Syvis had never known comfort until he met you.

The beginning of his life had been spent living in an orphanage in Animus, a small town just off of the capital. Syvis had been taller and broader than most of the other Elven children, so they avoided him. He used to watch them all play together enviously. It wasn't until he met another boy, small with strikingly white hair, that he made a friend.

None of that lasted. Syvis had learned quickly everything came to an end even if he prayed for it to last. You, though, you had not left him. Most days he wondered how he could deserve you. He'd been so angry when he met you, hurled insults, done everything in his power to make you leave him to die, but you hadn't. You, a human, had shown him more compassion than most other Elves had.

His love was a tentative thing. Small, but loyal and bright, and most importantly, everlasting. Syvis found himself smiling at you, enjoying your company. You were his constant companion. His lover.

Lathael had come unexpectantly. He was no father, and raising a child was no easy feat, but Syvis had been proud of who Lathael grew up to be. At first. Then Lathael began to change. Colder, meaner, more withdrawn. Something was eating up at him. Perhaps Syvis should have tried harder, been gentler, reached out more. He had never called Lathael his son out loud. He'd grown complacent, as though he could have forgotten how merciless time was. Lathael did not stay little forever. He grew, and whatever darkness inside of him festered, until it all came rushing out.

King Aiwin's bastard son. Syvis couldn't imagine Lathael—the same boy who giggled at butterflies—to be a prince. But Lathael had argued with you, said things one couldn't take back, and left.

"The food will get cold," he told you as softly as he could manage. "You should eat."

It'd been a month since Lathael had left claiming neither of you were his parents. Syvis did his best to care for you, but he longed to see you happy with his boy once more. Lathael's absence was felt.