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Synopsis – The Existence of Creation

In a world ruled by bloodlines, royal clans, and divine cores, power determines worth. The mighty tread the skies, forging dynasties that span realms, while the weak are forgotten in the dust.

Born a commoner with no noble blood, Jofyn Vale is mocked for choosing the Artisan’s Path—a lowly craft ignored by nobles and feared by none. His academy, ranked the lowest among all, is dismissed as irrelevant in a land where only raw magic and combat dominate.

But Jofyn carries a secret gift: a Convergence Core unlike any other, capable of resonating with creation itself. With hammer, shard, and imagination, he breathes life into tools, weapons, and even concepts. To him, everything can be forged—a pen to solve homework, a robe that speaks, or a blade infused with flame born from thought alone.

Branded “useless” by peers and rival academies, he is forced into solitude. Yet, through his paranoia, curiosity, and unrelenting creativity, Jofyn slowly begins to unveil what no bloodline or royal has ever grasped—the ability to create, not destroy.

As the world turns toward the coming Continental Tournament, where academies clash every five years, Jofyn and his small class of three prepare to face humiliation. But when his creations begin to defy logic, his name spreads in whispers:

> The Existence of Creation.
The God of Creation.



Enemies scheme, royals watch, and ancient clans stir. For the boy who forges the impossible may one day rival the gods themselves.


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Before the first hammer struck the forge, before the first star ignited the heavens, there was Creation.


The ancients whispered of a forge that burned without flame, where the essence of worlds was tempered into existence. From that anvil came bloodlines, guardians, and realms. But when greed rose, when clans and royals reached too far into the fire, the forge shattered—its sparks scattered across the eight realms.


Those sparks became cores, glowing embers buried within mortal flesh. Some were born with affinity to fire, storm, or stone; others awakened traits, guardians, or gifts. To the arrogant and noble, they were divine inheritances. To the forgotten and poor, they were unreachable dreams.


But hidden within the ruins of time was a prophecy…


A single ember—one unlike the rest. Not flame, not storm, not stone. An ember that would not consume, but create.


For ages, that ember waited. Forgotten by clans, dismissed by royals, lost in the noise of academies and bloodline wars.


In a forgotten village called Makok, where a boy walked with calloused hands, speaking to robes and staffs to fill the silence of loneliness, a drop of ancient blood pulsed.


Prologue