The chamber was simple, yet tastefully adorned. A wide window stood open to the city beyond, where coils of steam curled upward from distant pipes, blurring the skyline of the dwarven capital. A soft wind danced through the curtains, stirring them with a rhythmic rustle. Overhead, a chandelier carved with essence stones hummed faintly, casting a gentle blue glow that painted the polished stone walls in tranquil light.
Prince Yashir sat at a small table, a bronze teacup in hand. He took a slow sip, then exhaled softly and closed his eyes.
"What was it you wished to discuss, young lord?" he asked, his tone calm, his eyes opening to meet William's with quiet attentiveness.
William reached for a biscuit from the brass plate between them. He took a small bite, then said with a grin, "Why is Your Highness always so serious? Can't you relax a little?"
Yashir's brow arched ever so slightly. "I'm not sure I understand the young lord's meaning," he replied, still composed.
William leaned forward slightly, his tone laced with lighthearted excitement. "Your Highness is such an incredible person—brilliant, respected, admired across nations. I want to be your friend." He paused, then added with conviction, "No, your best friend."
Yashir smiled politely, folding his hands in his lap. "As the sons of two important houses, it's only natural we maintain close ties. Strengthening our fathers' alliance benefits both our people."
But inwardly, he studied the boy before him. *What is this child really thinking?*
William shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean. I've admired Your Highness for a long time. I don't want to be close to you because of politics. I want to be someone you can trust—personally."
The teacup clicked softly as Yashir placed it down. His expression darkened with thought. "And what exactly would I gain by being your friend, young master?" he asked, his voice even but edged with caution. *Is he truly that naive—or simply playing the fool? Doesn't he understand that trusting the wrong person can destroy everything?*
William didn't flinch. "You'll gain… me," he said simply. Then, with a smile, "I may be weak now, Your Highness, but one day I'll change the course of history. Just like you will. So, I think I'm just as amazing as you."
That earned a low chuckle from Yashir. "Ha… I didn't expect the elegant, well-mannered Lord William to be so spirited. So free." His gaze dropped slightly, the faintest flicker of something wistful in his expression. *Aperson I could never become…*
William laughed with him, brushing crumbs from his fingers. "One can't wear a mask forever," he said gently. "Eventually, the real face has to show. Don't you think, Your Highness?"
Yashir studied him, silent for a long moment. Then a slow smile crept across his face—real, this time.
He didn't know what startled him more—William's boldness, or the sincerity behind those words. So many around him wore masks so tightly they forgot there was a face underneath. But this boy… he was laying himself bare in the most dangerous court of all—his.
A fool? Or fearless?
Yashir let out a slow breath, the usual calculation in his eyes fading just slightly.
"You speak boldly for someone so young," he said. "And dangerously." He picked up the cup again but didn't drink. "People who bare themselves like that in court usually get devoured."
William's smile didn't waver. "Then I'll just have to become someone no one can devour."
That answer. That certainty.
Yashir finally allowed himself a real smile—small, but no longer polite. "Then maybe… having someone like you around wouldn't be such a burden."
He set the cup down again, this time with a softer sound. "Alright, young lord. I'll accept your friendship—not as a courtesy, not for our fathers, but for myself."
His eyes narrowed slightly, studying William with a new sort of curiosity. "But understand this—I don't make such offers lightly. If you become my friend, I will expect loyalty. Honesty. No masks between us."
William's expression grew serious for the first time. "Then I'll give you the real me. That's what friends deserve."
Yashir exhaled again, this time with something lighter—almost relief. So this is what it feels like... to lower the guard. Just a little.
"Then let's see where this strange friendship takes us," he said, reaching out a hand.
William took it without hesitation.
Yashir glanced at their joined hands, the warmth of it unfamiliar.
But still… I can't completely trust him. I don't know if this is his true face—or just another mask
A sudden knock interrupted Yashir's thoughts.
"Your Highness, your tutor is waiting for you."
Yashir sighed. "Tell him I'm coming."
With a nod, the servant left.
"Let's go," Yashir said, rising. William followed, and together they stepped out of the chamber.
The corridor outside was lined with gleaming blackstone pillars and lit by softly glowing essence stones embedded in the ceiling. The faint clatter of their shoes echoed down the hall, a sound swallowed quickly by the muffled rhythm of the dwarven stronghold.
Several dwarf servants passed by, bowing courteously at the sight of Prince Yashir. One or two glanced at William with uncertain curiosity—hesitant, yet respectful.
William nodded back, his posture poised, his steps light beside the prince.
[WHAT WAS THAT JUST NOW?
YOU SEEMED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE COLD WILLIAM I USED TO KNOW.]
"Adapting," William replied coolly, his voice calm and distant.
ADAPTING…?
[YOU LOOKED ABSURD. I THOUGHT YOU'D LOST YOUR MIND. DO YOU KNOW HOW SCARED I WAS—SEEING YOU ACT LIKE SOME GIDDY FOOL? I THOUGHT THERE'D BE NO ONE LEFT TO ENTERTAIN ME. ]
William didn't respond. His gaze simply shifted forward, landing on Yashir's figure walking ahead of him in silence—calm, elegant, but unreadable.
He watched him for a long moment.
Then he whispered.
"We humans are strange creatures. So many of us measure our lives against others—our scars against their victories, our quiet struggles against their visible triumphs—as if worth could be tallied like a score. Yet amidst this endless comparison, a deeper impulse stirs: admiration. When we encounter someone who embodies the self we secretly long to be, the masks we wear—crafted from fear, pride, or survival—begin to fracture. In that cracked reflection, connection sparks. Sometimes it curdles into resentment. Other times, it ignites awe. But always, it binds us to them."
"So I just made a connection with him—became the version of himself he was never allowed to be "