The Pursuit Of Catalyst: A Dive Into Another Verse

"…If Ellesmere falls," Hawk murmured, "then it won't just be war. It'll be annihilation."

No one in the room dared question the weight of his warning

Hawk continued to stare out the arched window of the council chamber, his gaze fixed on the distant southern horizon where the clouds loomed heavy with foreboding. The magical glow of the portal behind him still hummed faintly, casting a pale light across the anxious faces of the assembled professors.

Without turning, Hawk spoke—his tone low, calm, but weighty:

"And I believe… Mr. Sylves Ellesmere, heir to the Duchy of Ellesmere—and His Highness, Crown Prince Elas—must be informed immediately. Whether or not the Emperor has issued official orders, those two will be essential to the defense of Ellesmere Province."

The room fell into a tense hush.

Eyes turned toward one another in silent inquiry. Some professors leaned forward slightly, as if unsure they had heard correctly.

Hawk finally turned to face them, and his voice sharpened.

"They're no longer children. They're sixth-years now—fully trained, battle-ready. And far more than any ordinary students."

He took a step forward, his presence commanding.

"Especially Sylves. I've trained him more than anyone else. Day after day, year after year. He has absorbed everything I've taught him."

Then, a pause.

"He is on the verge of becoming… my equal."

Shock rippled through the room.

Some professors gasped softly. A few exchanged wide-eyed glances. Others simply stared at Hawk in disbelief. To compare a student—even a sixth-year—to Hawk Frost, the Empire's most feared independent Void Mage, bordered on the unthinkable.

Headmaster Gardinant, seated at the head of the obsidian table, leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. His piercing gray eyes studied Hawk intently.

"…If that's true," he said at last, "then there is no more time to waste."

He turned to his assembled staff.

"The Crown Prince and the Duke's heir must be summoned. Discreetly. No word must leak to the other students—not until the Emperor gives his command."

Hawk gave a single, curt nod. Then, with a swirl of Void energy gathering around his cloak, he stepped back toward the portal.

"Send for Prince Elas. Quickly. I'll go inform Sylves."

The moment he vanished through the rift and it closed behind him with a soft hum, the council chamber was left in heavy silence. The fire in the hearth crackled, a hollow echo in the tense stillness.

The war had begun.

And the Academy's finest were about to take the stage.

---

Imperial Asphalia Academy — Council Hall, South Wing

The grand chamber was steeped in silence, save for the steady ticking of an old arcane clock embedded in the far wall. The professors had assembled, the air tight with unease. Then, the double doors opened with a polished sweep.

Prince Elas entered.

Fourteen now, he had grown noticeably taller—his lean frame bearing the upright posture of nobility well-trained. His golden hair, longer than it had been in his early years, shimmered faintly beneath the magical chandeliers. His amber-gold eyes, lively and confident, scanned the room. Though still young, there was something undeniably regal in the way he walked—measured, aware of every step.

He gave a graceful nod.

"Good morning, esteemed professors. You summoned me?"

His voice had deepened—not drastically, but just enough to hint at the transformation from boy to young man.

Headmaster Gardinant gestured toward a seat, but before Elas could move, the atmosphere shifted.

Magic stirred. The air thickened.

From the far side of the room, near the black-stone dais where faculty meetings were held, a portal began to form. Not one cast by the Empire's channelers—this had a distinct signature. It pulsed with deep violet-blue hues, swaying like a shadowed flame. It shimmered, unstable at the edges, not nearly as refined as Hawk Frost's usual gateways… but it carried something else:

Power. Raw and condensed.

Even muted, it exuded an aura that made new professors tense.

Elas narrowed his eyes slightly. "Hmm. I wondered why it didn't feel quite like Hawk's presence. Still, something told me—" The portal flared once.

A figure stepped through.

Sylves Ellesmere.

Taller than Elas by a few centimeters, he emerged in a high-collared black robe that swept to his boots, marked faintly with silver trims in a style not seen among academy students. His wavy silver-blonde hair cascaded to just below his earring, and his piercing violet eyes scanned the room with composed calm. His presence was magnetic—still and dangerous like a perfectly honed blade.

Raising a hand briefly, Sylves ran his fingers through his hair, then brushed them across the crystal earring on his right ear, checking its place with unconscious precision. The portal behind him disappeared with a snap of Sylves's fingers.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Headmaster Gardinant let out a breath. "So… Hawk wasn't bluffing when he said you were nearing his level. Your arrival says it clearly."

Sylves offered a faint, polite bow.

"It's been a while, Headmaster. Professors. And... you're still alive, Elas."

Elas scoffed with mock offense. "That's no way to greet your best friend. What happened to 'Elas, old friend'? Or maybe a proper handshake?"

Sylves chuckled lightly. "Perhaps next time. You are still easy to tease as you were four years ago."

Their laughter broke some of the tension in the room.

But then, Sylves's tone turned serious.

"Now then… I came because you summoned me. From the silence here, and the pressure in the air... I assume this isn't a small matter."

The council exchanged uneasy glances. No one spoke at first. A few of the newer professors shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Even the veterans hesitated. It wasn't just because Sylves was here—it was what he represented.

The heir of the Ellesmere Duchy… which now stood as the front line in a rapidly escalating war.

Headmaster Gardinant's face grew grim.

"Sylves… this concerns your homeland. Your family. Your people."

The room turned cold as Sylves's gaze grew sharper.

The room quieted as Headmaster Gardinant rose from his seat. The candles in the crystal sconces flickered, though there was no wind.

He looked directly at Sylves.

"You are now of age. A sixth-year and a year until you turn mature. Your power has grown beyond expectation. But what I am about to tell you… you must accept not just as a student—but as the heir to Ellesmere."

(Note: I'm telling you again, in this world a person turns an adult at the age of 15)

Sylves stood straighter, the faint flicker of concern hidden behind those steady violet eyes. "Speak plainly, Headmaster."

The headmaster exchanged a glance with Vicemaster Luthen, who gave a tight nod. Then, Gardinant began:

"Two days ago, the Duchy of Ellesmere was attacked. Zweinston forces crossed the southern border under the cover of fog. They struck fast, brutal, and without a formal declaration. This… was not a skirmish. It was war."

Elas's golden eyes widened. "Wait— attacked?"

Sylves didn't speak. His eyes flickered once. But his jaw tightened.

Gardinant continued. "Word from the capital followed immediately. Emperor Maevor has officially declared war in response to the attack. Reinforcements have been dispatched from Asphalia City—ten thousand strong."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"Your father, Duke Danise Ellesmere, held the line. For now. The estate did not fall."

Sylves exhaled slowly. Relief flickered across his face—but only for a moment.

"But this is only the beginning," Gardinant said, voice heavy. "The war has started. And your home, Sylves… your people… are at its heart."

The room fell still again.

Sylves closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his gaze was sharp, focused. "Why was I not told earlier?"

Professor Marneth, a battle mage of old campaigns, spoke up. "The council debated whether to wait until full confirmation. Hawk Frost advised us not to disturb your training without certainty. But now…"

Gardinant nodded. "He also said this—before leaving to assist on the southern front: 'Call Sylves Ellesmere and Prince Elas. They will be required. Especially Sylves.'"

Elas turned to Sylves. "Your father's still holding strong… so what will you do?"

Sylves was silent for a moment.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward. The firelight danced against the folds of his black robe.

"Then I must go. Not as a student. Not as a child of nobility. But as the heir of Ellesmere, as a part of Ellesmere."

His voice rang clear through the chamber.

"I will not let my family fall. Nor the people of my province. If this is the moment I was trained for—then I will rise to it."

Gardinant stepped down from the dais and placed a hand on Sylves's shoulder.

"Then prepare yourself. The Empire will call upon you soon. Prince Elas, you are to return to remain in the academy. Your father asked your return once you graduate., stay out until then."

Sylves nodded once. And in that moment, he didn't look like a student at all.

He looked like the next Duke of Ellesmere, and a young warrior ready to protect.

---

Elas furrowed his brow, stepping forward beside Sylves. "But… what about Sylves's graduation? Isn't that still half a year away? If he leaves now…"

Gardinant sighed, folding his arms behind his back. "That's the problem. Officially, no student may graduate without completing the sixth-year exams. And once a student leaves the academy grounds before that, they are—"

Before he could finish, a chilling presence rolled into the room like a cold wind.

A portal shimmered open behind the headmaster—black, rimmed with glowing violet. It flickered, weaker than usual, as if drained from long travel. Out stepped Hawk Frost—his coat dusted with frost, his boots wet from melting snow, his eyes sharp and commanding.

"I'll take responsibility for that," Hawk said, his voice cutting through the silence. "Headmaster… I guarantee he can score a perfect 300. And I'll prove it to you right now."

Gardinant turned, startled. "You… just arrived from the front."

"I did," Hawk nodded. "And I'm heading back shortly. But not without Sylves. So I suggest you take the exam now."

He stepped forward, placing a sealed scroll on the council table.

"This is your written final exam for sixth-years," he said, nodding at Gardinant. "I intercepted it on my way in. I hope you don't mind."

Professor Magreth blinked... Then stood in surprise, "How did you get that? Im pretty sure I kept it in the Academy vaults."

Some of the professors exchanged glances—equal parts confused and intrigued.

Hawk replied, "Sorry for not being clear... I just happened to stumble with the vault and just happened to have the key... I just by pure coincidence found it... Professor. Now don't waste time... Every moment someone is losing his life on the battlefield."

"A face-to-face test?" Elas said with a blink. "Is that even allowed?"

Hawk chuckled lightly. "There is no regulation that says the written exam can't be administered orally. I'll oversee it. You'll all witness it. If he fails, I'll take the blame."

Sylves looked between them, then stepped forward. "I'm ready."

The professors began to murmur again. Professor Marwyn whispered to Gardinant, "If he passes under Hawk's supervision, that's stronger proof of his merit than anything else."

Gardinant gave a slight nod. "Very well. This council will allow it."

Hawk turned, facing Sylves fully. His expression softened—just slightly.

"Sylves Ellesmere," he said, his voice calm but resonant, "this is your sixth-year written exam. Answer precisely. No hesitation. Speak from memory and experience."

Sylves nodded. "I understand."

Elas stepped back, arms crossed but smiling. "Guess I get front-row seats to history."

And so it began—the heir of Ellesmere facing not just a test of knowledge, but the threshold of a future far greater than any parchment score.

The room fell silent.

Hawk unrolled the exam scroll and read aloud the first question. "Describe the structure and elemental reactions of a six-fold mana array designed for compound casting. List three vulnerabilities and two optimization methods."

Without hesitation, Sylves stepped forward, voice calm and measured. "The six-fold array for compound casting involves a central stabilizing core with six mana conduits branching out symmetrically. Each conduit supports one elemental alignment, and casting can be layered if the rotation is timed precisely…"

His voice continued, weaving theory and application as though it were natural speech. No stutters. No blanks. Professors leaned forward in their seats.

Professor Halwyn, who had only joined last year, muttered in disbelief, "That's not just theory. That's firsthand understanding."

Hawk raised the second question. "Compare and contrast the regenerative threshold limits between Solar-Type Light magic and Natural-Type Healing magic in extended use. Include three known cases of fatal overuse."

Sylves answered without pause. "Solar-Type Light magic draws from celestial mana, making it highly efficient but prone to backlash if used consecutively. Natural Healing magic is safer but far slower…"

He cited real cases—one of them even being the infamous "Blackwell Clinic Collapse" from over fifty years ago. Gardinant blinked. That answer wasn't just textbook—it was archived.

Hawk continued: ten questions, each more grueling than the last—runic mathematics, arcane law, alchemy process inversion, ancient spell chronology, even speculative theory on elemental fusion.

By the time the tenth question was finished, not a single professor spoke.

Sylves stood with his hands calmly behind his back, unshaken, composed.

Finally, Headmaster Gardinant turned to the rest of the faculty seated in a semicircle.

"Well, professors," he said softly, "is there any doubt in your mind?"

Professor Alven, the strictest of the evaluators, adjusted his glasses. "If that doesn't deserve a perfect 100, then nothing does."

Marwyn nodded. "He didn't just answer them—he taught them as he spoke."

The others murmured in agreement.

Gardinant raised his voice. "Then it is unanimous."

He turned toward Sylves.

"Sylves Ellesmere," the Headmaster declared, "you have demonstrated mastery of your sixth-year written material in full, under direct council observation. Your score is one hundred out of one hundred."

A quiet gasp filled the room—Elas grinned wide, clapping once.

Then Hawk stepped forward again. "And for the remaining two exams—practical and combat—I will vouch for them."

Gardinant's brows lifted. "You mean…?"

Hawk nodded. "I've trained him with my own hands for five years. His command over elements, runes, summoning, even Void—the boy is already pushing the limits of what this academy can measure. He is ready."

"And if he isn't?" one professor asked, skeptical.

"Then I will take his place at the front," Hawk said. "But I assure you—I won't have to."

With that, the matter was closed.

Sylves Ellesmere had passed his sixth-year final exams—unofficially, but undeniably—and now stood as a graduate of Imperial Asphalia Academy.

And in the silence that followed, everyone knew: a storm was coming… and so was its sovereign.

---