Content Warning: Violence & Language
Ren shut his eyes, turning his face to avoid the dirty water from drenching him. The cold liquid chilled his bones, yet he didn’t flinch.
When the dripping slowed, he opened his eyes and turned toward the servant before him.
The man sneered—no guilt, no shame, no regret in his expression.
"You think you’re something special just ’cause the young master calls you dad, or whatever? You think you own the place now?" His voice was sharp, his gaze filled with hatred.
His silence only fueled the other servants’ anger—his calm composure, as if nothing in the world mattered.
"You’re just some bitch!" another servant spat, stepping forward. He kicked Ren in the knee, knocking him off balance and sending him to the ground.
The servants laughed, looking down at him.
"This is where you should be!"
Hearing approaching footsteps, the group exchanged glances and quickly stepped away.
Ren remained seated on the wet floor, water dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his skin. He tugged at the hem of his white shirt, eyeing the brown stain on the fabric.
"They should have taken me somewhere less obvious... somewhere hidden, deserted... and told me to take off my clothes. At least then I wouldn’t have to wash them on top of taking a shower," he muttered, slowly pushing himself up.
"At least they didn’t hit me much," he added, brushing dust from his pants before walking back to his room.
He would have liked to believe the servants’ treatment towards him hadn’t changed. Unfortunately, it had only worsened.
Before, they had simply played tricks on him, mocking him for being unfamiliar with the mansion. Once he adapted, they escalated—throwing trash, dousing him with dirty water. And if that didn’t satisfy them, they used violence.
Nothing unusual. Just different people, doing the same things.
Ren repeated the words to himself.
It was a treatment he was familiar with. At least here, he could eat proper food, sleep without shivering at night, and not have chains biting into his ankles until they bled.
After washing up and changing into a fresh uniform, Ren stepped out of his room. As he walked through the servants’ quarters hallway, a voice caught his attention.
"I’m telling you! The temple—"
Ren froze instantly. The word alone cut off his breath. He turned toward a group of maids whispering among themselves at the corner of the corridor.
"Yes! I went to the capital to visit my husband recently. Then, I saw this poster."
"Are you even listening? A wanted poster! Of a missing man!"
The tips of Ren’s fingers trembled as if caught stealing.
"He has silver hair... pale complexion. But the weird thing is—he’s blindfolded!"
The other maid laughed as if she’d heard a joke.
"Hianshu must be trying something new. They always come up with something to trick us."
"I’m serious!" the first maid protested, crossing her arms.
"Sure, sure. Finish cleaning this—"
Ren didn’t stay to hear the rest. He turned and dashed away from the scene as if his life depended on it.
The air was neither warm nor cold as the sun set, stretching long shadows across the green grass.
Eiran sat beneath the parasol tree, a book resting in his lap.
Against the trunk, Ren leaned with his eyes closed, the same book now pressed lightly to his chest.
A tall silhouette broke the fading light across his face. Ren frowned in his sleep but did not stir.
"Dad—shh," Eiran whispered, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips and looked up at Zayden.
Still in armor, hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, Zayden gazed down at the sleeping servant.
So peaceful—as if nothing had happened the night before.
As if he hadn’t slipped out of the mansion like a little thief.
Zayden’s eyes narrowed. When he heard Eiran was resting in the garden after his first tutoring lesson, he’d decided to come see him. In the next few days, he would be occupied by the endless quests the emperor kept sending.
"What’s going on?" he asked at last, sitting beside his son and setting the sword carefully in the grass.
"Papa fell asleep today. Maybe he has trouble sleeping," Eiran whispered, frowning. "He never did this..."
Zayden’s jaw tightened. He forced his voice low.
"I told you, he is not your papa."
Eiran stared at him as though Zayden had spoken in another language—or said something ridiculous enough to deny its entire sense.
Frustrated, Zayden slicked his dark blue hair back with one hand.
"It’s getting late. Wake him and come inside."
Without waiting for a reply, he rose and walked away.
"Dad?" Eiran called, but the general was already gone.
"Mmmhh?" Ren’s voice dry, no word coming out. He rubbed his eyes, blinking until the shapes around him sharpened. Finding the book still resting on his chest, he straightened instantly.
"I—I apologize, Young Master!"
"Why? You just fell asleep."
"B-But that is against my duty. I have failed to serve—" He stopped, realizing Eiran likely didn’t understand half his words.
He was still a child—an innocent who hadn’t yet learned what was right or wrong.
A child who wouldn’t be angry with him for a mistake.
Ren’s gaze dropped, his jaw tightening. Then he noticed the sword lying in the grass behind Eiran.
"What is this doing here?"
"Oh, no! Dad came and forgot to take it! What do we do?" Eiran asked.
Ren stood, lifting the sword with both hands.
"Do not worry. I will return it to the lord."
Though he said so calmly in front of Eiran, his steps faltered. His hand tightened around the hilt. Zayden could have sent a guard for his weapon. He could have taken it himself. Leaving it here felt deliberate, like an excuse to make Ren seek him out.
However, Ren wasn’t sure if the general would appreciate seeing him now.
When they’d gone to inspect the training grounds earlier, Zayden had hardly spoken—an odd thing, since he usually filled the silence with needless chatter until Ren’s ears bled. But he barely ordered him around, making him run errands.
"Is it about the dinner with the young master...?" Ren wondered aloud, but quickly shook his head. "He was the one who asked me to look after him. It must be something else," he reassured himself.