Alastor's body felt heavy, as though he had been submerged in deep water. His eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the warm glow of the morning sun streaming through the tall windows of his bedroom. The soft rustling of curtains and the faint scent of lavender filled the air, a familiar comfort that contrasted the turmoil of the night before.
As his vision cleared, he found his mother, Duchess Elira Von, seated beside his bed. Her elegant hands were clasped together, her blue eyes filled with concern. A rare expression of vulnerability softened her usual composed demeanor.
"Mother…?" Alastor's voice was hoarse, his throat dry.
Elira exhaled in relief, reaching out to brush a strand of golden hair from his forehead. "You're awake," she murmured. "How do you feel?"
Alastor pushed himself up slightly, but a dull ache settled in his limbs. He recalled the events of the night—the nightmare, the assassin, the fight. His expression darkened. "Why did someone try to kill me?"
Elira sighed, placing a gentle hand on his. "Your father is investigating the matter as we speak. He has tightened security around the estate. You are safe now."
"Safe?" Alastor frowned. "An assassin managed to infiltrate the estate's defenses. Who would even want me dead?"
His mother hesitated for a moment before responding. "We do not know yet. But rest assured, my son, we will find out. Until then, your safety is our utmost priority."
Alastor wasn't fully reassured, but he could see the genuine worry in his mother's eyes. He nodded, choosing to trust his father's judgment.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Before either of them could respond, the door swung open dramatically, revealing a young man with a bright grin and arms stretched wide.
"Alastor! My dear, boring friend! I heard you got yourself into trouble, so naturally, I had to come see you!"
A wave of energy seemed to burst into the room as the visitor strode in confidently. He was dressed in fine noble attire—though slightly disheveled, as though he had rushed over without a care. His striking auburn hair fell messily over his forehead, and his amber eyes sparkled with mischief.
Elira sighed but allowed the intrusion. "Young Master Cedric, I see your manners remain… questionable."
Cedric Belmont, the only son of Marquis Belmont, grinned at the duchess before plopping down on the chair beside Alastor's bed. "Manners are overrated, Duchess! Besides, Alastor and I are like brothers. Formalities are exhausting."
Alastor couldn't help but smirk despite himself. Cedric had been his friend for as long as he could remember, always the opposite of him—loud, impulsive, and utterly shameless. Where Alastor preferred solitude and quiet study, Cedric thrived in chaos, always dragging him into troublesome yet strangely entertaining situations.
Cedric leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. "So… what actually happened? Did you fall off your bed and make a huge fuss, or was it something exciting?"
Alastor rolled his eyes. "I was attacked by an assassin, Cedric."
The marquis' son blinked. Then, instead of shock or fear, his face lit up with excitement. "An assassin? That's amazing!"
Elira shot him a glare, and Cedric quickly corrected himself. "I mean—it's terrible! Absolutely awful! How dare someone try to murder my best friend? Outrageous!"
Alastor shook his head. "You don't take anything seriously, do you?"
"Of course I do!" Cedric puffed out his chest dramatically. "For example, I take my duty as your best friend very seriously. Which is why I'm here—to make sure you don't get bored lying in bed all day."
Elira pinched the bridge of her nose. "If you two are going to be insufferable, I will leave you to it. But, Alastor, do not overexert yourself."
Alastor gave her a reassuring nod as she stood and left the room. Once she was gone, Cedric turned back to him with a more serious expression.
"Jokes aside," Cedric said, leaning back in his chair, "I came because I was worried. You've been acting strange lately, and now this? An actual assassination attempt? Who the hell would want you dead?"
Alastor sighed. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. My father is handling the investigation, but I don't think this will be the last time they come after me."
Cedric frowned but then smirked. "Well, I hope they do come back."
Alastor raised a brow. "And why is that?"
Cedric grinned. "Because then I'll finally get to use this!" He dramatically pulled out a short, ornamental dagger from his belt, spinning it in his fingers before nearly dropping it. He caught it just in time, laughing at his own clumsiness. "Okay, maybe I need more practice. But still, if anyone tries to hurt you again, I'll be there."
Alastor chuckled despite himself. "That's reassuring."
Cedric shot him a wink. "Of course it is! Now, enough of this gloomy talk. Tell me, have you finally figured out what ability you're going to awaken? Maybe something dramatic, like summoning dragons?"
Alastor's expression faltered. "That's… uncertain."
Cedric's playful demeanor softened. "Hey, whatever happens, you're still Alastor Von. Ability or not, you're the smartest and most stubborn person I know. You'll be fine."
Alastor stared at his friend for a moment before nodding. "Thanks, Cedric."
"Anytime, my brooding, overly-serious friend. Now, let's sneak out and get some fresh air before your mother has me thrown out."
Alastor sighed, already regretting letting Cedric in. But deep down, he was grateful. With everything happening around him, having a friend like Cedric made it all a little more bearable.