For a brief, fleeting moment, Ren allowed himself to imagine a life where warmth and care weren’t fleeting, where people didn’t always bring danger or pain—something he witnessed all his life.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind.
How dare you even think about that? Are you planning to abandon him?!
The young man jolted from his seat.
The voices growled in his mind, unrelentingly.
"Where are you going?" Hannah and Lillia asked, confused.
"I—The general must have returned from his quest. I need to attend to him," he lied, rushing out of the garden.
Today, the general wouldn’t return until late at night.
But Ren simply wanted to run—to escape this place that felt too warm, too alive, where the coldness of his usual existence weighed on every sense he had.
The two ladies glanced at each other with worried faces.
"Did we say something wrong?" Lillia asked, perplexed.
Hannah shook her head.
"He must be going through a lot for his young age... He needs time to recover from the past."
"Do you know about that? He never speaks about himself, or his past."
"No. But I have a rough idea," Hannah replied, although sometimes she doubted the answer she came up with. He didn’t appear to be someone who was born a slave, not with his complexion.
"The more I think, the more confusing he appears."
"Yet you allowed him to work here?" Lillia arched an eyebrow.
"Lili, don’t you see how he resembles Owen? How could I ask him to leave? Seeing him, I feel as if my Owen has returned home..." Tears formed at the edge of her eyes.
Lillia softly lifted her hand, brushing the tips of her fingers against Hannah’s eyes, wiping them.
"Oh dear... You always get so emotional."
Hannah forced a laugh.
"How is your husband doing? Has he returned from the capital?"
Lillia rolled her eyes.
"Don’t talk to me about that man! He said he would return soon, but it has already been a week!"
"It takes time to settle down things. Since when have you become so childish?" Hannah chuckled.
"Since I have grown old," Lillia laughed.
"You aren’t older than me."
"Younger than what? Two years?" Lillia shook her head.
"Let’s return to our duties before the mansion turns into chaos," Hannah rose from the chair.
Lillia nodded, mirroring her movements.
Ren lay on his side on the hard mattress, one hand resting on his stomach.
A tall young man knelt in front of him, fingers brushing lightly against the curve of his tummy.
"Can you feel it?" he asked softly, the tip of his fingers trembling as if he might hurt Ren with too much pressure.
Ren laughed, a bright sound echoing in the almost empty room.
"Sometimes. But it’s been wiggling too much lately."
The man smiled, pressing his hand a little firmer.
"Hello, little one... Guess who?"
Ren burst into laughter.
"H-Hey! Are you making fun of me?" the man grumbled, flustered.
Just then, something pushed his hand. He flinched, quickly looking at Ren’s stomach, surprised.
"There! Did you feel it, too?!" he exclaimed, amazed.
"Of course. I told you I can feel it move."
The man leaned closer, lips brushing against his stomach.
"I will give this child the world."
Ren froze for a moment, then let his fingers drift into the man’s hair.
"Don’t squish it," he said, half-teasing, half-serious—as if he hadn’t heard the young man’s claim at all.
"I won’t," the man murmured, smiling. "I just want to feel it with you."
Ren let out a soft laugh, closing his eyes for a moment.
For that instant, everything was quiet and warm. He could just be... happy.
A sudden kick made them both jump.
"It kicked again!" Ren exclaimed, eyes wide, looking at the man kneeling on the floor.
The man laughed, his hand following the movement.
"Mhm. It’s stronger than before now." He coughed, clearing his throat before gently lifting Ren’s shirt. "Hello there, little one."
Ren pressed a hand to his stomach, smiling.
"Stop hiding it," the man teased, brushing his lips again against Ren’s belly.
Ren laughed again—not holding back this time.
"You’re being ridiculous."
"I’m serious," the man murmured. "This little one... will always have both of us by its side. Always and forever."
Ren’s chest tightened, a quiet happiness blooming inside him.
The laughter faded, but the warmth in his chest remained. He, again, ran his fingers through the man’s hair.
"Yes. Forever and always."
"Ren, be careful with the general’s clothes when you iron them," Maria said, polishing the general’s boots.
Zayden hadn’t returned yet. But the attendants had to always keep two sets of outfits ready in case the General had to leave as soon as he returned to the mansion. It was written in their contract—although Ren never experienced it so far.
Ren nodded without saying a word.
"Rennn, you should smile more! You’re a young man but you look so drained with life. This is no good!" Paul sighed.
As a vampire, he had already lived a longer life than Ren despite looking as young as him.
The silver-haired man looked up only to continue his work.
Back then, his laughter had come so easily. Now, even smiling felt foreign. The boy in that memory was not the Ren who existed now. That Ren had died long ago.
Leaning his cheek on the desk, he looked outside. It was still bright, the sun shone as if it had sworn it wouldn’t set today.
Time seemed to pass more slowly than usual.
"Young master, please focus!.." Celine sighed.
Eiran blinked lazily, his eyes trailing over the golden light spilling through the window, then on his book.
But his hand hadn’t moved from the same page in a while.
"I will have to complain to the General if your behavior remains the same! Just earlier, you were reading so delightfully—"
"Papa was here! But now, he isn’t..." the boy’s cheeks puffed.
Celine rolled her eyes.
This had become a routine. Ren, the servant, whom Eiran strangely called papa, would bring him to the study room. He would stay for a few minutes before leaving.
The young master would focus on the class only for those brief moments. After the man left, he would slump his head against the desk, unbothered by anything Celine tried to teach him.
"Young Master, the lord said he isn’t your father," she sighed.
"Celine," Eiran growled, his green eyes glimmering, a faint flicker of golden light surrounding him. "Don’t you dare say that again."
"I apologize..." Celine instantly responded, but her words weren’t sincere. She simply couldn’t comprehend why this—almost seven years old looking boy—cherished a mere servant so much.
"Good," Eiran folded his hands, straightening his posture. "Continue your class while I’m still in the mood," he grinned.
Celine stared at him for a little too long. The little boy in front of her resembled the general—yet, he had none of his features. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but wonder if this boy was truly the general’s son. Then, the boy would do something only the general’s son could do—behave like him, speak like him.
"Are you going to start or not?"
Hearing the question, she turned towards the board behind her, no longer dwelling on her thoughts.
"So, as I said earlier, to control your mana without an outburst..." Celine continued.
Eiran sighed, elbow on the desk, hand pressed against his cheek.