The Epic of the Discarded Son-Chapter 39: Dairy 2

He pulled Rei’s diary from his shadow and turned to where he’d left off. Maybe reading would keep his mind from eating itself alive.

He needed something. Anything. A distraction from the mess his life had become in the last twenty-four hours.

The next entry was dated a few months later. No explanation. Just silence between the dates.

’Family issues, maybe.’

He tried to find something funny in that. A joke. A smirk. Anything.

Nothing came.

’Tough crowd.’

He settled his eyes on the page.

"01/05/3024"

"I finally know what freedom feels like."

"Convincing Father took months. I told him I wanted to conquer my own land first, prove myself worthy before inheriting the clan. That’s the version he needed to hear. The version that made his eyes light up."

"It was a lie."

"I just want to find my purpose. I want to find her."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Before I left, he gave me a ring. An artifact. It lets our people leave the island, but only for a set amount of time. Mine was a little over three years. He said if I don’t return before it runs out, it’ll tear my soul from my body."

"I think that’s complete garbage."

"But I wasn’t stupid enough to test it."

Underneath was a sketch of the ring. Creepy. A bull’s head fused with a skull—black, heavy, the kind of thing you’d expect to find in a cursed tomb, not on someone’s finger.

’So that’s how it works. The island lets you leave—but it keeps the leash on.’

’Interesting.’

He flipped to the next page.

"01/11/3024"

"The ship Father gave me is ugly. Boring. Embarrassing, actually. So I fixed it."

A sketch filled the middle of the page. A ship—proper this time. Full sails. Clean lines. And mounted at the front, a figurehead.

A woman carved from wood. Hair long and wild, caught in a wind that didn’t exist. Her face—Rei had spent time on it. Too much time. Every line careful, every shadow deliberate. But something was missing. Her expression hovered between emotions, like he knew exactly what he wanted her to feel but his hand couldn’t translate it.

Her eyes stared at something far away. Something the rest of the drawing couldn’t reach.

Below the sketch, the handwriting changed. Smaller. Tighter. Like he was writing closer to the page.

"I keep seeing her in my dreams. The same girl. The same tree. Every night. She sits there and watches my younger self train with Liz. Never speaks. Never moves. Just watches."

"And every time, I try to see my sister’s face. Try to remember her name. But the moment I reach for it, it’s gone. Like water slipping between my fingers. I only forget when I’m dreaming. Like something in there doesn’t want me to remember."

He turned the page. This entry was longer. Heavier. The writing filled every inch.

And at the top—another attempt at his sister’s face.

Ruined. Scribbled over. Layer after layer of pencil pressed so hard the paper had warped. Like he’d drawn her, hated what came out, and buried it rather than tear the page.

"For a long time, I just watched her. From a distance. She never acknowledged me. Never even glanced my way. Like I wasn’t there."

"And she never smiled. Not once. That girl’s face was a wall. No expression. No warmth. No anything."

"Eventually I got tired of standing around like an idiot. Walked over. Sat down next to her. Waited for her to say something."

"She didn’t."

"So I stared at her. Hoping she’d get annoyed. Tell me to leave. React in some way that proved she was real."

"Nothing."

"Fine. I stopped looking at her. Looked at what she was looking at instead."

"My younger self. Training on the field."

"And next to him, Liz."

"I froze."

"Everything came back. All at once. Her name. Her face. The way she laughed when she beat me in sparring. The way she’d scrunch her nose when she was concentrating. Everything I’d lost, flooding back so fast it hurt."

"I woke up with her name on my lips and a fire in my chest that hasn’t gone out since."

Underneath, he’d drawn her.

Not like before. Not the smeared, buried attempts from earlier pages. This one was rushed—frantic, almost, like he was racing against his own mind, terrified the memory would slip away before the pencil could catch it.

But in the end, it was clear. And whole.

Like he’d never forgotten her at all.

"01/18/3024"

"My journey starts today."

"The girl hasn’t appeared in my dreams for four days now. Not since we last sat together under that tree."

"I’m going to find her."

"When she’s near me, something changes. My thoughts stop tangling. The fog lifts. The world stops being this dull, gray, suffocating thing and starts having color again."

"I don’t know who she is. I don’t know where she is. But I know what I want."

"I want to see her smile. Just once."

"Before I die."

At the bottom—a drawing. Not a memory this time. A wish. What he imagined she’d look like if she ever let the walls down. If the hard expression cracked and something real slipped through.

And she was beautiful. The hardened expression he’d described—gone. Her eyes soft. Her lips curved just slightly, barely a smile, but enough.

Enough to change everything about her face.

The picture almost looked alive. Like she might blink if he stared long enough.

He had to admit, Rei couldn’t write to save his life. But the man could draw. Every sketch carried something words couldn’t. Emotion pressed into pencil lines so deep you could feel them through the page.

He turned to the next page. Then the next. These weren’t stories—they were practical. Sketches of how the ship worked. Diagrams. Knot techniques. How to fillet monster meat without poisoning yourself.

Useful. But not urgent.

He folded the corners of those pages. Bookmarks for later. Then kept flipping, skipping ahead, bending edges as he went, until he found where Rei stepped off the ship.

"02/29/3024"

"I met a mysterious old man—"

Knock. Knock.

’Of course. Right at the good part.’

The diary vanished into his shadow. He got up, crossed the room, and opened the door.

Luca.

His eyes didn’t land on Shiro first. They went past him. Over his shoulder. Straight to Nora sleeping on the bed, blanket pulled over her.

His gaze stayed there a beat longer than Shiro appreciated.

A beat too long.

Then they came back down. Carrying the same look they always did—like Shiro was an inconvenience he was being forced to tolerate.

Shiro looked up at him. Because the bastard was taller too. Because of course he was. Because the universe couldn’t let him have one thing.

"What."

He hated this man. Not for any logical reason. Not because of the poisoning. Not because of the attack. He could forgive professional attempts on his life.

He just hated him. Down to his bones. And he didn’t need a reason beyond that.

’I don’t see it. I really don’t. What’s so special about this guy’s face? It’s just a face. An average, ordinary, completely unremarkable face that Nora apparently thinks is attractive for some reason that defies all logic and good taste.’

’I’m handsome too. Rei said so. He said when I grow up I’d be really handsome. And Rei never lied.’

’Except about the birds. But besides that.’

"The Patriarch wants to see you."

The words came out like a threat wrapped in a sentence. Luca’s face carried that look—the aggressive one. The one paired with the cocky smile that made Shiro’s fist itch every time he saw it.

’I don’t know why I hate you so much. But I do. And that’s enough.’

He sighed.

"Okay. I’ll be there."

Then he closed the door. Not gently. Just enough to make sure Luca’s nose almost met the wood.

’Oops, almost ruined that handsome face.’

He sat back down. Hand pressed against his chest. Eyes closed.

’I guess it’s time.’

He took a deep breath—and the world shifted.

When he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else. His throne room. His inner world. His mana zone—the one place that belonged entirely to him. Filled with everything he valued. His artifacts.

And his knight.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sitting on the throne was himself.

And kneeling before him, fully healed, armor gleaming—the Ebony Knight.

Something in his chest loosened at the sight.

’You’re okay.’

Ari settled into his lap the moment he sat down. Coiled herself tight. Warm against his legs.

He looked at them both. His knight. His snake.

The only two beings in the world who had never once chosen to leave him.

And he had no idea what would happen to them if he didn’t come back.

Last time, they’d almost died. He still wasn’t sure if it was Luca’s poison that nearly killed them—or if they were truly bound to him so deeply that his death would drag them down with him.

One more thing he didn’t want to test out.

"If something happens to me," he said quietly, "you two protect Nora. Or whoever I tell you to protect."

The Ebony Knight rose. Slowly. Metal creaking. And from somewhere inside the hollow armor came a sound—low, groaning, heavy with something that sounded too close to sadness.

Ari hissed. Sharp. Defiant. Her tiny body coiled tighter around his arm like she was trying to hold on to something she wasn’t ready to let go of.

"Oh, stop being dramatic. I said if."

He waved them off. Cracked his knuckles. Rolled his neck.

Then went quiet.

He looked at the knight. Standing there. Silent. Loyal. Nameless after all this time.

"You know what—I think it’s about time I gave you a proper name."

The knight didn’t move. But something in the room changed. The air got heavier. Warmer. Like the space itself was holding its breath.

Names came and went. He turned them over in his head one by one. Discarded each. Too common. Too empty. Too meaningless for something that had bled for him without ever being asked.

Except one.

It kept surfacing. Rising to the top no matter how many times he pushed it down. He didn’t know why. Didn’t fully understand where it came from.

But the name meant something to him. Something he couldn’t explain. Like a treasure he’d been carrying without knowing it was there.

"This name means a lot." His voice had changed. The sarcasm was gone. The humor, the deflection, the wall he kept between himself and anything that mattered—all of it stripped away. "It belongs to someone close to me. Someone I hold dear."

He met the knight’s visor. Empty black staring back at him.

"No one else is worthy of carrying this name. Only you."

A short pause. His hand gripped his chest— tight, like letting the name go physically hurt. Like he was giving away a piece of himself he’d been holding onto for too long.

But looking at the knight—silent, loyal, standing there like it always had, and the ache softened.

This wasn’t loss. This was where the name was always meant to end up.

"Your name is _______."