Chapter 13: The Weight of a Failed Awakening

Within the grand halls of the Holy Church, the Supreme Pontiff knelt in solemn prayer before the statue of the Divine Goddess. The dim candlelight flickered, casting elongated shadows across the sacred chamber as incense burned, its fragrant smoke curling toward the vaulted ceiling. The church officials stood behind her, silent and expectant, as she sought divine guidance over the growing turbulence in the kingdom.

Moments earlier, she had learned of the assassination attempt on House Von's heir. The news had sent ripples through the Church's ranks, for they had not sanctioned such an act. To target the heir of Zephiron's strongest military house was to invite chaos—and chaos was not in the Church's interest.

Slowly, the Supreme Pontiff rose, her expression unreadable. "Summon Duke Reinhardt Von and his son. They are to present themselves in the capital within three days. We must hear their account personally."

Three days later, Alastor sat in a carriage, staring blankly at the passing scenery. The rhythmic rocking of the vehicle did little to settle the unease pooling in his chest. His thoughts churned, restless and relentless.

Why had he failed to awaken?

The question haunted him, gnawed at him. It wasn't just about power—it was about identity, about legacy. Every noble heir underwent the Awakening Ceremony, a rite of passage that unlocked their inherited potential. Yet, when his moment had come, there had been nothing. No surge of energy, no resonance with an element, no divine blessing.

And now, as they traveled to the capital under the Church's summons, doubt coiled around him like a vice.

"Father," Alastor finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "Could my failed awakening have something to do with my lost childhood memories?"

Duke Reinhardt Von's gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. "No, so do not ask about that question again."

The curt response hit like a slap. Alastor stiffened, frustration curling in his gut. He had expected hesitation, perhaps evasion—but outright dismissal?

Something was being kept from him.

But before he could press further, the towering spires of the capital city came into view, their grand presence marking the end of their journey—and the beginning of an ordeal that would test them both.

Upon arrival, they were not granted an immediate audience with the Supreme Pontiff. Instead, the Council of Nobles had convened first, demanding an explanation for the growing concerns surrounding House Von.

The grand chamber was filled with representatives from Zephiron's most powerful families. The circular hall was lined with tiered seats, each occupied by figures adorned in the insignias of their noble houses. At the center, a raised platform awaited Alastor.

"Enter," a commanding voice echoed. Lord Ignatius Roderic, a senior noble of the council, observed him with piercing eyes.

Alastor stepped forward, shoulders squared despite the tension pressing down on him.

"Alastor Von," Lord Ignatius began, his voice heavy with authority. "The Awakening Ceremony determines an heir's standing within noble society. And yet, your results were… unprecedented."

Murmurs spread through the gathered nobles like wildfire.

House Von's heir was powerless.

"In all my years," Lord Ignatius continued, "I have never seen an heir of such lineage fail to awaken. No talent. No affinity. No divine blessing." His words settled over the room like a heavy fog.

From the noble stands, Marquis Alphonse Varnell of House Aetheris leaned forward. "This is a matter of grave concern. House Von holds the kingdom's military might, yet its heir possesses nothing? How can we trust in your family's continued strength?"

Alastor gritted his teeth, but before he could respond, his father spoke first.

"A noble's worth is not dictated by awakening alone," Duke Von said, his tone calm but unyielding. "Strength is built through discipline, intellect, and leadership. My son will prove himself in due time."

Count Sebastian Morgrave of House Valken let out a dry chuckle. "Spoken like a father shielding his son. But Zephiron does not function on sentimentality. If your son cannot awaken, then by law, his claim to heirship may be reconsidered."

The word sent a chill down Alastor's spine.

This was not just about him. It was an attempt to undermine House Von itself.

"And what do you propose?" Duke Von's voice was sharp.

Morgrave's lips curled into a smirk. "A formal reassessment of House Von's heirship. If Alastor cannot awaken, then perhaps another of your lineage should take his place."

Alastor's hands clenched at his sides. He could feel the nobles' stares—some filled with judgment, others with veiled amusement. This was not just a challenge to his worth. This was a power play.

"Enough." Duke Von's voice cut through the chamber like steel unsheathed. "House Von stands unchallenged. My son remains my heir unless I decree otherwise. If any noble believes they can challenge my word, they may do so—on the battlefield."

Silence fell over the room.

Even the boldest among them knew better that to contest House Von in direct combat is looking for a great humiliation.

Lord Ignatius let out a long breath. "Then it is settled. Alastor Von remains heir—for now. But understand this: without an awakening, you will always be viewed as lacking."

With that, the council adjourned.

As Alastor and his father exited the chamber, a storm of emotions churned within him. This was only the beginning.

The meeting was adjourned, and Duke Von guided Alastor out of the chamber. Instead of heading straight to the church, his father turned down a different path, leading him toward a towering structure at the heart of the capital. Its spire stretched high into the sky, its entrance lined with intricate sigils glowing faintly with magic.

"Come," his father said. "There's something I want to show you."

Alastor followed, his mind still reeling from the meeting. The moment they stepped inside, his breath caught in his throat.

The tower was filled with magic—literally. Shelves upon shelves held artifacts of all kinds, from enchanted tomes to glowing gemstones, from finely crafted weapons to ancient relics humming with latent power. The air itself shimmered with energy, making his skin tingle.

Alastor's curiosity quickly took over his worries. He wandered the aisles, eyes wide with fascination. "What is this place?"

"A merchant tower that specializes in magical artifacts," Duke Von replied. "I thought you could use a distraction. If something catches your eye, consider it yours."

Alastor hesitated before nodding, letting himself be drawn into the world of rare and mysterious objects. He inspected various items—a dagger that crackled with blue lightning, a ring pulsing with an eerie green light, a small vial that swirled with liquid fire. Each item was extraordinary, yet none truly called to him.

His father noticed his hesitation and led him to the upper floors, where even rarer artifacts were displayed.

And that was when he saw it.

A single black feather.

It rested within a glass case, its surface darker than night itself, with an almost imperceptible glow along its edges. The sight of it sent a shiver through him.

Because he had seen this before.

In his dreams.

During the first assassination attempt.

Alastor reached out, pressing his fingers lightly against the glass, his heartbeat quickening. "This…" he whispered.

His father watched him carefully. "Do you want it?"

Alastor swallowed hard, unable to look away from the feather.

"Yes."