The days leading up to the Enlightenment Ceremony passed in a blur. The Von estate was abuzz with preparations, servants ensuring that everything was in place for the grand event, while nobles across the kingdom whispered about the long-anticipated awakening of Duke Reinhardt Von's only heir.
Alastor, however, found no solace in the grandeur. The pressure weighed on him with each passing moment, gnawing at his confidence. Despite his best efforts, doubt remained an unshakable companion.
In the early hours of the morning, before the first rays of dawn painted the sky, Alastor stood in the training yard, gripping a wooden sword. The cold wind bit at his skin, but he paid it no mind, focusing solely on the rhythmic swings of his blade.
"You won't find your awakening in a practice sword."
Alastor turned to see his father approaching, his expression unreadable. Duke Reinhardt Von was a man of few words, but his presence alone commanded attention. Dressed in a dark training tunic, he stopped beside Alastor, crossing his arms.
"I thought training my body would help clear my mind," Alastor admitted, lowering his sword.
Reinhardt studied him for a long moment. "Doubt is natural, but it must not consume you."
Alastor hesitated before voicing the thoughts that had plagued him for years. "What if I have no talent? What if I bring shame to our name?"
Reinhardt's expression did not change, but his words were firm. "Your worth is not determined by the opinions of others. You are my son, with or without an ability."
Alastor swallowed the lump in his throat. His father was a man of honor and power, a noble whose very presence could shift the tides of battle. He wanted to believe in those words, but the expectations of nobility dictated otherwise. A noble without an ability was a liability, an embarrassment.
"You should rest," Reinhardt said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Tomorrow is an important day."
Alastor nodded, but sleep eluded him that night.
The day of the Enlightenment Ceremony arrived with a fanfare of trumpets and the tolling of great bells. The grand cathedral of Eldoria stood as a beacon of divinity and power, its towering spires casting long shadows over the gathered nobility.
Alastor rode alongside his parents, his heart pounding with anticipation and dread. The streets were lined with spectators, commoners and nobles alike eager to witness the awakening of the next generation.
The cathedral's vast interior was illuminated by thousands of candles, their glow reflecting off intricate stained-glass windows depicting legendary figures of the past—warriors, sorcerers, and rulers who had shaped the kingdom's history. At the far end of the grand hall stood the Sanctifier, the esteemed figure tasked with overseeing the awakening of all noble children.
Sanctifier Aldebran was an elderly man adorned in ceremonial robes of white and gold. His piercing gaze swept over the gathered nobles before settling on Alastor.
"Step forward, Alastor Von," the Sanctifier intoned.
Swallowing his nerves, Alastor stepped onto the sacred platform, standing before the Sanctifier as the congregation watched in hushed anticipation.
The ritual was simple—place both hands upon the Awakening Stone, a revered artifact said to resonate with one's true potential.
Alastor took a deep breath and pressed his palms against the cool, ancient surface.
Silence fell.
A moment passed.
Then another.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The stone remained dull and lifeless, showing no signs of resonance.
Sanctifier Aldebran frowned but remained composed. "We shall try again."
Alastor's pulse quickened as he pressed his hands harder against the stone. Once more, the chamber was filled with silence.
Nothing.
Whispers turned into hushed conversations. Nobles exchanged glances, some with pity, others with concealed amusement.
The Sanctifier's voice was calm but carried an edge of finality. "One last time."
Desperation clawed at Alastor's chest as he shut his eyes, willing something—anything—to happen. Yet, when he opened them, the Awakening Stone remained unchanged.
A heavy silence settled over the hall.
Sanctifier Aldebran turned to face the assembly, his expression neutral. "Alastor Von has not awakened."
The words echoed through the chamber like a death knell.
A noble scoffed in the distance. "The heir of House Von… talentless?"
Another chuckled under his breath. "What a disgrace."
Alastor clenched his fists, heat rising to his face. His mother's hand found his, squeezing gently in reassurance, but it did little to ease the shame clawing at his heart.
Reinhardt Von, ever composed, stepped forward. "The matter is settled." His voice, unwavering as ever, carried through the hall, silencing further whispers. "This changes nothing."
But Alastor knew otherwise.
He had failed.
As he descended from the platform, he could feel the stares of the nobles piercing into him like daggers.
He, the only son of Duke Reinhardt Von, had been declared powerless.