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1
Kalim had been by Jamil's side for as long as he could remember. As a young man, before bitterness and injustice took hold of him, Jamil would have had no problem spending the rest of his life by his side. In fact, he still perfectly remembered the first time that thought crossed his mind.
Jamil was thirteen years old. Accustomed to the discretion that came with his status, for his birthday he expected nothing more than a quiet family dinner and a cake baked by his mother. That's why, when Kalim appeared out of nowhere revealing a huge surprise party, the shock was absolute. To this day he was still surprised that he had not realized what his master was planning; He guessed it was because his parents and sister were involved in the secret, actively striving to keep him distracted so that the young heir's surprise would be perfect.
It had been a pleasant party. He invited his friends, they played a lot of things and Jamil allowed himself to win more times than Kalim. After cutting the cake, Kalim sprinkled it with confetti and, getting carried away by the excitement of the moment, scattered even more throughout the place.
Kalim was glued to him all day, filling him with attention so genuine and overflowing that it was overwhelming. At one point in the afternoon, as they laughed over a silly thing, Kalim came so close to whisper a secret that Jamil could feel the warmth of his breath. That's when it happened: a sudden flutter in his chest, an erratic heartbeat that resonated loudly in his ears, and an unknown warmth that dyed his cheeks red.
He found himself fascinated by the light of his smile and the fixity of his gaze, realizing that he might have gotten used to being the only recipient of all that warmth. He felt so special, so strangely free, that the thought of spending the rest of his days tied to that feeling seemed not a condemnation, but a refuge.
"It was a lot of fun, Jamil! It must be repeated next year!” Kalim said goodbye with a huge smile and Jamil couldn't help but give it back to him.
As soon as the heir walked away, Jamil heard his parents let out a deep sigh.
"Ah, what a tiring day," said his mother. Jamil, of course, felt his heart grow cold. And there is still a lot to clean.
"It's your birthday, so don't worry, we'll take care of it," his father told him
Jamil looked around and realized that the house was a real mess. He had not realized that the celebration would cause so many problems; His past birthdays, always discreet, had never been like this. The weight of his reality fell suddenly, dissipating the warmth of the day.
"I'll help clean up," Jamil said, picking up a broom.
"Are you sure?" Well, go ahead. Leave it as soon as you feel tired."
"Yes, Mom."
"Now, where has your sister gone?"
2
Jamil wasn't quite sure how he had gotten into that situation. Well, that was a lie; he knew perfectly how. The day before, Najma had stolen his lunch from the refrigerator, forcing Jamil to use the palace's main kitchen to whip up something quick before his stomach began to protest. The use of the place was not a problem in itself; Servants were allowed to cook for themselves, as long as they asked permission from the head chef.
His plan was simple: cook something quick and easy, as he didn't want to leave Kalim alone for too long.
"That smells pretty good, Jamil. Have your parents already taught you how to cookj?" A voice asked behind him.
He was the head chef, an older man with a stern look and a gray mustache, famous for his demanding palate and how difficult it was to get a compliment out of him. Jamil straightened his back instinctively as he watched the man take a wooden spoon to taste the sauce bubbling in the pot.
"Yes, sir. For a few weeks now," Jamil replied, holding his breath.
Jamil was excited to learn how to cook. He often read about foreign dishes in palace books and was dying to try them, but his parents never had time to experiment with new recipes. Now that he was learning, he felt a world of possibilities open up before his hands. The chef savored the sauce silently, squinting, and finally nodded with a faint smile.
"This is very good. You've got a knack for condiments, boy."
"Really?" Jamil felt a spark of pride in his chest, but before he could thank him, a cheerful, loud voice interrupted them, startling them both.
"I want to try it too!"
"Young Kalim! What are you doing here?" The chef exclaimed, turning in surprise towards the entrance of the kitchen.
"I was looking for Jamil!" replied the heir, leaning out of the stove with his eyes shining with curiosity. "It smells delicious from the hallway! Jamil, I want a plate of your food too!"
Jamil sighed, rubbing his temples in exasperation.
"I told you I was coming to cook something quick and I'd be right back," he reminded him in a tense whisper. "Go sit down. When I'm done, I'll serve you a dish, yes?”
The head chef looked at Jamil with a mixture of pity and warning in his eyes, as if to remind him that a servant should not feed the master his leftovers, but in the end he was silent and went back to his business, overseeing the Asim's great banquet.
Jamil set aside a portion and served the dish to Kalim at one of the side tables. As expected, as soon as the first bite touched the heir's mouth, the praise was not long in coming. Kalim ran his tongue over his lips without any decorum and put his hands to his cheeks.
"It's delicious!" Kalim exclaimed, with a smile so wide that his eyes narrowed. "Hey, Jamil, don't tell the chef, but I think I like the way you cook better. You have to cook for me always!"
Jamil had to bite the inside of his cheek to hide the smile that threatened to escape him, while a sudden and treacherous heat dyed his ears red. Although the head chef had complimented him only a few minutes ago, having the compliments come from Kalim felt completely different. His heart skipped an awkward beat, a fast, clumsy beat that forced him to look away.
Why did it affect him so much? Was it because they were the same age? Or because the heir of the Asim, accustomed to the most expensive and exotic banquets in the world, preferred an improvised dish made by him? In that instant, under the warm light of the kitchen, Jamil felt strangely special.
"I know! I'll tell my parents to let you cook for me! What do you think?” Kalim exclaimed with a bright smile.
However, the question was purely rhetorical. As soon as he finished the last bite, Kalim got up from the table like a whirlwind and ran out of the place to look for his parents, overflowing with enthusiasm. Jamil stood still for a moment, feeling the warmth in his chest suddenly transform into a cold twinge of panic. He picked up the dishes in a hurry, leaving them in the sink before leaving the kitchen to try and stop Kalim, but it was too late.
In the end, Kalim's effusiveness piqued the curiosity of his parents. The leaders of the Asim family declared that they also wanted to taste the seasoning of the young Viper and, after tasting a small dish, they made an executive decision: Jamil should prepare a complete banquet for the family.
That led him directly to his current situation.
Jamil stood in the middle of the huge kitchen, his hands trembling and his stomach churning with nerves, overwhelmed by the fear of ruining everything. The weight of responsibility suffocated him; the slightest failure would dishonor his family. If I had known that sharing a simple lunch with Kalim would have such consequences, I would never have fed him. In that instant of pure anxiety, he felt a firm and heavy hand rest on his shoulder. When he turned, he met the serene gaze of the head chef.
"Don't be so scared, young Viper," the old man said in a calm voice that managed to quiet the ringing in his ears. "You're really good at this, you've got natural talent. Breathe, I'll make sure to guide you through every step."
Jamil swallowed, feeling a lump of gratitude in his throat.
"... Thank you, sir."
Of course, the banquet was a resounding success. The Asim praised the dinner, and as a reward, Jamil was given a new official role within the palace: from that day on, he would personally take care of the young heir's meal.
It took a few days for the bitterness to settle, just as Jamil, going through his old notebooks, realized reality. He would no longer have free time to experiment, nor space to prepare those foreign dishes that caused him so much curiosity. Kalim's enthusiasm had flattered him, but at the end of the day, an Asim's love always came with a new chain.
3
Spring in The Scalding Sands was a beautiful time. The immense park of the Asim sparkled in the sun of the season, with the vegetation perfectly manicured thanks to the hard work of the palace gardeners. Jamil walked along the cobblestone paths, dodging the busiest areas; I was looking for a place far enough away and hidden to start practicing without interruptions.
Najma had taught him a new song the day before. It had a contagious, cheerful rhythm, and Jamil had liked it so much that he couldn't get it out of his head. So, taking advantage of his precious and scarce moment of rest, he planned to rehearse the dance steps he had been devising to accompany the melody.
He found a private corner near an old artificial oasis, surrounded by tall palm trees that provided pleasant shade. Jamil took a deep breath, letting go of the stiffness of his usual posture, and began to move. At first they were timid steps, but he soon let himself go. Humming her sister's song, his movements became fluid, precise and full of an energy that he never allowed himself to show in public.
Jamil stopped short and turned his head. To his horror, Kalim was there, sitting on a rock, watching him with his eyes wide open and a smile of utter fascination. Jamil was so frightened by the interruption that his foot got stuck in the loose sand; He lost his balance and began to go backwards.
"Be careful!” Kalim exclaimed, reacting with unexpected rapidity.
Kalim leapt forward and extended his arms, managing to grab Jamil by the waist before he touched the ground. The momentum made them end dangerously together, with Jamil's chest stuck to Kalim's and the heir's face a few centimeters from his. Jamil felt his heart jump out of his chest. At first he thought it was because of the fright of the fall, but when he felt the warmth of Kalim's hands holding him firmly and the fixity of his gaze, a completely different turn shook his body. His cheeks turned a fiery red.
"That was amazing, Jamil!" Kalim burst in, still not letting go, his voice overflowing with enthusiasm. "You moved like the wind! I wanted to dance with you, but I didn't want to interrupt you."
Hearing the praise so close, Jamil's first reaction was a spark of genuine happiness. Feeling Kalim's admiration in such an intimate position caused his pulse to accelerate in a way that frightened him. For a millisecond, the warmth of the hug felt like a refuge.
However, reality soon hit his mind, and the romance bubble quickly burst. Jamil pulled away from the grip abruptly, rearranging his clothes and regaining his mask of seriousness, although his ears were still burning. Happiness gave way to frustration.
This was supposed to be their rest. His only time of day to breathe, to be Jamil Viper and not the guardian of Kalim Al-Asim. Why did Kalim always have to be there? Why couldn't he have an hour to himself without his master invading his privacy? He began to feel fed up with the constant presence of the other, a presence that, however joyful it was, was still a reminder of his lack of freedom.
"Kalim, you shouldn't walk around the park alone without warning," Jamil said, his voice slightly tense as he tried to normalize his breathing.”And I'm supposed to be out of commission right now.”
Kalim cocked his head, wiping his smile a little, apologizing with his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Jamil... It's just that I wanted to be with you. I didn't want to bother you.”
Jamil looked at him. He saw the total lack of malice in his eyes, the honesty of his affection, and the way he genuinely wanted to share his time with him. The anger in his chest deflated, leaving only a heavy layer of resignation. He knew that he gained nothing by getting angry; Kalim would never understand. He sighed deeply, dropping his shoulders.
"Okay," Jamil relented, swallowing the bitterness and the remnant of that quick-pounding heartbeat. “Since you are here, I'm not going to leave you alone. What do you want to do?”
Kalim smiled again with the strength of the sun, and Jamil turned to walk beside him, keeping in the depths of his memory the memory of the heir's hands on his waist and the bitter taste of an interrupted rest.
4
Jamil's freshman year at Night Raven College was coming to an end. At first, this place had felt like a dream come true. His parents, aware that the leaders of the Asim clan would not be at school to watch over him, had given him unprecedented permission: to give it his all, without limitations or the need to contain his magic or his intellect. And Jamil had done it. He had shone with his own light, getting impeccable notes and savoring freedom for the first time.
And then, Kalim appeared in the middle of the semester and Jamil had to forcibly return to his role as shadow and assistant.
He tried not to be discouraged. He seriously tried. But the thought that his student life would have been perfect without Kalim's presence had settled in his mind like a silent poison. Just now, Scarabia was scowling through the halls of the dormitory, looking for him, as the heir had disappeared again without notifying his guards.
"Jamil!" A familiar voice shouted before a pair of arms hung around his neck in an enthusiastic embrace. Jamil tensed instinctively. “I just spoke to Principal Crowley!”
Jamil interrupted him, gently pulling him away by the shoulders as he regained his rigid posture.
"So there you were. How many times do I have to tell you not to get out of my sight? This place can be dangerous.”
"Haha, sorry, Jamil!” Kalim apologized with a light laugh, clearly without a hint of real regret. “But the director had incredible news for me! Next year I'll be the Dorm Leader of Scarabia!”
"What...?" The word escaped Jamil's lips in a barely audible thread of voice.
He felt as if the ground opened up under his feet. Though a part of him expected it—after all, Scarabia's current leader was a distant relative of the Asim—Jamil had naively believed that Night Raven College, an institution full of competent wizards, was governed by merit rather than nepotism. Injustice burned his throat.
"Surprising, isn't it?! But that's not the reason I disappeared," Kalim continued, completely oblivious to the dark whirlwind raging in his friend's chest. The heir took Jamil's hand and, with his usual energy, began to drag him down the corridor. “Come, you have to see this!”
They stopped in front of one of the private rooms in the main hallway. Kalim opened the double doors wide with a loud shout, "Ta-da!"
Jamil blinked, bewildered. The interior of the room was meticulously decorated with garlands of golden stars and balloons floating near the ceiling. In the center, illuminated by a dim and cozy light, there was a perfectly arranged table with two plates of food that spread a delicious aroma.
Kalim turned to him, now taking him by both hands. His dark eyes shone with such pure devotion and honesty that they were overwhelming.
"Jamil! You're the most incredible person I've ever met," Kalim said in a firm voice, with no trace of his usual lightness. “You are intelligent, cunning, strong... You are the best at everything. I know I'm not the smartest for this position, so I couldn't choose anyone else to be by my side. Next year, be my Vice-leader! Let's govern Scarabia together!”
Hearing those words and seeing the room that Kalim had prepared exclusively for him, Jamil's world stopped. He felt a violent leap in his chest, a throbbing so loud and erratic that he feared Kalim might hear it through his clasped hands. The heat quickly rose to his cheeks.
For a second, the bitterness of injustice dissipated, replaced by a surge of tenderness so intense that it frightened him. Seeing the future leader of the Asim subtly humiliating himself before him, acknowledging his superiority in private, and asking him to share control of the dormitory as equals, struck a chord with his heart. Jamil found himself fascinated by the warmth of that gaze that put him on a pedestal. He wanted with all his might to believe that it was real. He wanted to let herself be carried away by that tender feeling and embrace it back.
However, his eyes dropped for a second to the hands of both of them. Kalim's, adorned with fine gold rings, were soft and smooth, the spitting image of one who had never had to exert himself. On the other hand, Jamil's hands, although meticulously cared for so as not to give a bad impression, were those of a servant: firm, marked by the constant rubbing of tools, and with subtle calluses born of hard work
The spell was broken with the coldness of an ice floe. Jamil recalled the reality: Crowley had given Kalim the job for his family's money, not merit. And Kalim, in his infinite, irritating innocence, believed that offering him the position of Vice-Leader was a generous gift, not realizing that he was actually asking him to do all the heavy lifting behind the scenes so that he would continue to take the applause before the world. It was not an offer of equality; it was an elegant golden cage. The affection in his chest withered instantly, transforming into an even sharper resentment.
Jamil forced a perfect smile on his face, hiding the pain and swallowing the lump in his throat as he gently withdrew his hands.
"Of course, Kalim," he replied in a docile voice, assuming his mask of an obedient servant. "It will be an honor to be your Vice-leader."
Kalim cheered with joy and jumped to hug him again, not noticing that, this time, Jamil's arms remained rigid at his sides.
5
The Overblot was over, but the inertia of a lifetime was a force that was hard to break. Almost automatically, as soon as the magical wounds healed, Jamil returned to his usual routine. Waking up before dawn, checking the agenda, preparing Kalim's breakfast and watching his every step. Jamil did it on autopilot; He was so deeply accustomed to carrying the weight of the heir's existence that he didn't even realize that he had returned to the exact same role of submissive servant.
And Kalim, predictably, didn't realize that anything had changed, either. He accepted the food, smiled and chattered with his usual levity, acting as if the collapse in the desert and the truths Jamil had shouted in his face had been just a bad dream.
The reality check hit Jamil one afternoon, while he was sorting his belongings in the silence of his room. He stopped in his tracks, staring at his own hands, and a surge of pure revulsion shook him completely. What the hell was he doing? He was deeply angry with himself for having fallen to his knees so quickly into the old ways, for having his mind so tamed as to voluntarily return to his cage after having tasted freedom.
But anger at his own weakness soon morphed into a searing resentment toward Kalim. He was infuriated that Kalim did nothing to stop him. Having wept and promised that he would change, the heir would simply sit back and watch Jamil wear himself out for him once more, accepting his sacrifices as if they were his birthright. Kalim was still blind, comfortable in his bubble of privilege
"Jamil!"
Just then, the door slammed open. Kalim entered Jamil's room like a whirlwind, not even bothering to knock first, completely breaking his privacy.
"Ruggie came to visit. Can you cook us something delicious for the three of us? Kalim asked with a huge, overflowing smile, assuming the answer would be yes.
Jamil felt an uncomfortable leap in his chest. The discomfort he had been dragging was concentrated in his throat, hardening his expression.
"I'm busy now, Kalim," Jamil said, in a curt tone meant to be a warning.
"Please!" Kalim insisted, clasping his hands in a pleading gesture, completely oblivious to his companion's annoyance.
"No."
Jamil's pulse accelerated. Saying that word out loud felt like a spark of rebellion, a small test to see if Kalim would respect his refusal. However, the maturity of the heir did not yet exist. Kalim puffed out his cheeks in a whimsical pout and cocked his head.
"Jamil! If you don't cook, I'll have to do it myself. And you know I may end up setting the place on fire, and Ruggie is so hungry! "
Jamil clenched his fists at his sides, feeling his stomach churn with frustration. There was the usual blackmail, wrapped in a cloak of innocence. Kalim wasn't forcing him with a master's order, but he was using his own incompetence as an implicit threat: if Jamil didn't, disaster would strike and Jamil would have to fix it anyway. The chains tightened again. Jamil sighed, dropping his shoulders in a painful surrender.
“...I'll cook.”
"Super! You're the best, Jamil!" Kalim celebrated before running off into the courtyard.
Jamil stayed in the room for only a second longer, swallowing the lump of bitterness in his throat. He hated himself for giving in and hated Kalim for making him fall so easily. He closed his eyes, promising himself that this would be the last time his weakness would win. Next time, he wouldn't give in.
6
"You were with me when I got this stuff from the headmage, right? Help me fill them out,will you?” Kalim had asked him a couple of weeks ago, carrying a stack of papers with his usual smile.
"You wish for me to complete documents for the interscholastic competition? Very well, Mr Asim" Jamil replied, keeping his back straight and his face completely expressionless.
Kalim blinked, bewildered. The smile was suddenly erased.
"Huh?" What about you? Why are you talking to me like that?
"I have addressed you in an overly familiar manner,since we were young, because you permitted me to do so. But now that I have asserted that I have no friendship with you, I considered it appropriate to correct my demeanor.”
"Wait, what?" Kalim's eyes began to mist up. “What is going on? Did I do something to upset you?!
...
"You don’t want to give me orders as my superior, but you don’t want to take a no for an answer as my friend? You can’t have it both ways. So? Will you order me to stop being a friend and be a retainer instead? You can do that whenever you want, Mr. Asim”
Several days had passed since that tense conversation, and against all odds, Kalim had taken Jamil's limits very seriously. At first, Jamil thought it would be a tantrum of a couple of hours, an attempt by Kalim to behave well to earn his forgiveness; but the heir had not asked him for personal favors outside his schedule.
Of course, Kalim was still Kalim. The dorm room continued to suffer small daily disasters: confused meeting schedules and misplaced paperwork. However, the big difference was that Jamil no longer did Kalim's job. If a document was poorly done, it was returned to them with a cold, professional correction for the Leader to redo. Jamil no longer ran to save him from his own carelessness; he limited himself to strictly and perfectly fulfilling his obligations as Vice-leader. Scarabia had to learn to sustain himself under the command of his true boss.
The litmus test came when Kalim decided, in a highly predictable way, that he wanted to organize a new banquet in the dorm courtyard to celebrate his own birthday. When he found out, Jamil did not hide in his room. As Vice-Leader, it was his duty to ensure that the event did not violate the academy's safety regulations, that the dormitory budgets were in order, and that the students maintained discipline. Jamil did his job impeccably. Also, before the party started, he took the time to leave a gift for Kalim in his room; in his own way, he was also trying to rebuild things on these new terms.
What he did not do, and flatly refused to do, was enter the kitchen to prepare the menu, nor did he take care of cleaning up the mess that the guests left in his wake. Those were service tasks that Kalim usually delegated to him for pure convenience, and this time Jamil stood firm in his line.
A few hours after the banquet began, the smell of lightly smoked food reached the aisles. Jamil, who was chatting quietly with some of his dorm mates, stopped in the middle of a sentence when he noticed the aroma and decided to approach the tables to review the situation.
The food was definitely not perfect. Jamil looked at it critically and knew, with complete certainty, that he would have prepared it a thousand times better. However, it was Kalim's food. As he saw the dishes, an echo of the past echoed in his mind; Jamil knew perfectly well how overwhelming it was to have to work and deal with responsibilities on your own birthday. A twinge of empathy, devoid of resentment, shrank his chest.
At this time, a freshman looked at his plate with a grimace and complained loudly:
"Hey, this is a little burned... Scarabia's food is always perfect when prepared by Vice-Leader Viper. Why didn't Jamil cook today?
Jamil stepped forward instinctively, ready to impose discipline and remind the student that complaints needed to be formally channeled, but before he could utter a single word, Kalim intervened. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm and looked at the student with a seriousness and firmness that Jamil had never seen him in the palace of Scalabia.
"You're absolutely right, Jamil's food is an art!" Kalim declared, his voice clear and confident. But Jamil has already done all his work organizing today's banquet and ensuring that the bedroom works. Cooking for an entire party is not your obligation, it's my whim. So today you eat what I helped prepare. Be thankful I didn't burn all the rice!
The student, surprised by the unusual firmness of his Dormitory Leader, bowed his head, apologized, and began to eat without protest. Kalim gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and continued to serve the next in line, taking responsibility for his event matter-of-factly.
From the shadows of the hallway, Jamil stood still, staring at him.
He felt a violent leap in his chest, but this time the heartbeat was not accompanied by panic, or guilt, or the cold taste of bitterness. It was a clean, deep, overwhelming heartbeat. As Kalim defended his space, respected his boundaries to others, and wore the crown of Scarabia with true maturity, the weight of the invisible chains that Jamil had carried all his life dissolved completely.
Kalim was no longer the spoiled child who demanded his constant attention; He was becoming a competent leader, someone who walked at his own pace. And Jamil, for the first time in his seventeen years of existence, discovered himself free. Free from the obligation to take care of him, free from resentment, free from the shadow.
He looked at Kalim's bright smile under the courtyard lights and felt his cheeks burn with genuine, voluntary warmth. He came away with the certainty that he no longer had to protect him out of duty. Now that he was not bound to him by imposition, Jamil found himself fascinated by his light, realizing that, for the first time in his life and by strict choice of his own, he had fallen madly in love with Kalim Al-Asim