[Two Years Later]
Time moved swiftly within the marble walls of Castle Ellesmere.
Sylves, the Duke's firstborn, was no ordinary child. At just two years of age, while most children stumbled through their first steps, Sylves could already run short distances — albeit with the occasional tumble that ended in laughter or a scolding maid's panic. His body, though young, was clearly adapting faster than expected.
It was a quiet evening. The setting sun bathed the garden in warm gold, casting long shadows over the meticulously trimmed hedges. Birds chirped lazily as the scent of blooming lilacs drifted on the breeze.
Duke Danise Ellesmere sat with regal poise at a wrought-iron table, enjoying a rare moment of peace with his wife. Duchess Ylva, wrapped in a light shawl, sipped her tea with Sylves nestled in her lap. His silver-blonde hair shimmered in the light, and his violet eyes lazily followed a fluttering butterfly nearby.
The serenity was perfect—until it shattered.
A commotion erupted near the garden gates. The sound of metal clashing, a startled shout, and the distinct thud of a body hitting the ground.
Ylva looked up, her brow furrowed. Danise rose immediately, already barking orders to the nearby guards. But before anyone could reach them, a masked figure darted past the bushes—fast, silent, and deadly—rushing straight toward the Duchess.
A dagger gleamed in his hand. His target: Ylva.
There was no time to think.
Something ancient stirred within Sylves.
His infant mind was flooded with clarity, with memory. "Not this time. Not like my previous life. I'll save her… and live to tell it."
A brilliant light burst from within him.
It rippled outward like a wave of divine energy, forcing the air itself to bend around it. A radiant lance—pure and spectral—formed in front of him, humming with raw power. Before the intruder could strike, the lance shot forward with impossible speed.
A flash. A gasp.
The blade pierced through the intruder's throat, silencing him instantly. His body collapsed lifelessly onto the garden path.
Danise froze mid-step. Ylva stared in disbelief, shielding her son as the light faded. But unlike before, this time the warmth of the glow wrapped around her protectively, not harmfully. It had come from Sylves.
"Sylves… Sylves!!" she cried out, trembling. She hugged him close, her hands shaking, her heart racing. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as the shock melted into maternal instinct.
Within seconds, armored guards swarmed the garden, weapons drawn.
"Secure the perimeter! The Duchess—get her inside, now!" the Duke barked.
Within moments, the family was ushered back into the inner chambers of the castle. The Duke, stern-faced but with fire in his eyes, turned to a steward.
"Summon the royal appraisers. Now. I want answers."
---
Later that night, in the arcane chamber beneath the castle, two elderly appraisers arrived. Their robes shimmered with enchanted runes, and crystal pendulums swung lightly from their belts. The older of the two placed a glowing stone above Sylves's forehead.
The stone pulsed—once, twice—then turned white-hot.
The chamber filled with silence as the reading concluded.
Then, one of them stepped back, pale as parchment. "Y-Your Grace…" he stammered. "The young master is… He is…"
He swallowed hard.
"…a host to a Catalyst."
Gasps echoed through the room. Even the usually composed Duke seemed shaken.
Ylva clutched Sylves tighter, eyes widening. "My son…"
The appraiser's voice trembled as he continued. "Such a thing… it's unheard of. A living Catalyst within a human vessel. This… this changes everything."
Sylves, still curled in his mother's arms, blinked up at the ceiling — silent, watchful, and no longer just a child.
The morning sun painted golden stripes across the study's tall windows as Duke Danise Ellesmere sat behind his desk, swirling a quill between his fingers. The quiet tap of heels approached. Ylva stood by the door, her expression serene but questioning.
"Ylva," the Duke began, "I've made a decision."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Sylves will attend the Imperial Asphalia Academy. The finest institution in the empire. He'll begin when he turns eight."
Ylva frowned. "Danise… he's just a child."
"A child who wielded a divine lance and houses the power of a Catalyst," he replied, not unkindly. "We cannot shelter him forever. He must grow into his fate."
The discussion lasted for hours — gentle protests, reasoned logic, a few raised voices. But in the end, the Duke's persistence wore her down, and Ylva, though reluctantly, agreed.
Time marched forward.
---
Eight Years Old.
Sylves stood tall and composed in front of the Duke's desk, clad in a tailored suit. Though only eight, he was already a head taller than most boys his age, his silver-blonde hair slicked neatly, his violet eyes calm but determined.
"Yes, Father. You called?"
The Duke regarded his son with quiet pride.
"Yes. Your departure for the Imperial Asphalia Academy is in a week. You've been well prepared… but you'll need someone to accompany you. A butler or maid. Someone to manage your daily needs in the dormitory — living alone is… inefficient."
Sylves nodded as his father handed him a sealed parchment.
"You have one week. Choose wisely. You are dismissed."
With a respectful bow, Sylves turned and exited the office, already deep in thought. A companion… Someone reliable. Trustworthy. Capable.
As he hurried through the marble corridors, he rounded a corner too sharply and collided with a passing maid.
She barely staggered. "Ah! Young Master!"
Sylves blinked. "Aria?"
Aria, the Duchess's personal maid, bowed gently. She was the same kind-eyed woman who had once said those words that somehow remained in his memory — "He doesn't need to cry. He will be a strong boy. I can feel it."
Despite her beauty and elegance, Sylves had no romantic thoughts — she was far older, practically an aunt in his eyes. But before he could speak, a soft voice chimed from behind her.
"Mom… I'm hungry…"
Peeking from behind Aria's skirt was a small girl in a tidy maid's uniform. She had big amber eyes and chestnut-brown hair tied in a loose ponytail — perhaps seven years old, barely shorter than Sylves.
"Hush! Show manners in front of the Young Master," Aria whispered quickly. Then, straightening up, she said, "Forgive her, Young Master. This is my daughter, Ashia."
Sylves tilted his head. "She's wearing a uniform… so she's staff?"
Aria blinked. "Technically, yes. She assists me with small errands around the Duchess's wing."
"Perfect," Sylves said, his tone decisive. "I'll take her. She can join me at the Academy — not just as a helper, but as a classmate."
Aria's eyes widened. "My daughter would be honored, but… Young Master, she's a maid. It wouldn't be proper for her to sit among nobles."
"It'll be alright," Sylves replied with a shrug. "It's settled, then. So — do you hate the idea, Ashia?"
Ashia looked up, confused and surprised. "No, Master…"
He grinned. "Great. That's good enough for now."
---
Later that day, Sylves presented the idea to the Duke.
Danise paused. "…A seven-year-old maid? In noble classes?"
"It's temporary until I find a proper attendant," Sylves said, only half-convincing.
The Duke rubbed his temples. "We'll… consider alternatives—"
But before he could finish, Duchess Ylva swept into the room.
"She goes," Ylva said, leaving no room for argument. "Aria's daughter is more decent than most noble children I've seen. Let her accompany Sylves. End of discussion."
Danise glanced at his wife, then at his son — both looking equally resolute. The mighty Duke of Ellesmere sighed, defeated.
"…Very well."
Sylves's eyes lit up. At last, someone close to his age. Someone he chose, not because of rank or power, but because of instinct.
"It is settled, then."
---