His legs trembled as he moved through the rain. Today should have been one of those days when he stayed in bed, buried beneath the covers, his chest stinging, his body burning from within, memories he wished to keep locked into his mind forever replaying like a relentless nightmare.
During the day, everything was tolerable. But when night fell, everything became worse.
Yet here he was, walking beside the General—a man who seemed to prey on his every move, his presence pressing on him like a weight he couldn’t escape.
He couldn’t find the strength to explain himself to this man, asking for a quick dismissal.
When his knees threatened to give way, he bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste blood.
Anything to stay upright.
Anything to remain the perfect attendant until he left.
A hand slowly pulled him back from behind, his back resting against a sturdy yet warm surface under the cold weather. His body froze instantly. He quickly glanced at Zayden who held him close. Not too tight, not too loose, just enough to steady him.
"Are you alright? You were about to fall just now." The General asked, his voice barely cutting through the thick pouring of rain.
Hadn’t they stood close enough, Ren would have failed to hear him.
"Yes," Ren forced himself out of Zayden’s grip, stepping away from the umbrella, letting himself get drenched once again.
"Please head inside first, My Lord," he stepped aside, making way for Zayden.
Zayden had been studying Ren for a moment. In the past few minutes, his strong, steady servant had been shaking like a leaf hung on a dry branch during winter, fragile despite his usual composure.
He curled his fingers into a fist. He dreaded asking.
What if he said yes? What if his servant, who didn’t flinch as he watched his earlier horrific act, was now terrified of him?
The idea unsettled him. He couldn’t let Ren see him as a ruthless man like the others. He couldn’t let him see him as the demon he hated being.
Yet, he silently walked away, leaving his attendant in the rain. He left the umbrella on the ground, hoping that Ren would pick it up. But in vain.
When he entered the mansion, he glanced behind. There was no trace of the servant. The black umbrella rolled on the ground, blown by the wind, a lonely figure against the storm.
"Just like him. But... Where did he go?’
Zayden muttered, searching for the young man. However, he was nowhere to be seen.
Sitting in the garden, Eiran looked at Soren, eyes filled with doubt.
"So you said... You are my... uncle?"
The man sitting across from him had red hair and golden eyes. He resembled neither his Dad nor his Papa. And he looked pretty—almost like an angel. Eiran paused when his gaze caught on Soren’s pointed ears.
Arms folded, he crossed his legs. This time, his feet touched the ground, unlike a few months ago.
"Yes," Soren chuckled, taking a sip of the tea a maid had prepared. The child, though not related by blood to his younger brother, had inherited some of his traits—his distrustful eyes and prideful attitude.
They were surrounded by servants Eiran had summoned to confirm the man’s identity. None dared to speak until Soren himself declared he was the young master’s uncle.
"But you have elf ears."
"Oh, these?" Soren brushed a hand against his ears. "Well, Zayden resembles our father. And I, our mother," he said with a smile.
Eiran stared at him for a long moment, one eyebrow arched. He didn’t believe this man.
"Wait until Dad comes—" he began, but stopped when he spotted a butterfly fluttering over the field of flowers.
He leapt to his feet, running to catch it. But after circling the flower field, the insect flew away, disappearing into the distance.
The boy’s hand dropped. His face fell in disappointment.
Soren rose from his seat, gently tapping Eiran’s shoulder.
The child turned, frowning, his expression saying: What do you want?
A red light flickered around the taller man’s fingers. Soon, a crimson butterfly appeared in his palm.
"A magic butterfly!" Eiran’s green eyes lit up as the glow reflected in them. His gaze twinkled with excitement, and he tugged Soren’s hand down to see it more closely.
"Ha ha ha. It’s a magical butterfly. Do you want to learn how to make these?"
Eiran nodded eagerly, eyes fixed on the butterfly.
Soren was cut off by a loud thunderclap echoing across the sky. Within seconds, rain poured down, drenching them.
"Let’s hurry inside!" Eiran pulled him by the hand, dragging him toward the mansion.
The floor grew slick with water dripping from their clothes.
Servants rushed to fetch towels and began helping them dry off.
"Bring my uncle to his room," Eiran ordered, heading toward his own chambers.
His attendants followed, while the Crown Prince’s entourage led Soren to the guest quarters.
Soren walked in silence, damp hair clinging to his forehead, golden eyes roaming over the unfamiliar halls.
"Zayden’s mansion," he muttered, closing his eyes briefly, as if feeling his brother’s presence.
Since Zayden left the palace, even the walls had longed for his return. But as stubborn as he was, he had refused every time Soren brought up the subject.
Now, instead of marrying, he had adopted a son—mostly because nobles had been pressuring him to start a family.
Eiran’s earlier words lingered in Soren’s mind: Bring my uncle to his room.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. Pride. Demons were prideful by nature. And when it came to family, their possessiveness was never hidden.
In the distance, the boy’s voice carried faintly—sharp and commanding as he scolded a servant for bringing the wrong towel.
For his tiny frame, Eiran carried himself like someone who had always been obeyed.
Almost like Zayden when he was younger.
Soren loosened the robe draped over his shoulders. His fingers twitched, the sensation of the butterfly lingering in his palm. He had not expected the boy’s eyes to shine that brightly.
A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Who is it?" one of his attendants asked, while the others carefully adjusted the Crown Prince’s robe, smoothing every fold to ensure he appeared flawless and presentable.
"The General has invited His Royal Highness to join him for dinner tonight," a maid’s voice came from the other side.
"Alright. You may leave," Soren dismissed the woman, allowing his servants to prepare another set of outfits suited for dinner.
Then, a thought crossed his mind—he still hadn’t met the person his nephew referred to as ’Papa’.