Prologue:

There was a crack of a whip. Again and again and again. I couldn't see who, as my eyes were shut with pain. Oh yeah, I'm the one being whipped. I'm probably the only 7 year old in the entire country who gets whipped on a daily basis.

The scars on my back are screaming with pain from thousands of whiplashes. The thought made me want to yell and scream like a child. But I don't know if I even consider myself a child anymore. As I fall into a state of depression blackness swirls around me swallowing me whole.

Silva wakes up from his nightmare with a small shiver, turning off his alarm clock. He glances at the time: 1am, perfect. Silva creeps quietly out of bed, tiptoeing gently across the room to the door, pushing it open.

He thanks his training as an assassin as he makes his way silently along the dimly lit hallway, pausing occasionally to check if he was being followed. If he was caught sneaking out of the estate it would definitely result in severe punishment from his parents.

Exiting the hallway, Silva darts through the forest surrounding the Zoldyck estate. He vaults the wall surrounding the upper area of the estate with a quick check for any patrolling butlers.

Arriving at the south wall he weaves between a thick knot of trees and ducks through a secret tunnel and arrives in a clearing in the woods on the other side. Brushing the dirt off his clothes, he looks up to see his best friend sitting casually on a tree branch with half a smile on his face. Silva echos the smile back up to his friend. He jumps up onto the branch to sit next to his friend, "Hello Ging!

"Hey." Ging replies as he takes a moment to study his friend, "Whipping or nightmare?"

Ah. This is a game that Ging likes to play that he so graciously dubbed 'read the assassin' which competes Silva's emotion hiding with Ging's incredible observation skills. So far, Ging hasn't been wrong.

"Both," Silva says, not wanting to lie to his first friend, "I had a nightmare about whipping, you invasive psychic." Just because he doesn't lie to him doesn't mean he has to be nice.

Ging jumps to a branch above them and hangs upside down so his face is on the same level as Silva's, "I like to think I can read into you because you're my best friend."

Silva scoffs, "You can read into anyone, and we both know that."

Ging brushes him off, "It's easy to read into people when they're sitting right in front of you with a face that is literally an open book."

Silva scowls, "I am NOT an open book."

Ging just smiles, "Sure, sure. Let's go and do something already."

Silva shrugs, "Wanna spar?"

Now Ging is scowling at Silva, "You always want to spar, you never have any sense of adventure! We don't even get to explore your house!"

Silva facepalms, "How many times to I have to tell you that my house is filled with a bunch of deadly assassins who would not hesitate to kill you simply for being near me."

"You're just being a wuss" Ging said, "Which is surprising since you're a 'deadly assassin who would not hesitate to kill me'."

"I could never kill you," Silva said while Ging sat there smug, "I would die with the overflow of joy the universe had at the ceasing of your existence."

Ging feigned being hurt, "Ouch. That was cruel."

"Well I have to be cruel, I am the heir to a family of assassins." Silva retorted.

"Anyways," Ging said, "I found another ruin recently, let's explore there."

"Yeah," Silva smiled, "Let's go.""