Jeno sits on a bench in the park of his neighborhood, to anyone who takes a brief glance at Jeno, they'd assume that he's reading just an average book. Of course, he's not. He's actually reading a spellbook full of Latin riddles and tomes, trying to decode the incantations and rituals in public, because who would ever care about what book a random stranger was reading? That's right, no one. So Jeno doesn't mind reading his awfully cryptic, leather-bound, book full of words that most people couldn't even think about understanding or learning.

Jeno mumbles underneath his breath, reciting the words on the pages, not saying it with enough "meaning" to actually cast any spells, but saying it enough to engrave the words into his mind, memorizing them so he will never have to open this book again, unless absolutely necessary. He's been doing this for years, every time he receives a new book in his study, he begins to read, memorize, commit it all to memory; he has to make his father proud. That's all Jeno has ever known to do, make father proud.

Jeno can't help but groan as he realizes how difficult this incantation seems to be proving itself to be. He tenses his jaw and huffs, closing the book and leaning back into the bench he was sitting on. In all honesty, Jeno was rather tired of all this bullshit. Bit he was literally born into this, his father made a pact with a human for this; Jeno never had a choice, he was made for this life. His only purpose.