The grand halls of the Von estate echoed with the soft footsteps of servants attending to their morning duties. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a golden hue over the marble floors. Beyond the estate's towering gates, the city of Eldoria bustled with life, its citizens preparing for another day under the reign of King Aldebrandt. Inside, a young man sat in the estate's grand study, his blue eyes scanning a thick tome of philosophy.
Alastor Von, the sole heir of Duke Reinhardt Von, had lived a life of luxury and privilege for as long as he could remember. Raised in opulence, he had been given the finest education, trained by the most esteemed scholars, and groomed for nobility. Yet, despite the comfort of his surroundings, a lingering feeling of detachment gnawed at him—an inexplicable void he could neither explain nor ignore.
"Son," a gentle yet firm voice called.
He looked up to see his mother, Duchess Elira Von, entering the study. She was a woman of ethereal beauty, her silver hair cascading down her back, her sharp blue eyes filled with warmth as they landed on him.
"Yes, Mother?"
She smiled and approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your father is expecting you in the training yard. You know how he gets when you're late."
Alastor nodded, closing the book. "I'll be there shortly."
Elira studied him for a moment before sighing. "You've been reading more than usual lately. Are you feeling unwell?"
He hesitated before shaking his head. "No, just… lost in thought."
Her expression softened. "It's natural to feel uncertain at times, my son. But remember, you are Alastor Von, heir to House Von. No matter what thoughts plague you, your place in this world is secured."
Alastor forced a smile and nodded, though her words did little to comfort him. He had no memories of a life before this one, but sometimes, in the quiet moments of solitude, an eerie sense of unfamiliarity crept upon him, as if he were a guest in his own existence.
The training yard was filled with the rhythmic clang of swords as knights sparred under the watchful eye of Duke Reinhardt Von. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a presence that commanded respect, he turned as Alastor approached, his deep-set eyes narrowing.
"You're late," Reinhardt stated, though there was no true reprimand in his tone.
"My apologies, Father."
The duke nodded and tossed a wooden sword toward him. "Enough reading for today. Show me what you've learned."
Alastor caught the weapon and took his stance. His training had been rigorous over the years—his father ensured that he mastered both swordsmanship and strategy, believing that a noble's mind must be as sharp as his blade. However, unlike the other noble heirs, Alastor lacked an awakened ability, something that weighed heavily on him as his eighteenth birthday approached.
The clash of wood against wood echoed through the courtyard as Alastor engaged in combat with his father. Reinhardt was relentless, his strikes precise and heavy. Alastor struggled to keep up but managed to deflect most of the blows.
"You hesitate," Reinhardt observed as their swords locked. "In battle, uncertainty is death."
Alastor gritted his teeth and pushed forward, attempting to break the deadlock. He spun away and aimed a strike at his father's side, only for Reinhardt to parry with ease, knocking the wooden sword from his grasp.
"You're improving," the duke said, stepping back. "But you still rely too much on logic. Instinct is just as vital."
Alastor exhaled heavily, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yes, Father."
Reinhardt clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You have potential, my son. But potential means nothing without the resolve to see it through."
Alastor nodded, though uncertainty lingered in his heart. What use was potential when he lacked the very thing that defined nobility—the ability to wield magic?
Later that evening, the Von estate held a grand banquet in honor of a visiting noble house. The great hall was filled with laughter and music as lords and ladies dined in extravagance. Alastor sat beside his parents, making polite conversation with the guests.
Across the table, a young noble sneered as he lifted his goblet. "Tell me, Lord Alastor, have you decided what your awakening shall be? Surely the heir of House Von will possess an ability as grand as his father's."
A tense silence fell over the table. Alastor met the noble's gaze, refusing to show weakness. "I suppose we shall see at the ceremony," he replied evenly.
The noble chuckled, swirling his wine. "Indeed. I do hope you won't disappoint."
Alastor clenched his jaw but remained composed. His father's warning echoed in his mind—uncertainty is death. He would not falter, not here, not now.
Still, as the evening wore on and the laughter of the nobles rang in his ears, doubt festered within him. The awakening ceremony was mere days away, and with it, the moment of truth.
Would he prove himself worthy of the Von name? Or would he be exposed as the fraud he feared he might be?
Only time would tell.