Chapter 52

  Catalyst

  As we stepped across the threshold, I

  half-expected a sanctuary fit for a scholar—an immaculate, dustless space,

  maintained by the hum of some ethereal force. My mind conjured images of

  towering stacks of ancient tomes, their spines worn with the weight of

  countless hands, a library alive with whispered secrets. Perhaps there would be

  an alchemist’s station, vials of swirling liquids casting faint reflections in

  the dim light, or an enchanting workbench adorned with runes and tools of the

  craft. I envisioned tables laden with arcane artifacts, a cauldron bubbling

  with the promise of mysteries yet to unfold.

  But what I found… was nothing like that at all. A

  deep silence washed over me as I realized the others weren’t as taken aback as

  I was. They moved with the ease of familiarity, as though they had seen this

  place countless times before. Only Selene and I seemed to be visitors, our

  mouths agape in disbelief.

  As the double doors behind us swung shut with a

  soft, final thud, I noticed something odd. They didn’t just close. They

  vanished—disappearing into the very air, as if they had never existed. I

  blinked, unsure if my eyes were deceiving me.

  Before us stretched a vast expanse, but it didn’t

  feel like we were outside—not truly. The sky above us… was wrong. It wasn’t

  real. A flicker of light caught my attention—cracks marred the blue surface,

  like the fracture lines on an old painting. Beneath those cracks, I could just

  glimpse the slow turning of enormous gears, grinding lazily beneath the painted

  sky. The sun… was not natural. It burned with an eerie, almost mechanical glow,

  spinning lazily on its axis, casting an unsettling light over the land. The

  clouds drifted overhead, but they seemed… artificial, as if their very

  existence was part of an illusion.

  Beneath our feet, the earth was not dirt but

  something metallic. It felt like a vast, dormant gear, its ridges hidden

  beneath a thin layer of earth, where trees, flowers, and bushes grew in

  defiance of their unnatural surroundings. The grass, though, was

  different—woven from the very fabric of the land, it hummed with a life I had

  never known before, more real than anything I had ever touched.

  I swallowed, the weight of what I was witnessing

  pressing down on me. “What is… this place?” My voice trembled with awe, barely

  more than a whisper.

  Magnus turned toward me, his smile wide, full of

  pride—as though he had been waiting for this moment. With a grand gesture, he

  swept his hand across the scene. “This…” He paused, allowing the words to

  settle, “is my sanctuary—A pocket dimension, if you will.”

  Selene, her eyes wide with wonder, couldn’t

  contain her excitement. “WOW!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with joy. She

  darted forward, plucking two daisies from the earth. Their soft petals trembled

  in her hands as she bounded back, and with a grin that seemed to light the very

  room, she handed them to Enoux and Merlin. “Merlin, Merlin!” she called,

  jumping up and down.

  Merlin chuckled, a warm, melodic sound that

  filled the space. “Uh… okay.” She accepted the flowers, clearly amused. “Will

  Elara be able to do this one day?”

  Selene’s eyes sparkled with hope, but Merlin’s

  laughter softened, her voice carrying a touch of sorrow as she shook her head.

  “I’m afraid not, dear.”

  Selene’s face fell, her lips pouting with

  disappointment. “Aww… Why?”

  Enoux, standing nearby, answered in her stead.

  “Because, Selene…” Her voice was gentle, yet firm. “This magic is inherited

  only by my Master, Pocket.”

  I blinked, unsure if I had heard her correctly.

  “Only by him?”

  Magnus chuckled softly and stepped forward, his

  eyes glinting with a hidden understanding. “Yes…” His hand swept out broadly,

  as though embracing the entirety of the strange world before us. “This, Elara,

  is my Soul Magic.”

  My eyes widened. “Soul magic?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed, his voice rich with meaning.

  “It’s called The Toy Box Catalyst.”

  Pocket beckoned his other student forward—a gnome

  named Tibbins—to demonstrate his Soul Magic. With a flick of his fingers and a

  pulse of shimmering energy, Tibbins conjured tiny clockwork

  creatures—mechanical rabbits with brass-plated bodies and gemstone eyes. They

  twitched their noses, their delicate metal ears flicking as they scurried

  across the grass, gears whirring softly beneath their polished frames.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Selene gasped, her eyes alight with pure delight

  as she dashed after them, her laughter ringing through the air like wind

  chimes.

  Tibbins’ Soul Magic—The Fabricator

  Catalyst—granted him the ability to create these small constructs, but it came

  with limitations. Distance mattered. If he strayed too far, the magic that

  animated them would falter, their tiny gears winding down like forgotten toys,

  motionless and inert.

  Meanwhile, Enoux guided Lyra toward a small

  wooden cabin nestled at the heart of Pocket’s dimension. At first glance, it

  appeared simple, unremarkable even—but as I looked closer, I noticed something

  strange. The wood pulsed faintly with a golden light, a slow and steady rhythm,

  as though the structure itself was alive, breathing in sync with its master’s

  presence.

  Nearby, Merlin turned to Garik, motioning him

  forward. “You as well,” she said. “You are Soul-Touched.”

  Garik hesitated, his gaze flickering toward

  Selene before he nodded. “Keep an eye on her,” he told the ogres.

  The younger of the two—a stocky female with a

  wide, toothy grin—needed no further instruction. She immediately joined Selene

  in the chase, her laughter mingling with the child’s as they pursued the

  darting mechanical rabbits. Their footsteps thudded against the grass, their

  playful shouts blending with the rhythmic whir of clockwork limbs skittering

  over the ground.

  The older ogre, a towering brute with arms like

  tree trunks, took a different approach. With a grunt, he began clearing a

  space, gathering supplies seemingly from nowhere. In moments, he had set up a

  makeshift kitchen, his massive hands moving with surprising finesse as he

  arranged ingredients and started preparing what looked to be a meal.

  The scent of sizzling meat and fresh herbs soon

  filled the air, intertwining with the lingering metallic tang of Tibbins’

  magic. Even in a place as strange as this—a world with a painted sky and an

  artificial sun—some things remained comfortingly familiar.

  I laughed—at first, just a small, breathy

  chuckle, but it grew, spilling out of me uncontrollably. My hand jerked

  forward, nearly toppling an hourglass resting on the coffee table beside me.

  The fine golden sand within trembled, as if caught in the echoes of my

  amusement.

  The cabin’s modest exterior had done nothing to

  prepare me for what lay inside. What should have been a simple, cozy space was

  instead a grand hall—an impossible chamber fit for royalty. The walls stretched

  skyward, lined with towering bookshelves and draped in thick velvet curtains.

  Chandeliers hung overhead, their crystalline ornaments cradling floating motes

  of enchanted light. The scent of old parchment mingled with something sweet,

  like spiced honey. It was everything I had imagined a headmaster’s domain to

  be—and yet, somehow, more.

  What I hadn’t expected, however, was that this

  was a pocket within a pocket. The realization sent a shiver down my spine. Was

  even his real name, or had fate given Magnus the title as some cosmic jest?

  Unbothered by my thoughts, Pocket busied himself

  at a long, ornate table, arranging delicate teacups and setting out a plate of

  cookies with meticulous care. Hesitantly, I took one. The rich scent hit me

  first—warm, deep, and slightly bitter. Chocolate. I had never tasted it before,

  and the moment it melted on my tongue, I was lost. One turned into two, then

  three. My hands moved on instinct, reaching for more before I even realized.

  Across from me, Merlin sipped her tea, amusement

  glinting in her eyes. “Garik,” she mused, swirling the liquid in her cup, “why

  don’t you tell little Elara here about your Catalyst Magic?”

  Garik, caught mid-bite, hurriedly brushed crumbs

  from his thick beard and cleared his throat.

  “Well,” he began, his deep voice a low rumble, “I

  have what’s known as a .”

  “Dual?” I echoed, leaning in.

  He nodded. “Aye, lass. My forebears were both

  Soul-Bound. I inherited two Catalyst Magics—the and the Conflux

  Catalyst.”

  I listened, wide-eyed, as he explained. The Omni

  Forge granted him the power to craft anything, weaving raw energy into

  tangible form. But the was the true key—it allowed him

  to fuse and merge different elements into something entirely new. The catch? He

  had to use them together. Separately, each had limits, but in tandem, their

  potential was boundless.

  “Wow!” I nearly shouted, barely containing my

  excitement. The answers I had been searching for were unfolding before me, one

  after another.

  But Magnus only chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s

  not the only one.”

  “He’s not?” My breath caught as I turned to him,

  my heart pounding with the thrill of discovery. “Mr. Magnus… do have

  a Dual Soul as well?”

  Laughter rippled through the room. Magnus simply

  pointed across the table. “Not I, child. But do.”

  I followed his gesture, my gaze landing on Enoux

  and Merlin. A knowing look passed between them, and my stomach twisted.

  “What?” I breathed, eyes wide.

  Magnus leaned back, lacing his fingers together.

  “Both Enoux and Merydeth here are the granddaughters of the very first to hold

  the rank of —a Soul-Bound by the name of .”

  A hush fell over the room.

  Enoux’s mother, Nimue, had wed a Soul-Bound

  silver dragon named Arg’ntus.

  And Merlin—whose true name was —