a/n; i had a pretty rough day, so comments would really be appreciated — hope you enjoy reading!

—

Your mother told you to write your thoughts down in ink.

She called it journaling, and it was a hobby she wanted you to have. Whether it was the smallest of things that occurred in your day, like the food you ate, to the larger things that happened, like your first spark of mana (your father had insisted for you to start your mana casting early) — your mother told you to write every bit down into a small notebook.

Then when night came, she would ask for permission to read through it, and a soft smile would grace her lips as she thumbed through the pages.

Your mother would hug you, scent warm and reassuring, as her loose hair tickled your ear. "I will protect you as much as I can. I will make sure that your duty does not kill your soul, like how it killed your father's."

At her words, you always wondered about the before. There were always the before and after's — the strangest thing about time was that while you were still in your earlier stages of life, the before — your mother was already living in the after. Both of you were in the present, but for your mother, she had already lived through the transformative years of her life.

Who was she before she had you? Who was your father before you? Were they happier, more carefree? Had your father traced patterns on your mother's swollen belly, eager for you to be born? Because, when you looked at past pictures of the two of them, now hidden and locked in a chest, you could see their glowing faces, happy and excited. And now the vestiges of the past had fizzled away and their relationship had soured.

You wondered what your father had been like before his role had stripped him of his happiness: had he been happy, like you? Brave enough to dream of the future? Or had he always been sullen and bitter? Did his change of personality? worsen his relationship with your mother?

You wondered if one day, this journal would be precious and sacred to you. Perhaps you would laugh at your sloppy handwriting. Perhaps you would have cried at your childhood naivety then, wishing to return to your old days.

There were so many things to think of pertaining to your future. Your journal entries were consistent, and soon, as the days passed by, the pages became increasingly filled. You stuck flowers in between the pages, and that gave it texture, which your mother said was always welcome in a journal. You worked tirelessly at it whenever you were free — and it was surprisingly calming and satisfying.

.

.

Today, the apples were slightly sour. Mommy says it's because they aren't the ripest, and that the supply has been low lately. And as for mangoes, she says, they are a seasonal fruit. They're super expensive now, which is sad, and maybe it's because another season is coming. More time is passing by. How will I latch onto it?

—

Elias hit Silas on the cheek today with his feet. It's funny to write down their names, for when I sound them in my head, they rhyme. How silly, isn't it?

—

My father scolded me today. I thought he was in a good mood, but he came out bad tempered after he visited the palace. I think him and I are opposites — he hates going to the palace, and yet I adore it. Oh, yeah! And Silas and I make a pinky promise that we would still remain friends. Well, I initiated it, but Silas looked pretty happy. I don't think he's aware of the times when he smiles genuinely.

—

Today I felt strangely upset. Disappointed, maybe. My father wanted me to manifest some mana spell — apparently, one-tier mages should be able to do it — and I slaved away at it for days. I even got a nose bleed! But I still wasn't able to manifest it. I have to show him my skills soon, but I'm terrified to tell him that I can't do it. I don't know what to do. I'm a big boy, so I can't cry, but my eyes are really burning. I don't think I'll be showing my mom this journal entry.

—

They fought again. I haven't told my father about my failed skills yet. It'll make him angrier. But today I smuggled ginger cookies out! I think Silas will like it. I hope I don't cry in front of him. That's childish. He's two years younger than me, and yet he's so smart...I'm envious, but proud of him. Maybe if Father had Silas as a child, he would be happy? Maybe there wouldn't be fights?

—

I didn't cry in front of Silas in the end! But I've been so upset lately. I don't know what's come over me. Maybe I'm becoming like Father...

—

I made a grand plan! Well, not really grand, because it's really nothing special, but...I'm just going to work really hard from now on and become outstanding. Like I'll work ultra-hard. How much sleep does a person even need, anyway? This way, Father will be happy and he won't fight with Mommy. And we'll be one big happy family :) My mom is starting to become a little suspicious that I won't show her my journal, but she's understanding. Once my plan is pulled off, I show it to her!

I'm a little happy now. Visiting Silas!

—

.

.

Things between you and Silas were amiable and smooth sailing. Those moments you were in the palace soon became your lifeline: sometimes you wished that the hands of the clock would slow down, so that you would have more time with your pet bird and your sole friend. Things in your house were growing heated, and you were confused and upset on why the fights were happening.

You didn't get why your parents just couldn't make up. You had stopped yourself from crying numerous times before — what was stopping them from fighting? You still loved your Father — he was your family, after all — but you weren't quite sure why he didn't seem fond of you.

It must have been something you did to have made him angry. People didn't just become angry out of nowhere.

It must have been your fault.

Your frequent training in secret had taken a toll on you, and you had become increasingly weary as you visited Silas. And yet you were happy, and the big grin on your face never faded away, not even for a brief period of time.

This was your happy place. Your safe place. There was no noise, no shouting. Just you and him and Elias.

Perhaps in hindsight you were becoming increasingly attached to Silas and the palace. Maybe you were becoming attached to the idea of them — the idea of having someone that wouldn't scream or yell at you. In your head, you had created a solace for yourself. Silas and Elias wouldn't be angry at you, they wouldn't be harsh. Even though you wished for time to lengthen when you were with them, you were starting to worry about the time you lost studying. And so you tried to memorize the interior layout when you visited the palace and sometimes sneaked a few small poison pills to build up your resistance.

Before you knew it, the first obstacle in your childhood had appeared.

Anxiety. You hated it: you found your heart beating faster than usual, and you wondered just what was going wrong with you — you found yourself fiddling with your fingers, wringing them painfully — you found your thoughts occupied with anxious ones as you tried to enjoy yourself to no avail.

It was fine. You convinced yourself that it was a passing moment. You would be fine. Your parents would be fine. You would all be one happy family.

"And that's where the servant chambers reside," you said triumphantly, "look!" You jabbed at the drawing that you had brought from your home. To aid you, your mother had painstakingly sketched out every inch of the palace's layout.

Silas yawned. "Why are you learning such things?"

"To serve the future Emperor!"

"No, I'm asking why you're learning about such things now," Silas said, "you used to show me your drawings and point at funnily shaped clouds. We used to eat together and talk. And now all you do is parrot about mana-casting and boring things about the palace. It's like you're working all the time."

You flushed. "Sorry. I need to study really hard. Then my parents will make up."

Silas was curious. He sat upright. "What's the correlation?"

"Corre-what?" You frowned. "You have all these big words."

"What's the connection between having a happy family and you studying? It's nonsense."

"It's not!" You cried out, your voice going painfully flustered as you clutched the layout-paper in your hands — "once I excel in everything, Father will be happy. And when he's happy, he will no longer fight with my mom. And we'll all be happy together."

Silas fell silent. "Is that how it works?"

"I think. It makes sense, no?" You sighed. "Sorry. I don't want to be boring or make you feel sleepy. I want to play, too, but if I play too much, the fighting will just continue. And when it gets noisy, and I can't really journal."

"You have a journal?" Silas's eyes widened, "how many things are you doing?"

"It's more of a hobby than homework. I'll bring it to you and show you soon," you said shyly, "I always write about you in my journal, Silas."

Silas was stunned. You wrote about him? Was it a good thing, or a bad thing? What even was the concept of journaling? Like a diary? Possibly yes. But if you were admitting this to him, it would mean that the things you wrote about him were good, right? Like what? Did you write about the time Silas managed to do mana casting on his first try, making you awed? It had surprised him then, to see that you weren't jealous, but genuinely happy for him. Did you write about the time Silas taught you a little about mana casting, and you nearly accomplished the spell? You had looked so happy and accomplished then, and had swept him into a hug. Did you write about how Silas always preferred mangoes over apples?

Silas was curious, and a pleasant feeling had worked its way to his insides. To write about him meant you were thinking of him. It was always nice to know that someone was thinking about him.

Silas wondered what would happen if he told you that he killed people, and still continued to do so. Would you look at him in disgust, or would you remain the same? The very first time he had met you, you had even felt sorry for him even as a corpse laid beneath his feet. You had even become his friend. What about now? Would you still be the same? In fact, would you embrace him if he told you about the blood on his hands, the sin weighing on his soul?

Would you still treat him the same even if Silas told you that he had lied, and that he was the crown prince? One murky part of him wanted for you to be below him in position, so that you would be forced to respect him and treat him like he was your senior — but the other part of him didn't want you to do that.

Silas had officially accepted you as his friend, but still, he didn't know what he felt about you. Was he still using you? The word using had a negative connotation, and he had allowed himself to enjoy the times that he spent with you.

Unlike your positive thoughts that you two would remain friends growing up, Silas thought differently. With him being isolated and hated on for all the six years in his life before you came, his view on relationships became dysfunctional.

People changed as they grew up.

Yes, you and Silas were friends now. But Silas feared that one day, he would grow damaged, and your puzzle pieces would no longer fit with his — perhaps his would be too frayed, too worn and torn. Maybe you two would drift without any particular reason; or maybe Silas would eclipse you, growing to become the Emperor while you simply served him wordlessly. Would he want that?

"Bad things?" He said at last. "Or good things?"

"Good things, obviously!" You puffed out your cheeks in indignation, "why would I write anything bad about my friend?"

"I don't know. Maybe you were feeling cheeky."

"Cheeky!" You repeated, smiling. "Never heard you use that word before."

"Bring the journal tomorrow," Silas told you. "I want to see it."

"What's the magic word?"

"...Please," Silas obliged rather reluctantly. "Please bring the journal, okay?"

"I will." You promised. You folded the drawing of the palace, pleased that you had successfully memorized it. "I'm done with my homework quota for today, and we've eaten the snacks. What do you want to do now?"

Hm. What did Silas want to do? You had been the one initiating a lot of the activities you two did. Either that, or the two of you simply mindlessly chatted. But he thought back to the napkin bird, and how you had taught him to fold the cloth. Well, maybe Silas would do you a favor — maybe he would allow you to use your stupid arsenal of information and teach him something. Was that not a honour he was bestowing on you? For you, a mere servant, to teach the future Emperor?

"Teach me how to draw," Silas said.

You brightened. "Ooh! That's a good suggestion. I love drawing."

"I can tell." Silas said wryly, amused. "There's a bit of gravel there. We can use sticks to draw a rough outline."

"I work better with paper and pencils," you said sorrowfully.

"Then along with the journal, you can bring a sketchbook." He suggested.

"Oh! Wait! I know," you said cheerfully, "I'll bring the journal, and we can draw on it! So instead of writing words out, it'll be like a little cartoon, drawn by the both of us."

"Okay," Silas agreed. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, but again, he was humoring you like a good master did. "We can do that."

After a while, you two came upon two thin twigs that would work perfectly as pencils. They weren't too thick, so your small hands could grip around one easily. Soon, you were drawing a tiny bird on the gravel.

"Is that supposed to be Elias?"

"Yeah," you nodded your head. "I was wondering, where is he?"

"Resting. My mana is recharging."

"Is he connected to you?" You wondered in amazement. "Like — is he part of you?"

Silas pondered over it before he answered. "No, I don't think so. He is his own separate being, but in the end, he runs on my mana. It's inevitable that there will be days he disappears."

"So he takes all your mana away?"

"Also not that. But he uses up about five percent of my mana. And when that five percent is used up, then..."

Five percent. And Elias had been alive for nearly three and a half weeks! How much mana did Silas really have? Maybe if you had that crazy abundance of mana, your father would finally be satisfied.

"Wow," you couldn't hide the reverence in your voice, "you're amazing, Silas."

"I can try teaching you again." Silas offered.

I need to make him the perfect butler for me. And if it means sacrificing my time to teach him, I suppose I'll do that, Silas thought. Besides, that's what friends were supposed to do. He was starting to trust you, for hadn't you stuck to him like you had promised? Besides, Silas was still a six year old child. It was hard not to open up to someone who was so genuinely sweet and kind like you. If he met you a few years down the line, Silas would have been utterly cold and unapproachable. So unbeknownst to him, it was the right person at the right time. If you had met him when you were twelve, and he was ten, you two would have been painfully lonely and miserable.

But still, the universe had chosen to make the two of your fates collide at an early age.

You brightened up. "You mean mana? Mana casting? Yes!" You said enthusiastically, "yes, please!"

"Not now. You're teaching me how to draw, aren't you?" Silas's drawing of a bird was plainly atrocious, and you had to stifle a giggle, "I'll teach you magic the next time you come here."

"Yay!" You cheered, breathing a sigh of relief. Perfect timing! Now your father would be happy. And everything would click into place. Your heart leapt for joy as you proceeded to draw a smiley face next to Silas's drawing, slowly laughing at his frankly deformed rendition of Elias.

You're laughing. You always laugh. You're always so happy and merry, even on the days your eyes look sad.

Silas noted that you had a beautiful laugh, like the promise of tomorrow.

—

the house is getting renovated rn and so I am purely on data for the week lol. the dining and living room is getting demolished repainted, so it's gonna be a little hard to write

regardless, hope you like it! a time skip is coming in a couple of chapters :)

(also, do let me know how you find the pacing. we are about 16k words into the fic I think)

how was it?