Two Years Later

Cyrus woke at dawn in the room located at the edge of the building. He slowly opened his eyes to the familiar gray ceiling, which had become a silent reflection of his monotonous days. The room was as cold and quiet as ever, yet the solitude that filled it did not bother him; it was simply part of his own world. He moved quietly beneath the heavy blankets and gently pushed them aside.

After rising from his bed, he meticulously made it, paying close attention to every detail. Once finished, he changed from his nightwear into his daily clothes, then stood for a moment in the middle of the room, casting a quick, scrutinizing glance to ensure that everything was in its usual place.

Once he finished his inspection, he made his way toward the large window that covered an entire wall of the room. He drew the curtains open, allowing soft light to flood the space. Breathing deeply, he gazed out at the backyard garden. The tall trees swayed gently under the morning breeze, while small birds hopped between the branches. His eyes followed the movement of the white clouds that adorned the blue sky, catching a glimpse of the distant mountains that sketched faint lines across the horizon. In that moment, a deep sense of peace washed over him, and a complete calm filled his heart.

In front of the window, he pulled a small chair closer and quietly sat down. The cool air softly brushed against his face as he reached for a small drawer beside him. With a gentle motion, he took out his sketchbook and began flipping through its pages. Beside the sketchbook lay a set of colored pencils, which he spread out before him with care, as if they were magical tools. He picked up the first pencil and began to draw delicate strokes on the paper. The lines flowed smoothly, slowly capturing the scene before him: trees swaying softly, birds soaring through the sky, and the distant horizon unfolding like a mysterious painting.

He paused every now and then, taking a moment to observe his surroundings. As he was immersed in his work, he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He calmly lifted his gaze to see Joy standing beside him, smiling gently. Rest didn’t say a word, simply looking at him for a brief moment before Cyrus returned his focus to the sketchbook, continuing to recreate the beauty his eyes had seen.

In the middle of his drawing, Joy suddenly broke the silence. He was staring out at the vast horizon ahead and then said quietly, "What a beautiful morning, isn’t it?" He turned slightly toward Cyrus, his eyes searching for an answer, and added, "But what makes you wake up so early like this?"

As his hand moved gracefully across the paper, Cyrus replied in a low voice, “This time of day is the most peaceful. Nature seems to breathe slowly, away from watchful eyes… Here, in front of the window, with nature and my sketchbook, I truly feel at peace.”

“You know, Cyrus…” said Joy, as he extended his hand and gently placed it on Cyrus’s shoulder, then began to massage it softly. “This peace you feel is precious and rare. But what about your solitude? Drawing may bring you comfort, but what about your loneliness?”

Cyrus’s hand suddenly paused, his gaze lifting toward the sky. Among the clouds, a distant star caught his attention, shining alone in the vast space. He pointed to it with his finger, quietly saying, “Sometimes, I feel like that star, wandering alone in this endless expanse.”

Joy smiled softly, looking up at the star before saying, “But even stars find companionship in the sky; they draw their light from one another. Be hopeful, Cyrus. One day, you may find someone who lights up your world like that star does.”

As Doubt sat on one of the drooping branches of the tree across from them, his legs swung restlessly, and his narrow eyes watched them with disdain. He shook his head with a mocking smile and said, "Blah blah..." His words dissolved into the wind, as if he were talking more to himself than to them. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, "The same old boring talk. Don't you have anything new to say? Cyrus, listen to me if you really want peace. Let go of their illusions and hear what I have to say. Set your expectations to zero. That way, no matter how bad things get, it won't affect you in the slightest. And if something good happens, it's just an unexpected bonus. Isn't that easier?"

As Joy continued to massage Cyrus's shoulders, he let out a long breath before saying, "It's not that we're only seeking optimism. Sometimes, we need it to survive, to give ourselves a purpose, a small hope to hold on to."

Doubt shook his head in boredom and kicked the tree with his dangling leg, tired of the same old conversation. He said coldly, “Just an illusion. Empty words you use to deceive yourself. A veil to hide the harsh truth of our miserable reality.

Joy sighed softly and replied calmly, “Maybe it is... but what’s left for us if we lose even that illusion? We’d be empty, without purpose or meaning to live for.”

Doubt let out a short, dry laugh and said, “And that’s the reality. Running from the truth won’t change a thing. Whether we have a purpose or not, in the end, we remain the same.”

As the debate between them intensified, Cyrus returned to his sketchbook, his pencil gliding over the paper in silent scribbles, immersed in his own world, far from the words exchanged.

After Cyrus finished his drawing, he slowly lifted the sketchbook into the air, his eyes carefully studying the details he had drawn. He ran his fingers over the paper as if testing the texture of the lines before hesitantly asking, “Do I have the right to feel accomplished?”

Joy lifted his hand from Cyrus’s shoulder and lightly tapped his head, saying, “Of course! Why would you even ask? What I see in front of me is a wonderful piece of art.”

Before the moment could fully settle, Doubt leaped down effortlessly from the tree branch, landing beside them. He stood there for a moment, his narrow eyes scrutinizing the sketchbook before a mocking smile crept across his lips. In a biting tone, he said, "Well, well, it’s not bad, I suppose. But honestly, man, don’t make a fool of yourself. This is far from an achievement. Let’s make a quick comparison to your twin Nikos, who not long ago mastered and fully understood his ability by the age of ten and earned the admiration of everyone who saw him. And yet, he wasn’t even concerned about the great feat he’d accomplished. Now, what you consider an achievement is, in reality... How do I say this without hurting you? Terrible? No, that’s not quite right. Garbage? Also overused. Ah, got it: it's a pitiful and downright pathetic accomplishment. Honestly, it’s hard to find just one word to describe your situation here."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

After hearing all of that, Joy raised his eyebrows slightly before fading into the air. Cyrus let out a long exhale, his eyes fixed on the closed sketchbook in his hands. Slowly, he placed it back into the nearby drawer. He stood up and left the room with unsteady steps, his face clouded with melancholy.

As he walked through the corridors, everything seemed still, silent. But soon, he noticed the servants hurrying from one corner to another, their faces tense, the air thick with their unease. He stopped in front of two servants who were whispering urgently to each other. In a low voice, he asked, "What’s going on? What’s all this about?"

The servants barely glanced at him before resuming their conversation, as if he wasn’t even there.

From Cyrus’s right, Pride appeared, his expression furious, his eyes narrowing with displeasure. “Are you going to let them treat you like that? You’re their master, and this is unforgivable disrespect. Show them who you are!”

On the other side stood Logic, who said, "The fact that they’re still preparing your meals and setting out your clothes after what happened that day is something to be grateful for. Don’t ruin it over empty pride."

Cyrus hesitated for a moment, the feeling of resentment at being ignored welling up inside him once again. He clenched his fist, but in the end, he relaxed his grip and continued walking in silence.

As he walked, his eyes caught sight of a familiar face in the distance: Elissa, Andromeda’s maid, carrying a heavy tray stacked with crowded dishes. She was one of the few who treated him kindly, and his steps quickened toward her.

"Elissa..." he called out, "What's going on? Everyone seems so busy."

Elissa stopped, and when she turned, she greeted him with a quick smile. "Oh, young master!" she said in her usual voice, tinged with a bit of warmth. "We’re preparing for the arrival of guests from the Imperial Capital today. Everyone’s busy organizing the reception."

She gestured toward the tray in her hands. "Sorry, I have to get back to work. I'll see you later." In an instant, her light footsteps disappeared down the narrow halls, leaving him to ponder the silence she left behind.

Beside him, Pride scoffed with disdain. "She didn’t even bother to wait for your reply."

Logic raised his eyebrows, a faint smile forming on his lips before he faded away. "At least she didn’t completely ignore us… unlike the others."

Cyrus continued his heavy steps around the building, trying to ignore the commotion around him. Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around his neck from behind and yanked him down sharply. He felt his scalp burn under the pressure of hands roughly rubbing his head.

His body tensed, and he tried to resist, but the hands were firm, strong in a clumsy way. With irritated eyes, he glanced up to see Nikos, a broad grin spreading across his face, full of amusement.

"Let go, you pest!" Cyrus huffed angrily, but Nikos didn’t care.

Nikos laughed cheerfully. "You look so ugly when you're mad. I won’t let go until you smile." He tightened his grip even more on Cyrus's head.

As the seconds passed, Cyrus felt his tense muscles slowly give in to surrender. He knew resisting was pointless. With a defeated sigh, a small, forced smile crept onto his lips.

The moment Nikos spotted the faint smile, he let out a laugh and finally released his grip, leaving Cyrus’s hair in complete disarray. "That's better!" Nikos said, stepping back, still laughing, while Cyrus grumbled, running a hand through his now-messy hair.

After Cyrus straightened up and fixed his tangled hair, he glanced over at Nikos. His clothes were neat and well-tailored.

A question rose in Cyrus's throat, but before he could ask about the identity of the guests, a voice called out, "Nikos."

Cyrus turned toward the source of the voice and saw his mother, Andromeda, approaching them. Her gown shimmered under the sunlight streaming through the windows, and two maids followed her silently. Every detail of her appearance radiated beauty and elegance.

As soon as she reached them, a soft smile appeared on her face, and she gently placed her hand on Nikos's head.

“Go and get ready, Nikos. They’ll be arriving soon.”

Her eyes then shifted toward Cyrus, and in that single moment, everything changed. The smile vanished, replaced by a cold, distant look. Her voice was devoid of any warmth as she said, "Go to your room and don’t leave it today. Is that understood?"

"Same as always, nothing new," Cyrus thought to himself, before nodding, accepting the command as he always did. Without a word, he turned and began walking away, his steps slow and silent.

As Cyrus made his way back to his room, down one of the long corridors leading to it, Nikos watched his brother’s retreating figure with a look of irritation. Yet he remained silent. He knew, in the end, that his mother’s harshness toward his brother was something beyond her control.

As Cyrus’s steps slowed, he sensed a familiar shadow walking alongside him. Sorrow accompanied him, his features weary, and his voice barely audible, as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Our mother wasn’t always like this…” he whispered, his voice broken, eyes lost in thought. “Why has she become so cold?”

Before Sorrow could continue, his frail voice was cut off by the sharp tone of Anger. With a firm grip, Anger seized Sorrow by the neck, tightening his hold as if demanding answers. “Because she didn’t curse you or treat us like dogs—did you really expect her love?”

In an instant, Sorrow broke free and darted behind Cyrus, trembling as if seeking a safe haven.

A new voice, calm and measured, cut through the tension. Logic, ever composed, said, “As you pointed out, at least she didn’t treat us like animals. A little coldness isn’t so bad.”

Anger ground his teeth audibly, his eyes gleaming with suppressed fury before he dissipated into the air.

Cyrus continued his slow walk, trying to follow the orders he had been given. The sound of drums began to break the silence from afar, accompanied by the whispers of the wind slipping through the open windows. His feet stopped unconsciously, as if something stronger was pulling him. He turned his head toward the sound, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Curiosity appeared beside him, his eyes alight with excitement. "Do you hear that?" he asked, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Something’s happening outside… a grand welcome. Why don’t we go out and see what’s going on?"

But before Cyrus could make a decision, another voice, calm and steady, intervened. Logic stepped forward from behind, his tone serious. "Mother ordered us to return to the room. It's best to keep going as we were told."

Curiosity waved dismissively, as if brushing off Logic’s words without concern. "Since the day we were born into this world, we’ve been given orders. Won’t we ever question them? How will we know what’s happening around us if we always stick to what’s dictated?"

Curiosity turned toward Cyrus, his eyes brimming with excitement. "Don’t you want to see with your own eyes? To hear with your own ears, to feel the world you’ve never experienced? To step outside this cage that surrounds you? To walk the land of legends and stories we’ve only read about? To listen to the poets as they weave their tales, inspiring souls with their songs?"

Logic remained calm and said, "Our mother knows what’s happening outside, and she must have a reason for ordering us back to our room. Perhaps she fears you might get involved in something you’re not ready to handle. It’s better to follow what we’ve been told and return to our room as instructed."

Cyrus paused for a moment, hesitating, then glanced toward the window. There, in front of the palace, stood a carriage that was impossible to ignore. It was massive and luxurious, draped in layers of gold and silver that shimmered under the sunlight like a moving jewel. The intricate carvings that adorned it, the gemstones that embellished its corners—everything radiated an undeniable grandeur. Silk curtains, embroidered in vibrant colors, covered its windows, and the large wheels were embellished with details that paid homage to the craftsmanship behind them.

Around the carriage, knights stood like living statues, their silver armor catching the daylight and reflecting it with a dazzling brilliance, as though they were guardians straight out of an ancient legend. Each of them stood firmly, their swords swaying lightly at their belts, and their helmets crowned with soft plumes that danced in the breeze. The scene was a blend of majesty and intimidation, as if the very air had grown heavier under the weight of this royal display.

The drums pounded powerfully, their echoes filling the space between the palace walls, announcing the arrival of the guests. Cyrus felt his heartbeat quicken, his gaze shifting from the carriage to his room. He knew what he was supposed to do, but the scene outside the window pulled at him with an irresistible force.

In a single moment, his decision was made. The sound of Curiosity’s laughter echoed in his ears, triumphant in its victory.