Chapter 41: Magician Maya (4)
Maya's father was a skilled painter. He said he used to paint signs for theaters before he met Maya's mother. He had always looked down on magic, believing that it couldn't provide true enchantment.
Annoyed by his attitude, Maya's mother unleashed all sorts of terrifying illusions on him when they first met. She claimed it was their first encounter. Whenever people asked if they were dating, both the painter and the witch dismissed it as nonsense.
However, both of them were accustomed to creating something out of nothing. So, they spent three years together creating what they considered their magnum opus.
Seventeen years had passed since that artwork was unveiled.
Maya gazed at a lump of mud-colored substance squirming in her palm. It imitated the behaviour of a cat she used to raise. Its awkward movements, stretching its neck while wagging its tail, reminded her of her childhood pet. But judging by its appearance, no one could immediately recognize it as a cat.
Onlookers thought her crude creation was a whimsical circus act.
After the jokes subsided, they expected her to reveal a real cat hidden inside the dough-like exterior.
However, Maya disappointed their expectations. Windmills, carriages, swingsshe created these surreal sculptures one after another. People couldn't fathom her intentions because there were no hints of a cat's meowing like before.
"It's finished," she declared with a chillingly indifferent tone.
Only then did people realize this was her best work. Disappointment rippled through the crowd, and some made rude comments.
"Why didn't she become an actress with that face?"
"Well, she can't do much besides playing with dolls."
Maya felt her anger rise but kept her composure. She never showed her emotions outwardly.
She quietly tidied up her creations. The circus performers, who had openly criticized her earlier, exchanged knowing glances and left without a word.
No art critic takes a child's scribbles seriously, meticulously analysing line and shading.
Maya looked at the cat in her hand with sad eyes.
"I'm sorry. I still can't give substance to my illusions. Actually, I can't even create proper illusions."
The cat gazed back at her, seeming curious why its owner didn't pet it, as if wondering about her intentions.
There was no reliance or soul within the illusion.
Every action it took was created by her will. It was as if each movement of the illusion was carefully extracted from the cat she had raised. Maya remembered every detail about the cat: its ears, tail, pupils, fur, colour, and even the tiny details finer than grains of sand. But she couldn't recreate it as a illusion.
It held too much detailed information and an unclear perception of "form," both of which were shackles on her creativity.
Magic is a field belonging to the realm of mysticism.
It exists in the middle ground between the tangible world of substance and the realm of ideas within the mind.
When a mage who manipulates the element of ice uses magic, they never think, 'Lower the temperature to below freezing to condense moisture.' Instead, they rely on the concept within their mind, 'Freeze,' and infuse it with their magical power, manifesting the actual freezing of ice.
If you were to ask why this happens, there would be no suitable answer.
Even the mages who use magic themselves didn't really know.
At the academy, various theories were periodically presented, but in reality, no one thought about these theories when using magic. It was the realm of scholars and those concerned with such matters.
Magic was a discipline rooted in mysticism.
Magic was a skill passed down through generations.
Magic was an enlightenment through experience.
Even the concept of 'illusion' in illusion magic belonged to the realm of mysticism.
Maya couldn't understand any of it.
'Maya, can you turn this into a illusion then?'
The teacher at the academy brought out a canvas. On it was a beautiful, multi-coloured flower garden.
All eyes in the classroom were fixed on Maya. It was natural for everyone to be interested in Maya, the top scorer in theoretical exams.
Plants were easier to create than animals, but what the teacher demanded was a 'landscape' on a canvas. It was nearly impossible without considerable skill.
Maya concentrated her magic and created the illusion. Light gathered, forming exactly what she had seen.
She opened her eyes.
The result was perfect.
However, the gazes of the teacher and students looking at her were peculiar.
They looked at her as if she was a rare specimen.
Maya tilted her head.
What she had created was perfect.
On the square canvas was a picture of a multi-coloured flower garden.
The two were perfectly identical.
She lived in a world governed by reason.
She saw a world composed of information.
She understood the world through logic.
Even a single insect or grain of sand we see is created through the accumulation of tiny bits of information for each entity. But how could we perceive that through the ambiguous intermediary called 'illusion'?
Creating pictures was easy.
While others struggled to understand pictures as 'symbols,' for Maya, it was a simple task of inputting colour information for each coordinate on a two-dimensional plane. It was her absurd computational ability that made it possible.
However, on the flip side, she had no idea how to calculate 'complex forms' like dogs, pigeons, or flowers.
She couldn't grasp what others referred to as 'illusion.'
Mysticism was a concept too distant from reason.
Still, she wanted to understand.
Her father said that if she entered the Institute of Magical Technology in the Delos Republic, she could make much better use of her talents. Maya herself knew that her talents didn't truly shine in this place.
But still, she wanted to learn illusion magic.
She took a small silver disc from her pocket.
This was an item used among illusion mages, containing the 'essence' of information necessary to recreate illusion.
Recording information on this item and reading it to recreate illusion was only possible among illusion mages who shared the same 'essence.'
This was her mother's final message.
Maya wanted to try reproducing it herself, without anyone else's help.
Her father probably knew it was his daughter's business, so he hadn't hired anyone to play it for her.
Someday, she would do it with her own hands.
Maya carefully placed the disc back in her pocket.
Looking around, she noticed that all the other onlookers had left.
They were all admiring more dazzling and intricate illusion than what she had created.
Some murmured as they looked at her appearance, but no one approached her.
Her emotionless and cold expression was both intimidating and a sign of her cultured upbringing, so anyone with manners understood it was rude to approach her.
It was indeed rude.
Rude...
'Rude.'
"Hoho, is that all? Won't you create more illusions?"
Maya's fist clenched briefly and then relaxed.
There was a man standing across from her table, who had been watching her illusion performance from the beginning.
Even as people who had figured out the ongoing failures made awkward expressions and left, he remained seated, still looking at her and smirking.
Ah, this isn't how it's supposed to go.
She didn't say it out loud, but the expression on her face conveyed that feeling.
Maya gritted her teeth inwardly.
Illusions required someone to be deceived for them to have meaning. She believed that performing in front of many people would help her improve her skills. So, she deliberately participated in the Circus Grand Prix, thinking it was the perfect place to practice her illusion magic. It also held significance as it was a place her parents had watched before.
Presenting her work in front of people and receiving their feedback was a prepared task. But what was with that man openly mocking her?
Maya's angry expression remained unchanged, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed by the man's behaviour. He seemed to be enjoying it, judging by his mischievous smile.
Whether he was good-looking or not didn't matter. Those who valued appearances less as much as illusionists did didn't exist. Looks could always be changed and deceived.
Maya decided to ignore him and focus on her training.
She pulled out a wooden cube from her bag. The cube was a basic tool used by illusionists for practicing the most fundamental exercises: forming a cube exactly like the one next to it.
Visualize the cube's shape. What does "shape" mean exactly?
The teacher's voice kept coming back to her.
"Shape is drawing meaning on the canvas of the mind."
"People without hearts can never reach the canvas."
"Maya, wouldn't it be better for you to become a Magic Technician?"
"Just shut up. I'll prove myself."
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and imagined the image of the wooden cube in front of her. Up to this point, her visualization was impeccable. But the real challenge was bringing it into reality.
45.4 x 44.9 x 45.1 mm. Oak wood. Twelve-layered Naiyte. Asymmetrical wood grain. Seventeen notches. Four pieces. She calculated all the details meticulously. Her head throbbed, but she persevered.
One cube was created. Two. Another cube formed. Up to this point, she was doing fine. But when it came to the third...
The shape became distorted, and she ended up with a lump that looked like a badly made loaf of bread.
Too much information to process. The problem for someone who couldn't use "shape" to create illusions. Drawing each point one by one had its limits in two dimensions. When she entered the three-dimensional realm, the amount of information she had to process became overwhelming.
"Hehe, is this the end?"
She looked up. The man was still smiling, almost as if he was mocking her.
A condescending smile. A pitying smile. A smile that seemed to ridicule people.
This guy is insufferable.
A crack appeared in Maya's cold expression.
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