chest loosened. The world made sense when she put it on paper. It was controllable. Orderly.
Woof.
Noa paused. She looked down over the railing. Far below, in the gardens, a small stray dog—a scruffy, golden-furred terrier—was chasing a butterfly. It was barking happily, tripping over its own paws.
Noa watched it for a long time. It looked so free. It didn't have a Class. It didn't have to fight a Demon Lord. It was just a dog.
A small smile touched Noa's lips.
She dipped her brush into the yellow ochre and burnt sienna. On her canvas, right in the corner of the painted garden, she added the dog.
She painted its scruffy fur. She painted its wet nose. She painted the happy tilt of its tail. She poured her focus into it, remembering the texture of a dog she used to have back on Earth. The warmth. The loyalty.
I wish you were here, Noa thought, adding a final highlight to the dog's eye. I wish I had a friend who didn't ask me about my stats.
She didn't realize she was doing it.
As she painted, the ambient mana in the air—the "God Blood" Prince Valerius had talked about—began to swirl toward her. But it didn't enter her body. It flowed down her arm, into the brush, and soaked into the canvas.
The paint began to shimmer.
"There," Noa whispered, lifting her brush. "Done."
The dog on the canvas blinked.
Noa froze. She stared at the paper.
The painted dog shook its body, sending tiny droplets of wet paint flying off the canvas. Then, it looked up at Noa, wagged its tail, and barked.
Yip!
It wasn't a sound of vocal cords. It sounded like the swish of a brush against paper, but it was unmistakably a bark.
Then, the impossible happened.
The dog stepped forward. Not on the paper. Out of it.
First a paw, dripping with golden ink, stepped into the air. Then the head. Then the body. The 2D image peeled itself off the canvas and inflated into a 3D form. It landed on the stone floor of the balcony with a wet splat.
It stood there—a dog made entirely of swirling, vibrant oil paint. Its fur looked like thick brushstrokes. Its eyes were drops of glossy black ink.
"Woof!" the Paint-Dog barked again, jumping up and putting its paws on Noa's knees. It felt cool and wet, but it didn't stain her clothes. It felt... alive.
Noa stared at it, her mouth slightly open. "What...?"
"Incredible," a voice breathed.
Noa spun around. Master Elara and Prince Valerius were standing at the entrance to the observatory. They had been looking for her. Now, they were staring at the Ink Dog with wide eyes.
"I..." Noa stood up, shielding the dog. "I didn't mean to! I was just painting!"
Prince Valerius walked forward slowly, his eyes locked on the creature. He reached out a hand. The Ink Dog sniffed him, leaving a small smudge of yellow paint on the Prince's finger, then licked his hand.
"It has mass," Valerius whispered. "It has behavior. But it has no soul."
"It's a Construct," Master Elara said, adjusting her glasses, looking stunned. "But... she didn't use a transmutation circle. She didn't use a golem core. She just... drew it."
Valerius looked at Noa. "You failed the Summoning Rituals because you were trying to call something from the Spirit Realm. But your soul... your [Summoner] title... it isn't about calling."
Valerius smiled, a look of genuine fascination on his face. "You possess Origin Mana. The mana of Chaos. In our world, magic follows rules. Fire burns. Water flows. But you... you are from a world where magic is imagination."
"I don't understand," Noa whispered. The Paint-Dog sat at her feet, wagging its brushstroke tail.
"You don't need to contract monsters, Noa Yukimura," Valerius said softly. "You are a Creator. You impose your imagination onto reality. If you can paint it... and if you have the mana to sustain it... you can bring it to life."
Noa looked down at the dog. It nudged her hand, wanting to be petted. She reached down, sinking her fingers into the thick, swirling paint. It felt solid. It felt real.
She wasn't rejected by the world. She just had to draw her own.
"A Creator..." Noa murmured. A rare, genuine smile broke across her face—the first one since she arrived in Altherion.
"Can I keep him?" Noa asked.
Master Elara sighed, but she was smiling too. "We'll have to figure out how to feed a dog made of oil paint... but yes. I suppose you can."
Noa picked up the Ink Dog. It nuzzled against her neck, leaving a streak of gold on her skin.
"I'll call you Gouache," Noa whispered.
For the first time in two weeks, the [Summoner] didn't feel alone.