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“Sir,” a woman knocked on the door. Behind the closed door, a young man was lying on his bed, grunting and rolling in his sleep. He ignored the woman, burying his head under his pillow as he tried to go back to sleep instead.

Yet, the woman called repeatedly. “Sir,” she said with each call, her tone became more hesitant and nervous. The boy squinted his eyes shut, pulling his blanket over his head. It was early—for him, at least. Judging by the sunlight that slithered from the closed curtain—and by the clock on his wall, if that was easier—it was barely 8 AM. Still quite early in his mind.

“Elliot, for Goddess’ sake.” Finally, a different voice, a younger woman’s, yelled as the door was thrown open—no, slammed open. The boy, Elliot, groaned. Just from the yelling voice, he recognized Charlotte. Because, well, of course, no maid dared to be rude to the nobles. And, of course, because no one could wake the boy up at this hour. The boy curled deeper under his cozy blanket, faking ignorance. That was until the young woman forcefully pulled his blanket away. “Get up!” she yelled at him.

The boy glared at Charlotte’s annoyed face. “What are you doing, Charlotte?” he hissed.

“Good morning,” she greeted cheekily, putting her hands on her hips. Since she took away Elliot’s blanket, he involuntarily rolled and found another maid behind her.

Elliot sat straight up, ruffling his messy bed hair. “What now?” he groaned in his morning voice; deep, and a little hoarse. “Have you ever heard the saying, don’t wake the sleeping lion up?”

Charlotte shrugged. “It’s almost nine.”

“What?”

“It’s almost nine and—”

“Perfect. It’s not even nine and you woke me up?” he rolled his eyes.

She blinked in disbelief, as if the young man had said the most outrageous thing ever. “What do you mean? Did you forget what day it is?”

“As far as I recall, it’s a bad day since you woke me up this early,” he drawled sarcastically, patting his pillow as he tried to lay back down.

“You’re really an idiot, Elliot!” Charlotte exclaimed, her eyes widening. “It’s your birthday!”

Oh. He really was an idiot.

The boy jumped and scrambled out of bed, stumbling to get ready. “Charlotte, why didn’t you wake me up earlier, for the love of Goddess!”

“I told you,” she rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance. She huffed and turned away, leaving another maid to take care of him. He had to get ready before he got murdered.

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Elliot, although barely, managed to arrive in time for the ceremony. He was wearing an all-white suit with a slight golden accent, emphasizing the paleness of his skin. The top was a white tailcoat suit, with a pair of golden chains dangling across his chest. Under the suits was a broken white vest covering a dress shirt. He wore a white western style bow tie. His suit was all buttoned up neatly. A single white rose was tucked in his breast pocket to accentuate the purity of his outfit. The bottom was a pair of white trousers, followed white shoes polished up.

Two guards opened the gate to the hall, and he stepped inside elegantly. He walked down the aisle on the red carpet. To his sides were pews, occupied by nobles which Elliot did not recognize. On the front row, though, were his mother, Catarina, his little sister, Victoria, and Charlotte, who had always been close with the siblings. All around him were gazes following his steps, yet he remained unwavering.

He walked towards the golden throne where his Father sat with his back straight, observing the steps his son took. Elliot’s gaze landed firm and sharp on his Father’s throne. His usually easygoing attitude was gone, now replaced by an unsmiling face. His Father’s expression was stern, not letting a slightest hint of emotion out.

Elliot stepped up the stairs to his Father’s throne. He knelt himself down to the Duke of Alskar. His head bent down, right fist on left chest, gesture of politeness. His Father towered in front of Elliot, taking the sacred sword of Alskar, blessed by the Goddess.

The eighteenth birthday, a coming-of-age ritual for anyone in the family known as Ritual of Purification. Once a Praesidio descendant turned eighteen, the ritual would be held where the Father, the Duke, would acknowledge the person as a child of the family. Only four families would do it—Alskar, Pacem, Giustizia and Pevnost—for they were the Four Heaven Families.

“Elliot Vincent Alskar,” Elliot’s Father’s voice, full of authority, echoed in the room. After all, his Father was well known as a man with great authority. He looked down at Elliot who knelt before him.

“Yes, Father,” Elliot replied, as polite as possible. He closed his eyelids, focusing on Father’s voice.

“Whatever is your business here today, Elliot Vincent Alskar?”

“I am waiting for your acknowledgement, Father.”

“Acknowledgement of what, pray tell?”

That sucked, Elliot thought. The conversation sounded pointless to him. He only wanted it to end quickly. “Acknowledgement as your son, Father, as the heir of Alskar, bearing the name of Alskar.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Yes, Father,” Elliot answered, a little impatient. “That I am your son, your heir. That I am a person worthy of the name of Alskar.”

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