"Alchemy," Albedo corrects gently, his smile widening a fraction. An opportunity to teach presents itself, and he can't resist. "This is called alchemy. Specifically, it is called the Art of Khemia, but most would simplify it to alchemy."

As if to show Sephiroth the answer, instead of just telling him, Albedo sets the fern upon the ground. The base of the frond appears to grow new roots almost immediately, tiny little tendrils that try to sink into the mud to anchor it like a proper plant.

"It could grow on its own now. It no longer needs me. Or," and he taps the frond. It dissolves from the leaves down into a gentle, white light, evaporating entirely before long. "I can simply return it to its base elements. Small plants are no trouble to breathe life into."

Albedo lets a new fern form from his fingertips, and offers it once more.

"Is there something similar in your world? Magic, as you said?"