The Pursuit Of Catalyst: A Dive Into Another Verse

As a response to Professor Magreth's question, Sylves raised his hand. Professor Magreth notices, "Yes, Mr. Ellesmere. You may answer."

Sylves responded calmly, yet with clarity that commanded attention.

"The answer is the Catalyst of Creation. As the name implies, it is the source from which all things are born. It has the unique ability to magnify emotional forces—especially fear and regret."

A moment of silence lingered in the room.

Then Professor Magreth's stern expression broke into a faint, rare smile. He gave a single nod of approval. "A well-reasoned answer. Class, a round of applause for Mr. Ellesmere."

The students clapped—some genuinely impressed, others out of obligation. But one person didn't hold back.

Prince Elas leaned forward with a grin and whispered, "Impressive. You don't just carry power, you carry knowledge. I like that."

Ashia, seated proudly beside her master, raised her chin just slightly, eyes glowing with quiet pride. Her thoughts were simple but strong: That's my master.

Across the room, soft murmurs began to spread like wildfire.

"He's definitely not ordinary..."

"I heard he was exempted from mana test yesterday..."

"Catalyst of Creation? Can someone really wield that?"

Professor Magreth narrowed his gaze. "Enough." The lecture hall quieted once more at his command.

But before the silence could settle fully, the doors at the back creaked open.

All heads turned.

Two figures strode in with unmistakable authority: one was a tall, broad-shouldered man with iron-grey hair and eyes sharp as steel. The other—a graceful woman dressed in academic robes, her stride light but purposeful.

Professor Magreth stepped aside respectfully.

The man came forward.

"I am Gardinant Blackwood," the elder said, his voice deep and commanding, reverberating through the hall like a war drum. "Headmaster of the Imperial Asphalia Academy."

Even those who had never seen him before knew him instantly. His presence demanded nothing short of reverence.

"And this," he continued, gesturing to the woman beside him, "is Professor Alya Stephan, Senior Lecturer in Light and Void Magic."

The students murmured again, this time in awe. It was rare for either of them to appear in a first-year lecture.

"What I am about to say," Blackwood began, his voice carrying the weight of a decree, "has been made public by direct order of His Majesty, King Aldren of the Kingdom of Asphalia—father of Prince Elas, who is among you."

He took a step forward.

"This is not a rumor. It is a fact. And it is shared with you now, so that if it ever leaks into the world beyond these walls, it causes no chaos, no fear, and no foolish speculations."

He turned his gaze toward a particular seat in the crowd.

"Mr. Sylves Ellesmere. Son and sole heir of Duke Danise Ellesmere... come forward."

Gasps rippled through the hall. A chorus of confused whispers erupted like wind through trees.

Sylves rose from his seat without hesitation. Ashia stood as well—but rather than follow behind him, she took his hand briefly, then walked beside him, only to take a seat once more as Sylves moved to the front.

The room quieted again. All eyes followed them.

Even those who had dismissed the quiet boy now watched in stunned silence.

Ashia sat where Sylves had left her, composed and proud, her eyes never leaving her master.

Headmaster Blackwood now addressed the room with finality.

"Sylves Ellesmere is no ordinary student. He is the host of the Catalyst of Creation—the rarest and most ancient of all Catalysts."

A wave of shocked silence passed over the hall.

"He has affinity with every known element, and he bears the burden and blessing of being the Catalyst Sovereign—a title not heard in our history for over five centuries."

Even Professor Magreth's usual impassivity faltered for a moment as the weight of those words settled.

Whispers turned into gasps.

"Catalyst Sovereign...?"

"Every element?"

"This is impossible... isn't it?"

Prince Elas leaned back, visibly amused. "Well, I suppose I was right after all."

Professor Alya stepped forward, her voice gentler but no less firm.

"Do not mistake this for a crown. It is not a title of luxury—it is a role of burden, vigilance, and sacrifice. Sylves will continue his studies here. But he will also begin a parallel path—special training under the Catalyst Division of the Crown."

Gasps again. This time, tinged with envy, confusion, awe—and fear.

Headmaster Blackwood's gaze turned once more to Sylves.

"Mr. Ellesmere. Do you accept this path?"

Sylves stood still, his expression composed. "I do."

The headmaster gave a small nod. "Then so it is."

He turned to the class once more.

"Let history remember this day. The day a Sovereign returned to the world."

And with that, he turned and left the room, Professor Alya walking silently beside him.

The storm had been named.

And Sylves Ellesmere now stood at its center.

---

Professor Magreth gave Sylves a steady nod. "You may return to your seat now, Mr. Ellesmere."

Sylves turned, composed as ever, and walked up the steps. Ashia had already made room beside her, sliding over in her seat without a word. She gave him a small glance—half relief, half pride—and he sat down beside her quietly.

The room was still buzzing with whispers until Professor Magreth's voice cut through again.

"Now," he said, straightening his coat, "it's time for your next lecture."

Without waiting for a response, he gathered his notes and strode out of the hall.

Almost as soon as he exited, a new figure entered—a man perhaps in his mid-thirties, dressed in flowing blue robes embroidered with aquatic runes. His hair was short and deep navy, and his sharp eyes reflected a clarity much like still water—calm, but alert.

He carried no books, only a slender staff adorned with a translucent blue gem that shimmered like a droplet of rain suspended in air.

"Good morning," he began, his tone calm but commanding. "I am Professor William Whites, your instructor for Water Magic. I'll be responsible for guiding your understanding of what is considered the most foundational—and most underestimated—of the elemental magics."

He turned and with a flick of his staff, the curtains closed, and a translucent illusion bloomed in the air behind him—a massive sphere of water, rotating slowly in place, light refracting within it like a miniature ocean trapped in time.

"Water. The element of flow, change, and adaptability. It is the lifeblood of our world and our bodies. Where fire devours, earth anchors, wind dances, and lightning strikes, water remembers."

The class sat in silence, absorbed already.

"Most students enter my lectures with one of two mindsets: they either believe water is too simple, too passive… or they over-romanticize it as something gentle, soothing, and harmless."

He gave a knowing smile.

"Both are wrong."

With a flick of his fingers, the sphere of water condensed suddenly into a sharp needle, then flattened into a thin blade, then scattered into vapor, then solidified as jagged ice, before returning again to a placid floating orb.

"Water is not merely a tool of healing or defense. It is a force of pressure, erosion, temperature, and life itself. Entire canyons were carved by rivers. Cities have been brought to ruin by tides. Empires, drowned."

He took a step forward.

"Now let's begin with the fundamentals."

With another flick, the illusion expanded to show diagrams: molecular models, weather patterns, and biological sketches.

"Water magic originates from understanding three governing principles: Shape, State, and Source."

He raised his hand.

"Shape refers to the form you wish the water to take. A whip, a wall, a blade, a mist. Water conforms to the mage's intention—but only if the mage's will is clear."

With a simple motion, he conjured a ribbon of water that twirled through the air, shimmering like silk.

"State refers to water's three physical forms—liquid, vapor, and ice. Water can change its state almost instantaneously through magical regulation of energy, heat, and structure. Ice is durable. Vapor can blind or suffocate. Liquid flows—perfect for both attack and recovery."

He shifted the ribbon from liquid to frost, then to mist, then back.

"And finally, Source—arguably the most neglected of the three. Where is the water coming from? The air? A nearby body? Your own reserves? You must always account for what you draw from, lest you find yourself stranded mid-casting."

He paced slowly along the front of the room.

"Mastering water magic isn't about raw strength. It's about finesse. Precision. Harmony. Water mages are not juggernauts—we are tacticians."

He looked around the hall.

"You'll hear battlefield stories of flame-slingers and lightning-summoners burning down legions. But a skilled water mage can win without ever being seen. A mist cast at the right time. A fog over the enemy archers. A frozen floor beneath a charging cavalry line. A blade of ice under a diplomat's desk."

He raised a brow.

"This is the art of water. It whispers. It waits. And when it strikes, it leaves nothing untouched."

He waved his staff and the illusion dissipated into droplets that evaporated before hitting the floor.

"Let us now speak briefly about affinity."

He conjured a simple chart in the air, depicting a glowing water symbol encircled by other elements.

"Water magic resonates with those who are adaptable, emotionally intuitive, and observant. It does not respond well to recklessness or arrogance. Water demands balance."

He turned to the students again. "Those of you who possess water affinity will find your spells responding to emotional control and rhythmic casting. Panicked thoughts? Erratic results. Steady mind? Precision beyond imagination."

He paused.

"And some of you," he said, glancing up at the back row—right at Sylves, "will find water comes to you without resistance. To those people, I say: wield it wisely."

Ashia leaned slightly closer to Sylves and whispered, "That... was beautiful."

Sylves nodded slightly. He could feel it—his affinity to the element was indeed strong. But there was a weight behind it as well. Water wasn't just power. It was responsibility.

Professor Whites clapped his hands softly, signaling the end of his monologue.

"In your next lesson, we'll begin with basic channeling forms. Until then, I want each of you to meditate beside the academy's east garden fountain and write a short analysis of how water behaves in stillness and in motion. Observe first. Cast later."

He turned to the board and tapped it once, revealing tomorrow's reading material.

"And remember: Water is not weak. Water is patient. And patience, my students... outlasts everything."

He bowed his head slightly.

"Class dismissed."

Professor William Whites leaves the lecture hall.

---