ONE
Misha watched from his dark bedroom, which serves as a sanctuary and comfort, from all the negativity in this toxic house, as the person he calls papa hurriedly yet elegantly slid into his expensive Black-Jaguar hovercar with a sense of urgency.
The man wore an expression that was enough to cause genocide. A look Misha always gets whenever he shows flaws he shouldn't have in the first place.
It was suffocating, and he was getting tired of it.
He bites his chapped, red lips with more force and twists his fingers in anxiety as he viciously hopes his papa won't come back alive. He knew that what he wished was wrong, and he prayed that the celestials would forgive him.
He has never had a normal childhood since the day he was born. Any child born in an interstellar era was called an Azyuan. Right from birth, they can detect their Parents' love towards them. However, all Misha felt was indifference. At first, that's what it was, but as time went on, it became disgust, then anger, and now it's back to indifference.
The more he wanted his papa's attention, the more the man hated him. So, he stopped wanting the attention, hoping the man would turn to him and ask him how he had been.
But as always, the man just ignored him. His papa pretended he didn't exist. Just because he wasn't what his papa wanted.
A prodigy.
A chill shivered down his spine.
'I have another heir who would love to take your place.
Misha remembered the stabbing statements his papa dropped on his face, with a goofy yet venomous tone.
Suddenly, he began to fear his papa and what the future had in store for him. He wasn't good at anything. He wasn't even average. He can't play any instrument, and he wasn't a genius in the medical and scientific field like his papa.
Even the one thing that at least three percent of the Azran planet has, the ability to wield weapons of any kind. These weapons were tattoos that appeared as birthmarks at the age of two.
His papa had gazed at him coldly; his expression was filled with revulsion and detest. Those very light and whitish pupils that were partially blind, yet they can dictate his failures and judge his whole being.
'KNOCK, KNOCK
His trembling body jerked in fear as he turned towards the door. He looked outside the window one more time as he watched his papa's secretary also enter the hover car.
"Young master, breakfast is ready,' the butler's voice whispered into the room.
Misha gave a small sigh as the hover car ascended into the air and disappeared into the fluffy red clouds.
He closed the curtains with a solemn expression and made his way to the door.
'I wonder why this parasite is still eating and sleeping under my roof.
He could hear his papa's vicious words drilling into him, his heart pounded, sweat dripped from his pale face, and his trembling hands held the door handle.
"Young master…...
"I'm coming out now,' Misha breathed heavily.
The butler seemed to pause, and understanding Misha's hesitation, he gave out an approving hum.
"Take your time, young master,' the butler rigidly consented.
A minute later, the door cracked open, and a small head quietly popped out from behind the door.
The butler stared at the little boy with complete detachment. The boy looked like he hadn't slept in ages. His skin is too pale with a dark circle around his grey eyes.
His curly, jet-black hair looks messy, and his lips have unhealed wounds from his constant biting.
Trauma can be a real bitch.
Knowing the boy's history, he really wanted to feel sorry for the little boy. But he doesn't want to lose his job to an AI robot.
"White rolls with pudding for breakfast,' the butler announced.
Misha stepped out slowly. He has been eating the same thing for six months now. He knew he shouldn't complain; he knew his papa was very damn ready to throw him out of the house to survive alone, outside, where everyone struggles desperately to survive.
One time, as he was heading to school on foot, he saw a woman abandon her infant child in a bucket bin, just because some rich novae promised her wealth beyond her imagination. He had taken the child and tried calling the child protection association, but they just took the infant, as they have been doing that for years. A few days later, Misha found out the infant was registered as a servant and was bought by a wealthy man.
He was angry and shocked beyond words. He knew that the system was structured this way around some planets. If only he had the power to change things. Unfortunately, he doesn't. His papa is already fed up with his uselessness. He can't do anything right.
Misha allowed the butler to lead him to the dining table. He wasn't allowed to stroll around the house. It has always been the dining room and his room. In his room or school, he wasn't allowed to look around the inner rooms and chambers.
And sometimes he swore he could hear his papa speaking with someone happily. He was genuinely speaking without his normal poisonous jab.
The dining was cold and desolate, and Misha felt it to his bones. But he's used to it now. It has always been only him and the empty dining room for eight long years.
He munched on his breakfast, warm and familiar to the extent he felt nauseous. His stomach was giving him warnings about being fed up with the same food for six months.
As he tried to swallow the munched rolls and suppress his urge to throw up, he heard a familiar sound. It was faint, but it rings constantly in his ear. Turning around to the butler, only to find him gone.
He hesitated at first. He wasn't allowed to look around the house. 'But with Papa gone, it would take about a month or so. It wouldn't hurt to take a little peek, he thought quietly as he slipped out of his chair.
In the end, curiosity took over. He followed the faint sound absentmindedly as he unknowingly climbed the stairs in the forbidden left wing that led to his papa's secret study.
The sound was becoming very loud. Misha's curiosity skyrocketed. His heart began to pound against his chest. His mind screamed at him to turn back, but another strange thing caught his attention.
His papa's study was wide open, in its luxurious glory, exuding darkness and a strange, faint blue light.
Misha wondered what it was. He was ready to turn back, to call it quits. But the soft angelic childish voice that was reciting something unfamiliar captivated him. It drew him deep into his own curiosity.
'You must be stupid trying something like this,' Misha scolded himself. Regardless, the unknown in that study was burning his mind.
He really wants to know. But the question is, who has that voice?' And why is it coming from the study?'