Silas finished the last paragraph of the diary and closed it with a soft thump, thumb still brushing the corner of a page like he wasn't ready to let go. The ritual had become muscle memory. Wake up. Reach for the diary. Read about the other boy, the stranger, the myth, the mirror, who carried his true name.
Cupid.
It still made something in his stomach flip every time he thought about it. He had tossed that name away years ago like it was a burden he didn't want to carry. Yet the diary dragged it back into his life over and over again. The written Cupid lived a life that was wild, terrifying, and beautiful, like a mythology book had a baby with a fever dream. And Silas couldn't help imagining, dangerously often, what it would be like to live something even remotely close to that.
He exhaled slowly, the thought prickling along his spine.
His parents had named him Cupid. Not Michael or Alex or any of the other normal, non-embarrassing names kids got to have. Something old. Something heavy. Something that carried stories in its syllables. He used to think they just had bad taste. Now he wasn't so sure. Every time he whispered the name in his own head, he felt a presence coil around it. Familiar. Old. Watching him the way a shadow watches the flame that created it.
Too much to deal with first thing in the morning.
He pushed himself off the bed, stretching until his shoulders popped, and headed toward the bathroom. His body moved stiffly, the memory of infirmary's ordeal sneaking up on him like a goblin with a grin. The nurse… that whole scene… every second of it branded into his brain with the intensity of a divine punishment.
She had pushed him to limits he didn't even know he had. Limits Mr. Fatars could train for a century and never uncover. And the medicine she'd given him afterwards? It had cooled the fire, but only barely. Enough to let him walk home without traumatizing half the student body, not enough to let him forget the way her breath had ghosted across his skin.
Silas gripped the sink, staring at his reflection as the cool bathroom light flickered over his face. His cheeks were still faintly flushed. His heartbeat still misbehaved when he thought about it. The entire situation had been something between a blessing, a curse, and the universe deciding to mess with him personally.
He splashed water on his face, trying to drown the memory before it made things worse again.
"Calm down," he muttered to himself, scrubbing harder than necessary. "New day. No surprises. No… reactions. Just survive until lunch."
It was a lie, of course.
Because even as he brushed his teeth and went through the motions of his morning routine, the diary sat quietly on the desk behind him, like an echo from a life he hadn't stepped into yet, was waiting for him to turn around.
And somewhere, deep under his skin, that presence stirred again.
The name Cupid didn't just belong in a book.
It belonged to him.
...
Silas froze mid-step, one sock on, one sock off, staring at the impossible scene unfolding above his desk.
The diary wasn't lying where he'd left it.
It was floating.
Not gently levitating, not wobbling like some cheap stage trick. It was hovering with perfect, eerie stillness, as though an invisible hand held it in place. The pages fluttered as if being blown from the inside out. A pulse of deep, luminous pink radiated from it in slow waves, staining the air with a hypnotic glow.
"Wait… wait... what—?"
His voice cracked, his brain scrambling for explanations ranging anywhere from "I'm hallucinating" to "The nurse's medicine had side effects" to "Oh, great, I'm finally possessed."
Before he could come up with an actual theory, the diary snapped open by itself.
A jolt of light surged forward, twisting and gathering into a shape, thin, straight, humming with energy, the tip curving into a perfect heart. An arrow made of pure, radiant force.
Silas's breath disappeared in an instant.
"Wha—!"
The arrow shot toward him like it had been waiting for centuries.
His body moved before his mind caught up. He threw himself sideways, tripping over his own backpack, crashing into his bed with an oof while the arrow seared through the air where his chest had been a heartbeat earlier. The wall behind him sizzled, a faint heart-shaped scorch mark smoking like the universe was mocking him.
Silas gaped. "Did—did that thing just try to shoot me?!"
He didn't get long to marvel at the betrayal because the diary, still radiating that intense, unsettling pink, rumbling like a beast waking from slumber, tilted toward him.
And angled for a second shot.
"Oh, come on!" he yelped, scrambling to his feet.
Another arrow launched with a sharp thrum.
Silas dove behind his desk, knocking over a cup of pencils and wincing as the projectile whizzed past his ear. The air cracked with the sound of pure magic, making his skin prickle.
"What did I do?!" he hissed. "I read you every morning! I gave you affection! Is this how you repay me?!"
The diary didn't care for his emotional grievances.
It rotated slowly, like a predator hunting with elegance, the glow around it brightening until the room looked dipped in rose neon.
Silas felt his pulse spike.
This thing wasn't attacking randomly.
It was insisting.
Calling.
Claiming.
And it wasn't going to stop until it hit its target.
Another arrow formed, this one crackling with more power.
The book didn't relent.
Silas swallowed hard.
"This… is not how I wanted my morning to go."
Well, it wasn't like he could do anything about it. It had been decided by whatever deity or the universe that his morning would be filled with horror.
...
First Author Note:
The book's progress will be fast, not slow-paced. I just request your support and motivation to keep on writing it. If you like it, leave a comment or a review, drop powerstones.
Hopefully, I get a contract, so that you can drop golden tickets as well as gifts.
Thank you for reading...