"D—Do you hate me, Papa?"
Ren flinched, taking a step back. Seeing the little boy’s eyes filled with tears stung his chest. He was certain he could no longer feel anything but terror. So why did this child’s tears pain him so much?
"I-I do not," he stammered, kneeling before him. He gently wiped the tears from the boy’s eyes. "I do not hate you, Young Master. Where did you learn this word?"
"I am not a baby," he sniffled.
Ren could not argue with that. Even if it had only been a few months since he was born, he already looked like a five—year—old. Even the way he spoke, even if sometimes childish, appeared more mature for the age he was supposed to be.
Although he told himself, Eiran was not a human child, his quick growth was something he could barely digest. He did not dare, however, ask the general what kind of creature Eiran was. It would also require knowing the general’s species, and Eiran’s mother’s. Ren knew it would only anger the lord, from what Hannah told him.
"You look like him," James, who had been analyzing the two, whispered, his voice loud enough to be heard.
"It means nothing. A lot of people have the same colour of hair," Ren argued.
"No, no. Not just the hair... His features–"
"Eiran only has one parent. He does not need people to tell him who he looks like," Zayden interrupted, entering the room, a bright smile on his face.
Ren sprang to his feet, stepping aside.
The three servants bowed quietly.
"Dad!" Eiran sprinted towards the tall figure, hugging his legs.
Zayden chuckled, lifting him.
"How are your classes going? No trouble, I hope."
"Good! I learned about dragons today!" His eyes glimmered with excitement, but the smile on Zayden’s lips dropped.
The memory of the last dragon he slaughtered flashed at the back of his mind–Eiran’s mother’s eyes slowly losing light as she took her last breath.
"Yes! Teacher said that... Uhh... dragons used to be wo—woosh—wooship!"
"Worshipped," Zayden corrected, taking a seat beside Eiran after sitting him on the couch.
James and Mrs. Eden smiled at the cute conversation between the two while Ren simply stood behind, face unreadable.
"Yes! That. And the mean people of Hianshu threw them out of the country!"
"Right, the Temple of Hianshu declared them as evil beings and... exiled them."
"Eiran, that’s enough. Have some snacks before your next class begins, or else you will get hungry during your lesson."
Eiran looked up at his dad, then nodded. He wanted to tell everything he learned today. Then, perhaps, his dad would visit him more often.
Ren extended the plate of sweets towards the small boy who took a cookie.
"Thank you, Papa," Eiran curled his lips into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Despite noticing it, Ren didn’t say a word. It was none of his concern.
"Just because he calls you Papa, you aren’t his father
Zayden strolled through the garden, unable to sleep. Eiran’s words echoed in his mind. Whenever he heard anything related to dragons, his gaze would drop instantly.
The guilt he tried to ease surfaced once more tonight.
Hearing the snapping sound of a branch, Zayden turned.
Behind him stood Ren, his hair loosely blown by the wind.
Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer towards the servant. The scent of liqueurs still lingered on his clothes once he stood before Ren.
The smell tickled his nostrils, and Ren rubbed his nose subtly. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last that he saw the general drunk. He was a man who loved drinking, holding small celebration parties with his soldiers every time they completed a large quest.
"I could not sleep..." Ren averted his gaze. He did not like looking toward the general at all. Although he had grown used to them, there was no way someone would like looking at a person wrapped with thick red strings.
Just how many people have cursed him, and how many people has he killed?
Ren wondered, but didn’t dare ask. He could be the next one.
And like always. Ren couldn’t understand what he found funny. But he told himself perhaps it was because he was no longer in his senses.
"Why are you so aloof?"
The general never asked him anything about his life–he simply never showed interest in it. He chattered about the weather, the rain, the training camp, the missions they headed to, everything, but their personal lives.
Zayden’s chuckle interrupted him.
He looked upwards–locking gaze with a pair of red eyes glimmering under the golden light of the large street lamp.
"I did not ask to hear sorry from you. I never wanted you to say that... I never want anyone to apologize when they are not in the wrong. Why don’t you train under me? Look at you... You have a good build," Zayden studied the young man’s body closely.
"... I prefer not. I despise sweating."
Zayden chuckled. Then, he paused before continuing, "I wonder why Eiran considers you his father. He even called you, papa, before acknowledging me," he scoffed. "Lame, don’t you think?"
Ren blinked, unsure how to respond. Perhaps it was because he was drunk, but he wasn’t making any sense—changing topics so abruptly.
"I will help you return to your bedroom," he suggested, reaching for Zayden’s arm, but the man avoided him with ease.
"I am lame," he scoffed. "I get all upset, grumpy whenever he prioritizes you over me. Then, I punish you, by treating you like you don’t exist."
Listening to him, Ren couldn’t even argue, telling him that wasn’t true.
Does being drunk make a person more honest? And when did he drink this much? He was fine earlier, at the dinner table, he had a normal conversation with the young master too...
Ren did find it strange at first but he had experience with such treatment.
"Then again... How could I... the killer of his mother expect him to solely rely on me?"
"Nothing. Return to your room," Zayden’s voice turned strangely sharp in an instant.
Before Ren could ask anything, the general’s silhouette already faded in the hallways. Now, he was simply left with questions.
"The general killed Eiran’s mother?" He muttered to himself, shocked at the sound of his own words.