Despite your earlier eager resolve to show off your mana casting to your father, you couldn't seem to find him anywhere.

Your father certainly wasn't at home — his dinner had not even been made — and he didn't seem to be at the palace either. Well, perhaps he was at the palace, but you doubted that you could venture out and explore anywhere past the gardens without being questioned by unfriendly guards. With your father, it was possible to wander about for he held a position of authority — but now, you would simply be considered a trespasser.

You decided that your father must have been abducted by aliens. Yes, it was a rather childish thought that far suited a three year old, but you simply couldn't think of anywhere else he could be. You wondered if this had to do with the frantic whispering between your parents that you had witnessed a day ago, or the fact that your mother had picked you up instead of your father.

Even for a child like you, you were sharp. Sharper than an average eight year old, at least, though your senses were still rather dull from the fact that you tended to let your mind wander. But still, this meant that you caught the hostile glances as well as the conspiratorial and harsh whispers tossed towards your mother. They had been from servants, guards, and even visitors alike.

Was your imagination playing tricks on you? You had heard snatches of their conversations with the words, "detest", "Emperor," and "unfortunate" littered inside. It had made you curious, but you did not dare to pry. You had never seen your mother so tense and so cold before — not at you, for she still kissed your forehead and handled you tenderly — but she seemed angry.

You had never seen her so angry before, and it made your world tilt off axis.

Angry at the world, angry at your father. At everyone. It didn't leave a good taste in your mouth. You felt terrible, when you realised that at times, you loathed her. Despite her being so sweet and loving towards you: you still found a traitorous sliver of dislike running through your veins. You did love and treasure her immensely, and yet there were always those complex feelings of betrayal when your mother still stayed with your father, citing reasons that she "still loved him" and that she "cared deeply for him."

You didn't get it. You didn't get it at all. You were hypocritical in the sense that you yourself wanted your father's validation and love, and yet you looked at your mother with sorrow when she did the same. When she yearned for the same.

You still wanted a chance to prove to yourself that your father loved you. But you and your mother's plights were very different: you would have to earn his love. On the other hand, hadn't your mother married your father? Hadn't she already earned it? So why was there so much fighting?

In hindsight, the your mother and you were much more alike than you had given yourself credit for. You both wanted a happy family. Her, a tangible thing, and you, an illusion. In the future, you would chide your former self and your old immaturity.

But now, you were still a child. And bit by bit, your soul was getting lacerated by your parents, then pieced together by Silas. Your childhood was slowly getting chipped away and flayed alive. You felt sad, sometimes, and the feeling would just refuse to go away. You wondered if you were peeking into the distant horizon.

People said not to borrow grief from the future. To focus on the present. Wasn't that what your mother always parroted? But what if you could see the headlights? The humming of sadness, of angst? You could not ignore it. There was a certainty of a dismal fate awaiting you — and you weren't ready.

You tried to remain bubbly. Sometimes it felt like you were chewing on something rotten and that you had to disguise your distaste with pleasure, while other times you felt so happy, like you were dancing on clouds and humming a tune. These feelings confused you greatly, but you had long confined yourself into the space of one simple adjective: happy.

Like many people, you found symmetry in complete opposites. You saw it in your parents, and then in yourself, with you and Silas. But the difference was, Silas was never mean. He could be cutting at times, strict, even, but he was never outrightly cold with you, like your father was with your mother.

Why did they marry each other? Out of love, you presumed. You could also see marital bliss that they had shared in photos. So where had that gone?

Better yet, where was your father? Why was your mother the one who had made her way to the palace to pick you up? Why was she so furious? The wedding band still stayed snug around her finger, so you knew they were technically still together.

The Emperor? Could it have been a matter of the Emperor?

You listed all these thoughts in your journal. Yesterday, in light of your fervor of casting mana, it had somehow slipped your mind to bring the journal. However, today you had made sure to tuck it away in your satchel. Again, your father was absent, and thus your mother had brought you once more to the palace. And now the palace looked terrifyingly huge and larger than life. Though your mother was here the other day, she swallowed, clutching your hand a little tighter.

The murmurs were loud. You knew she could hear them, and you watched as her jaw grew taut and her lips grew thin. No — perhaps it wasn't that you loathed her at times. Perhaps you loathed seeing her like this, when all your life, you had seen her strong and unbothered. You had always thought she could survive a hurricane, a tornado, an earthquake — but now, she seemed almost frail as she stood against the tide of maliciousness.

Yesterday's journal entry was a contradiction. A collection of paradoxes. On one hand, you had been so delighted in managing to accomplish what you had always wanted to achieve. You had been exuberant and over the moon when you had been successful in mana-casting. On the other hand, it felt like this sense of foreboding you felt with your father's absence and your mother's feelings gave you unease and made you feel strangely uncomfortable.

(I learnt mana casting!! And then an empty line and a wet page as your tears had fallen into the journal. Dad is gone... but I wanted to show him my skills. And mom is sad. Angry. I don't know what's going on.)

You wondered what Silas would say if he saw your journal. They were, after all, silly entries — an amalgamation of your day's happenings, your occasional thoughts... he wouldn't laugh, would he? Perhaps he would be too young to comprehend some of the things you were writing inside. Then again he was exceedingly brilliant, and shamefully knew far better words than you. His vocabulary was excellent.

Your mother's hand was cold as she handed you your lunchbox, kissing you on your cheek. You felt a wave of pity and affection for her as you squeezed her in a hug. The whispers followed her. Clearly, she was shunned from the palace.

"Goodbye," your mother whispered, smiling.

She was faking the smile. You wished, at that moment, that you were dense, and not astute. Being dense meant that you could live in blissful oblivion and ignore the happenings around you. Alas, it was not quite simple. You never disliked her smile so much until now. You liked it much better when her dimples were showing and when her eyes were twinkling.

She was making an effort. You adored her — your dear mother, who had raised you, loved you, cared for you. You didn't hate her. You didn't loathe her. You didn't think of her with malice, and yet you so hated the fact that she stayed with your uncaring father.

You loved your father. You loved your mother. That was the idea of family, after all — but was it all an illusion? Why couldn't your parents just love each other? Why did your mother continue to stay even if she constantly fought with your father? And why did you hate your mother's actions so much when you did the exact same?

You hugged your mother tightly, breathing in her scent.

"Bye," you mumbled.

—

"Is that supposed to be me?" Silas asked, aghast. He was staring at a drawing of him done stick-man style by the side of a page in the journal.

"Yeah," you nodded your head enthusiastically. "Cool, right? Look. I even coloured your eyes purple."

"Not that shade," Silas said.

"Don't be picky now," you chided him lightly. "I only had one shade of purple in my colour pencil box, so that's what you'll have to deal with."

Silas looked appraisingly at your journal entries. He had thumbed through them painstakingly, and was currently at the very middle of the journal. It was giving him a glimpse into your mind and your life. He liked seeing his name there numerous times. Again, even if aforementioned, Silas liked knowing that you were thinking of him.

It made him feel warm inside.

Silas stayed silent for a while as he read the entry again. Your handwriting was neat, controlled, and clearly practiced. Silas likened it to yet another butler commitment.

He glanced through the pages and flipped them until he reached the last one. Silas pressed onto the crinkled paper, frowning. "Did you cry?"

You reddened. "What? How —"

"It's obvious — I can see the tear stain," Silas sighed. "Let me read what you wrote. Dad is gone...whatever do you mean by that? He's probably in the Palace, right? He's the butler, after all."

"Yeah," you shifted, "but usually he's the one who sends me back from the palace and then sends me here the day after. I think my mom knows the reason, but she won't tell me. And this arrangement kind of just makes everything so weird and different. For starters, my mother had to send me here, and she got really angry in the palace because of everyone whispering..."

"Huh." Silas knitted his eyebrows. "My father's busy, too."

"He works here?" You exclaimed.

Right. Silas hadn't really told you before, had he? That he was the crown prince, and that his father was the Emperor. That your father served his, and that you would serve him in the future.

"Yes." Silas said vaguely. "Speaking of which, was your father happy that you managed to complete the mana casting?"

You deflated. "I told you. My dad is gone. Gone from my home, at least. I know it isn't permanent because all of his stuff are still there including his favorite books, but I didn't get the chance to show the mana casting off to him. I wonder just what the Emperor is making him do — my dad had been here for so long!"

Silas had heard yelling and fighting along with the slam of a door. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant. But for your sake, he would omit that information. He didn't really know what was happening around the palace (except for things that concerned him, of course. One could never been too careful), but from the snippets that Silas had heard, he understood that your father and his father were having an argument. Your father would probably be back at your household by nighttime, considering the Emperor's anger. Silas knew his father was a petty person.

"Adult matters," Silas shrugged. "Don't be too bothered by it."

"Oh, but I am," you said, perplexed, "especially since my birthday is coming up in a couple months, and I know that sounds like it's a long time, but I really want things to smoothen over and —"

"When's your birthday?" Silas interrupted.

"[Date]," you mumbled. "I'll be officially turning eight. I hate growing up. I want to stay young forever."

Huh. In a couple of months? That meant that by then, Silas would have known you for about half a year. It had been a month, possibly more, since the two of you had met. Quite long, actually.

"And you want all the arguments to stop by your birthday?" Unrealistic, isn't it? Silas thought. Once something is set in stone, nothing's going to change. He knew that much from his own set of parents.

"Hopefully," you sighed. "And I want my mom to stop being upset, I want my dad to be proud...which he will be after I show my mana casting to him — and I want —" you paused, flickering your eyes towards him.

"What?"

"I want you to be at my house on my birthday," you admitted, smiling, "I bet my mom would love to have you! She's heard all about you, anyways. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Lovely? Silas had gotten a sight of your mother today, as she dropped you off. She looked weary, and her smile had looked tired and fake. But still, your mother's eyes softened as she kissed your cheek and handed you the lunchbox that you two always shared. Silas decided that he would tolerate her. Like her, even, for it was clear that you had gotten your disposition from your mother.

(Though your mother would have begged to differ. In arguments, you would learn that your father was like you when he was young. Rather concerning.)

But yes, that sounded pleasant. A change in scenery would be fun, too.

"I'll give you my journal when my birthday comes. And then you can write something for me!" You said cheerfully. "What about that?"

"Write something about you?" Silas echoed. "Wouldn't that be like a letter, then?"

"About me, not to me," you frowned. "I mean, I suppose I'll end up reading it, but...pretend that I won't see it."

"You just told me you'll end up reading it."

"Then pretend I didn't say that." You said stubbornly, "Come on, you can do that, right?"

So you were basically asking Silas to pen down his thoughts of you.

You crossed your arms. "Hey! I'm your senior. And that could be your birthday gift to me!"

"You aren't even turning eight officially until a couple of months later."

"And you aren't even turning six until —" you paused. "Wait, did I ever ask you about your birthday?"

"It's a month after yours. A month and sixteen days, to be exact," Silas told you.

"So near the end of the year," you mused. "I mean, technically I've always been eight this whole time. My birthday is only gonna make it official. Understand what I'm trying to say? That I'm actually —"

"I guess."

You didn't make much sense at times. Silas learned not to pay any heed to it.

"But in those few months...I'm scared," you said dolefully, "I bet something will happen. Something always happens. Last year my mom tried to bake a pie, but when it was resting on the windowsill, the birds got to it. What a pity."

"That's a silly thing to be scared of," Silas wrinkled his nose.

"It wasn't really about the cake. It was more the shattering of expectations. I craved that pie for so long, Silas! And when I woke up that day, I was eagerly waiting for it. And it's like — having your expectations being broken. So now I'm scared that my expectations of having a perfect family will be gone, but..." you paused. "I mean, it's just not possible, right? All families are meant to be perfect! Mine will just take a little longer, that's all."

Did it? Were all families meant to be perfect? Silas's one was behind saving. It was flawed. It was clear that you were blinded by hope. Even Silas himself knew that the breaking of your expectations were inevitable.

"I just wanted peace," you recounted dismally, "but then I got upset because of the pie, and then that made my father frustrated and the fighting just kept getting worse—"

"Fine," Silas interrupted, "I'll write about you in your journal when your birthday starts to come up. And then I'll give it back to you on the actual day. Will that make you happy?"

Your jaw was agape. Your eyes practically sparkled as you flung your arms around Silas, beaming from ear to ear. The six year old shifted backward, but after a while, allowed himself to return the hug, albeit briefly. But still, you continued to squeeze him excitedly before you pulled away, a grin on your lips.

"Really?" You asked excitedly, "really? You'll do that? Oh, that'll be so exciting!"

"And you can always come here on your birthday if you want after attending whatever thing your family has planned in your house, " Silas offered softly, "that way, I can give you back your journal. And there wouldn't be any expectations to be crushed."

You were smiling so hard it hurt. "This will be so fun."

"It's in a couple of months. Why are you so happy?"

"It's something to look forward to," you giggled. "Oh, now I'm glad. You have this effect on me. I'll be feeling sad, and then I visit the palace — you and Elias — and everything just vanishes. Thanks so much, Silas. I'm glad you're my friend. I'm glad you're my first friend."

You never knew true happiness until you found Silas. Perhaps it was a little bit of an exaggeration, as you had felt true joy before. It was better to say that with Silas, the emptiness that had plagued you disappeared. You wondered if there would be some insidious, nefarious trade that you didn't know of happening — would you be taking this joy for a price?

However, with Silas, whatever uncertainty you had for the future disseminated and disappeared. From being large monsters looming over you, your problems became tiny, insignificant, and crushable.

You kept smiling.

—

no Elias appearance, I'm sorry

pre-wrote half of this chapter yesterday and I managed to finish it today... my day took a even worse turn :') haha idk anymore bruh life is tough

regardless hope everyone liked it — idk if this chapter was strange or anything because I wrote it in a weird headspace

please let me know if anything doesn't make sense

how was it?