Syren sat there with a black notebook on his desk. He couldn't particularly see his parents' faces. They were more like dark blurs. They were so high up and powerful, but he loved them nonetheless.

They expected great things from him. The son of two prominent mages. They lived in a large home. His parents worked in many different fields of magic and taught to others. And they expected Syren to be just like them.

Syren held his black notebook tightly. He wrote down anything he needed in there such as instructions on simple spells. But what he loved doing was writing poetry. He wrote some small poems on the side of each page that didn't really mean much of anything to anybody. But he loved every single one. He smiled immensely as he was writing them and thinking of new words to rhyme with.

He was just a young boy at the time, but he tried his best. He was kind and sweet to everybody he met. His teachers and peers loved him. But that was a very short period of his life. Too short for him to really remember much of it.

But once he was old enough, his parents sent him to a school to learn about magic. And his skill was less than exceptional. He tried and tried, but couldn't quite grasp how any of it worked. And his own innate ability was weak.

For his first test, he just needed to conjure a small fire to light a candle. All of the other students could do it. But he was the only one who couldn't. He practiced beforehand, but could never really do it. When the test came, he failed and was punished by his parents.

Unlike other parents who may have grounded him or yelled, they were far more extreme. They couldn't believe that their son wasn't capable of casting a simple spell. They thought he wasn't working hard enough. And to get rid of their son's 'laziness', they locked him up in their cellar as punishment for failure. He cried and begged. But both of his parents didn't care. They said that they would let him go once he could light a candle near. He was left alone with only his black notebook to study. They fed him scraps that not even a dog would eat. From that moment, as Syren watched his own memories, something dragged him a little deeper.

His parents came up to check up on him at the end of every night or day. It was hard for Syren to tell as the only light came from whether his parents opened the cellar door to check. And they also looked at the unlit candle. Whenever they came, Syren would try to apologize, but he was just so weak. And they left him there with some more scraps of food and told him that he could leave once he lit the candle.

It took a week before he could even muster a small fire. His whole day began to bright up as the candle lit up. He called out weakly to tell his parents, but nobody could hear him behind those thick walls.

And when the day ended, Syren's parents came in and saw the candle's light had already extinguished. But before they left, Syren conjured a small fire on the tip of his finger and looked at his parents in a weak manner.

They healed his wounds and told the magic academy that he was sick for the week. By the time he got back, nobody really cared to notice that he was gone.

After that day, Syren would always try to master whatever magic he was told to learn. He didn't really have any other friends. And those that did approach him only wanted to be his friends to get acquainted with his esteemed parents. Syren looked at himself as less than nothing.

But even as he worked the hardest in his class, everybody else could do the same with ease. And his parents didn't approve of such weakness. So, he worked himself even harder thinking that there must have been something wrong with him.

And every time he failed an exam, he was put through another gruesome night. And he failed many of them. One night, he had to spend sleeping outside next to the lake as mosquitoes devoured him whole. Another was being chained up asleep as worms and maggots crawled on him digging themselves deeper into his body. There were more. The more he failed, the more inhumane it became. And every time, Syren began to get dragged deeper and deeper into a black puddle.

And then came the time, Syren looked upon a girl who he had genuine feelings for. Just a simple girl who was coming into town for a while. He noticed that she was fond of her teddy bear. He came up with a stupid idea to take it. And when he did, he planned to give it back the next day and introduce himself as the hero who found the girl's missing teddy bear.

But it wasn't so simple. Syren's parents had eyes on him at all times. The worms. The snakes. The very shadows had eyes that followed his parents' commands. They saw him take that toy, and couldn't stand that their child would act in this behavior.

"You dare insult us!" Syren's father yelled before he punched Syren and broke his nose.

"You are a scorn on our name, Syren," the mother said as she looked down upon her crying child.

"Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Syren begged before being struck once more.

They made sure that he gave that teddy bear back that night. His face had been fixed up with some simple healing potions that his mother concocted. But the wounds were still quite bare. As he gave it back, Syren said blankly, "Here's your teddy bear. I'm... I found it. I hope you're not mad."

The girl leapt for it and thanked Syren. Then, he went away without looking back.

Syren went straight down into the cellar that was now filled with books of magic. They chained him up and stripped him naked as his father electrocuted him with dark magic. He cried out begging for it to stop, but those cries fell on deaf ears. His father would only make it hurt more while the mother did nothing but watch. But he expected this. He had experienced this so many times, that it became normal. But he cried for the mere chance that his parents may listen.

Then, suddenly the shocks stopped. He hoped that perhaps today that his parents would give a shred of mercy. But that wasn't the case. He watched as his mother brought along his black notebook. She dropped it to the ground and said with conviction, "There are barely any notes in this thing. You have been spending too much time writing such garbage instead of doing your studies. Why couldn't you just be normal? Why couldn't you just be like us?"

And at that moment, Syren's father aimed the palm of his hand at the black book.

"Wait. Stop," Syren begged, "I've done so much work in that book. There's so much I've written. Please. Just go back to hurting me. Don't destroy my work."

Syren's father didn't even look at him. He was just so disappointed in his son that he didn't even think twice about it. He replied, "This is your punishment. If you had studied harder and hadn't been such a troubling child, then this wouldn't have happened."

"Wait!" Syren shouted, but it was too late. Flames appeared out of his father's palm burning the black tome away. And Syren could do nothing but watch. His whole face was covered in tears, but as his book burned into ash, his tears burned too. And Syren began to feel himself get drowned in a black puddle. And he saw seven or eight figures stand in front.

Syren no longer felt sadness nor despair nor pain. Instead, he looked back at his parents with hate and anger. That was the moment he ran out of tears.

He was continued to be punished, be never cried. Instead, he relished in the dark and the cold. It was more like a home to him than the soft beds his parents had above them.

There was only one time when Syren could remember having somewhat of a friend.

Plenty of people tried to, but he didn't trust any of them. There was one time when somebody did genuinely try to become his friend, but he was already so long gone, that he didn't think that any real friends were possible. He assumed that all anybody saw in him was a tool. And so he adopted the same idea when he looked upon someone - not as a human, but as tools.

But this one friend was adamant about being his friend. He never remembered her name, but he did remember that she was pretty. And that's what mattered. When she continued to try and get closer, he pushed away until one time he decided to have fun. They became quite close or at least that's what she thought. He pretended and lied as if it was second nature. He had learned to hide well as his parents' eyes were everywhere.

And when they were alone, he passionately kissed her. She didn't resist as even she loved him - or at least the facade he maintained. All Syren could think was that this girl just wanted him for his parents' wealth and position of power. And as Syren thought that, he began to only care about using this girl as a tool as well.

When she closed her eyes, his eyes were wide open. He was ready to strike. Syren bit deep into her tongue. She tried to scream in agony, but he muffled the sound with his own mouth. She tried to get him off, but the more she resisted, the more he wanted it. And when he was done with her, her tongue was almost ripped off, and there were only tears. Her body felt like it was torn asunder. She was very weak and almost unconscious, but Syren didn't care. He stared at it and thought nothing of it.

He warned the girl that if anybody knew about it, then she and her family would die in a fire. And he was quite serious on his threat. And even if he wasn't, his position as the son of the greatest wizards struck the fear in that girl's heart that any sort of resistance was futile.

The girl couldn't say anything. And Syren was safe, although some baseless rumors about it spread and not a single soul would ever go near him again for good reason.

However, it didn't matter to Syren. As long as his parents never discovered it, then he would be fine. And his parents were not aware as he found ways to put the snakes and birds asleep without alarming anybody. And even if he did, his parents would have protected him after a few minutes of electrocution. After all, Syren was doing well in his classes and magic courses at the time.

Syren continued to study in the ways of magic. It took time, but he did become quite proficient in magic in the end. But he felt both dead on the inside and out.

And as he looked into more powerful tools of magic, he found one that was forbidden. It was among the books in the cellar which was now redecorated as a library. He spent most of his time there reading in the dark with only a small candle.

The forbidden book contained a ritual. It required many objects that would have been quite difficult if he didn't have the resources of a mage family. It promised one thing: power. As he read through the book, he could've sworn snakes slithering out of it. But he continued reading.

It promised to make him something greater than a king. It promised to darken the sun. It promised that before becoming king, that the world would be brought into an endless blood feud. And when it's all finished, the Son of the Eternal Eclipse would be born and be greater than any king.

Its promises were grim, but in the end, only the result mattered. And Syren hated being so powerless. He was willing to gain power no matter the sacrifice.

It took years for him to find everything he needed, but he did. He made no mistakes. He set up the circle exactly as it should have been. The room was dark and covered in blood and runes. It was not a spell that required words but conviction.

As the stage was set, he only needed one more thing. He went into his parents' bedrooms as they slept. He had put to sleep all of the birds and snakes that watched him long ago. When he came inside, he stood above their bodies as they snored peacefully.

As Syren stood there watching, he was already filled with resolved to finish what he needed to do. There was no hesitation. He just wanted one extra feeling to have sprinkled in. When Syren's parents slowly awoke to see their son look down upon them confused and tired, Syren held out his palm. A flame grew from within that palm and burned the two of them as they were just about to get awoken. They screamed and they cried, but they fell on deaf ears. The smell would've made a normal person vomit, but he had already smelled the scent of burning skin on himself so many times before.

It could have been quick and painless, but Syren didn't care. And when they were about to fight back with their own spells, Syren quickly dispatched them with a knife. It was messy and dirty. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was the result. He dragged them down into the library. He dragged them over the circles of runes made up of blood. He placed them in the middle of the circle and quickly double-checked his work.

Now, all of the pieces were there. His parents were the final.

"The blood and bodies of those closest in both future and past," the book read. And Syren wasn't close to anybody. So, his parents were default. He didn't quite understand the "future" part, but he didn't care. And if it didn't work, then he'd have lost nothing.

Without hesitation, he offered his arms. He concentrated harder than anything he's ever done. With the single thought of power, his whole body began to tear apart, but he didn't fear it. He embraced it like an old friend. The tome that contained the ritual was destroyed and burned, but in the ashes, his black notebook had risen - the black tome. He caught a glimpse of it and remembered briefly how much he smiled when he wrote peoms in his book. One tear dropped out of his eye as he felt his entire body turn into nothing even as he knew his body was still there.

The sun went black and he could feel himself be split apart. One piece was already gone before he could even noticed. As Syren looked down upon the world, he enjoyed how little they all were. His whole body felt like it was tearing itself apart, but he was already used to so much pain that it was nothing. And then seven more pieces of himself shot out into the world as tears.