The Night Before Departure
The moon hung high above Castle Ellesmere, casting a pale glow through the windowpanes. Inside Sylves's chamber, maids moved about efficiently, folding silks, arranging books, and preparing luggage with quiet reverence. The air was filled with the soft rustle of cloth and the clinking of neatly packed essentials.
A knock echoed on the door.
"Come in," Sylves said calmly from his seat near the window.
The door creaked open. Aria entered with her daughter, Ashia, in tow — the young girl now dressed in a more formal version of her maid uniform, her hair neatly brushed, her hands nervously clasped before her.
Aria bowed deeply. "Good evening, Young Master. His Grace has officially appointed Ashia as your personal maid, effective immediately. Her life… is now in your care."
Ashia stepped forward timidly, eyes wide but glinting with a quiet strength.
"I will be in your care… Master," she said, bowing low. "I'm truly grateful for the honor — not just to serve beside you, but to study at your side."
Her words were respectful, but something in her voice made Sylves pause. A hesitation. A quiet fear.
He stood, walking over with soft steps, then knelt to meet her gaze.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "I promise I'll make sure you're happier with me than you are now. I won't betray your feelings. I'll protect what's mine."
Ashia looked up, eyes blinking fast — and slowly nodded.
"You're dismissed for now," Sylves added. Aria bowed once again, and they both quietly left.
---
The Morning of Departure
The castle courtyard buzzed with activity. Servants loaded the final trunks onto the gleaming black carriage bearing the crest of House Ellesmere. Horses snorted, and armor-clad guards stood in formation, ready to escort the young heir.
Sylves stood at the foot of the carriage, dressed in a finely tailored travel coat embroidered with silver thread. His sword — ceremonial, for now — hung by his side. Ashia stood just behind him, carrying a small satchel, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Then—arms wrapped tightly around him.
"Mother…" Sylves whispered.
Ylva clung to him, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I will miss you, my Silver… My precious boy. Come back soon, alright? If it ever becomes too much, you are always permitted to run home — I will be waiting with open arms."
Sylves hugged her back firmly, then stepped back, smiling. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll be back before you know it… and we'll talk so much, you'll be begging me to stop."
That made her laugh through her tears.
The Duke chuckled as well, nodding approvingly. "Take care, my son," he called as Sylves climbed into the carriage, Ashia following silently behind him.
The door closed. The reins cracked.
The carriage rolled out of the castle gates — and Sylves's journey truly began.
---
Four Hours Later
The golden walls of the Royal Capital of Asphalia came into view, towering in the distance like a sunlit fortress. The city was alive with joy — merchants shouting, street performers spinning flame, children darting between alleys, and the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread dancing through the air.
Sylves gazed out of the window, captivated. Ashia leaned slightly to look, her mouth forming a quiet "wow."
The carriage passed through the bustling streets until the cobblestone path widened, leading to the grand front gates of the Imperial Asphalia Academy — a sprawling marvel of marble towers, stained-glass spires, and fields stretching toward the horizon.
The carriage stopped at the dormitory entrance. Guards greeted them respectfully as Sylves and Ashia stepped down, their bags carried by staff.
Behind them, the carriage pulled away.
Sylves took one long breath.
The academy loomed before him — not just a place of learning, but the stage where his fate would truly unfold.
A new journey had begun.
The Imperial Asphalia Academy Dormitory – Entrance Hall
As Sylves and Ashia stepped into the towering archways of the student dormitory, the hallway fell into a hushed murmur. Conversations paused, eyes turned, and heads subtly tilted as the pair walked through the crowd of older students — second-years, third, all the way to sixth — all silently appraising the striking newcomers.
Whispers rose like smoke behind their backs.
"Silver hair… violet eyes… Is that… the Duke Ellesmere's heir?"
"He's so handsome… but still has that boyish charm."
"And that girl — is she a maid or a princess?"
"They match. It's almost unfair…"
Sylves walked with calm confidence, his gaze steady, back straight, the hem of his cloak gliding behind him like ripples over silk. Beside him, Ashia matched his pace — slightly behind, as etiquette dictated — but her presence was unmistakable. Her rich brown hair shimmered under the dormitory's crystal lights, and her sapphire eyes shone with equal parts wonder and worry.
Then, the crowd shifted.
A group of first-years blocked their path — boys with fine uniforms and haughty stances. At the center of them stood a tall, sharp-eyed youth with a crimson sash around his arm.
His name was Kavel Razenburg, son of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom and nephew to the King of Razenburg.
"Well, well…" Kavel sneered, folding his arms as his gaze raked over Sylves. "So you're the brat they say hosts the power of the Catalyst of Creation… The strongest of them all?"
Sylves remained silent, expression unreadable.
"I challenge you to a duel," Kavel continued smugly. "Right here. Right now."
Sylves's voice was cool, heavy with restrained disdain.
"And what exactly do I stand to gain from this stupid duel?"
The crowd gasped lightly at the directness. Kavel's eyes narrowed.
"Huh… cheeky, aren't you?" he growled. "I am the great Kavel. It's an honor to face me. If you win, I'll recommend you to my uncle's royal elite unit. But if you lose—" he paused, glancing at Ashia, "—I'll take her off your hands."
Ashia stiffened, her face paling as she instinctively moved closer to Sylves.
"That's enough."
The fury ignited in Sylves's chest — not loud or explosive, but white-hot and unshakable.
"I'll take you on," he said sharply, his voice suddenly cold and low.
Kavel smirked. "I'm ready whenever y—"
CRACK.
He never finished the sentence.
Sylves lunged with a blur of speed unnatural for his age. His fist collided squarely with Kavel's jaw — a perfectly delivered punch that sent the taller boy crashing to the marble floor, unconscious before he even knew he was struck.
The entire hall erupted.
Gasps. Whispers. Then cheers.
Girls clapped and giggled in excitement. Boys howled with laughter, mocking Kavel and his entourage.
Sylves stood over the fallen noble with narrowed eyes.
"Keep your rank," he said with disdain. "I don't need your uncle's charity. And Ashia isn't yours to take — she's mine."
Behind him, Ashia's eyes widened — her hands gently clutching her skirt. Something shifted inside her… a warmth she didn't expect. For the first time, she saw not just a young noble, but a protector. Her master.
Her shield.
---
Just then, the dormitory warden — a stern woman in black robes — entered the hall.
"What is going on here?!"
Several of Kavel's followers opened their mouths, clearly ready to spin a convenient tale. But before they could speak, a new voice cut cleanly through the tension.
"I witnessed everything."
All heads turned.
Standing in the doorway was a boy with golden hair and eyes like sunlit steel — the unmistakable royal crest of the Asphalian Empire stitched into his cloak.
Elas Asphalia, son of the Emperor.
"The duel was provoked by Kavel Razenburg," he said firmly. "Sylves simply defended himself — and won, cleanly."
The warden hesitated, then bowed her head. "If the Prince himself says so… then no punishment shall be issued."
Kavel's body was hauled away by his fuming lackeys, while the crowd slowly dispersed, buzzing with gossip and awe.
Sylves remained where he stood, processing everything. Then he glanced at Elas, who gave him a slight nod of approval.
A royal ally… and a rival Duke's grudge.
He turned his gaze skyward.
"Today… I've gained both an ally—and a foe."
---