JUSTIN'S POINT OF VIEW
I'd been frowning for a while now. Dylan really has a talent for ruining my mood—every damn time.
When we entered the vast kitchen, Tyler was the only one there. Looked like he'd asked the cooks to clear out so they could do whatever nonsense they had planned. He was on a table in the corner and glanced at us as we walked in.
My eyes narrowed at Dylan when I saw the state of the place. Chaos. Ingredients were scattered all over the tables and the floor, along with pots, pans, and baking tools. Overall, it looked like a hurricane had swept through.
The devil incarnate grinned at me. I imagined wrapping my hands around his throat and choking the life out of him. Of course, that was just in my head. Otherwise, I might actually kill him.
"This is the dare?" I asked, voice dripping with disbelief. "Cleaning?" This was the first time he'd chosen the kitchen as the site of his stupidity. Usually, it's always in the forest. "Really?"
"What do you think?" His grin widened.
I almost believed him, but that smirk ruined everything. This is Dylan. There is no way it would be just cleaning.
"Fine," I muttered and got to work. I bent down to pick up a pot that had toppled near my left foot—only to drop it instantly when I saw what was inside.
"AAAAAAAHHH!" I screamed, leaping onto the table without thinking.
Three green frogs hopped out, croaking as they bounded across the tiles. My glare shot to Dylan, who was practically doubled over with laughter, Tyler bouncing on top of his head like an accomplice. I knew it. He'd never run out of ways to torment me.
"You bastard, Dylan! Get those things away from me!" I yelled.
"Sure." He scooped them up casually.
For a moment, I thought I was safe. But then my gut clenched. Too late, I realized what he was about to do.
"Aaaaaahhh! Aahhh!" I shrieked as the frogs landed squarely inside my shirt. Panic and disgust exploded through me. I flailed wildly, hopping around on the table, trying to shake them out. "Get them off! Get them off!"
In my frenzy, I toppled and crashed to the floor. The impact knocked into stacks of cookware, sending them clattering everywhere. My eyes bulged when even more frogs came spilling out.
"Aaaaaaaaaahhh! Damn you, Dylan!"
The nightmare dragged on for half an hour. Eventually, Dylan must have gotten bored of watching me suffer because he finally removed the frogs and helped me clean up the mess.
Still fuming, I stormed out of the palace and headed into a secluded part of the forest.
I usually came here on their birthdays, their wedding anniversary, or the day they died. Maybe, because Rhein and Dylan had stirred up too many memories, I found myself wandering here again.
At the center stood a tree unlike any other. Once, it had been full of life—bearing round white fruits and blooming with pale blossoms that shimmered in sunlight or moonlight. Now, only the blackened wood and bare branches remained.
My mind drifted back.
I remembered glancing at the clock in our living room. It was only five o'clock, but I always forced myself to wake up early. I headed straight to the kitchen.
Mother was already setting up breakfast. She smiled warmly when she saw me. "Baby, it's too early. You look sleepy. You should go back to bed."
Father entered next, dressed in the same black uniform as Mother. They'd just finished bathing.
He laughed and scooped me up, pinching my cheek. "As if you don't know our son. He wants to eat with us, right, Baby Justin?"
I crossed my arms and pouted. "I'm not a baby anymore. I'm turning eight next month," I protested. Of course, they only laughed harder and teased me even more.
Breakfast was happy and full of laughter. Before they left, they kissed both my cheeks and gave me the same reminder as always.
"Justin, just stay here. Don't open the door, no matter who knocks."
"And never take off that necklace," Mother added, nodding to the chain around my neck with its small white stone pendant. "It keeps you safe."
My fingers instinctively touched it. I'd worn it for as long as I could remember. They said it was a mnarill necklace, a charm of protection.
"Yes, Mother. I'll behave. Don't worry. I'm a big boy now!" I said proudly.
Father chuckled. "Alright then. I'll play with you again later. Think of it as your reward."
"Hmmm... wait, Father," I hesitated, then blurted, "instead of playing, can you teach me how to use a sword?"
They both looked curious.
"Please."
They placed their right hands on my head, ruffling my hair. "Love, our son really isn't a baby anymore," Mother said.
"No kidding," Father agreed, patting my shoulder. "Fine."
They donned their black cloaks and left, locking the door behind them.
Once again, I was alone.
I always wondered about their work. They never told me. Whenever I asked, they insisted I was too young, that it was dangerous to know. But how could knowledge itself be dangerous?
Another thing that puzzled me—why was I confined indoors while other children could play outside freely? Father had once told me it was for my safety. But if it was dangerous outside, weren't the other kids in danger too?
Shaking my head, I pushed the questions aside and returned to my room.
From under the bed, I pulled out a small wooden box. Relief flooded me when I saw the unfinished wooden sword I'd been working on. It was small, child-sized, but nearly done. I'd been shaping and sanding it for almost two months now. Just a few more touches, and it would be ready. The thought of my sword lessons with Papa filled me with excitement.
And for months, he really did teach me every night. They said I was a fast learner.
Days passed, and tomorrow's finally my birthday. All day, I kept imagining what gifts they might give me—aside from the food and feast they always prepared.
When I heard the door open, I raced out of my room. They're home. But they were whispering urgently, their faces taut with worry. I couldn't catch what they were saying. Maybe... maybe they're talking about my gift?
"What's my birthday present?" I asked eagerly.
Mother knelt to meet my height, smiling. "You really want to know? But your birthday's not until tomorrow."
"It's only a few hours away!"
My father knelt down as well. "Alright then. Get ready."
He placed his hands firmly on both of my shoulders, then gently covered my eyes with his palms. "Ready?"