At last, the long-awaited banquet had arrived.
The large space had two floors—the main hall below, and a quieter space above for those who wanted privacy.
Dark blue curtains hid the windows and terraces on the second floor. A dark red carpet covered the path every guest used to walk inside. At the center of the main hall was a wide dance floor, while tables surrounded it, filled with plates, glasses, and dishes of every kind. Candles lined each table, above their dark table cloths embroidered with flowery patterns, their flames soft beneath the radiant glow of chandeliers that lit the room.
Eiran’s heart raced as he glanced left and right, searching for Zayden among the crowd of unfamiliar faces, unbothered by the fancy decor. Yet... his Dad was nowhere to be found.
Noticing his restless movements, Ren leaned down.
"Are you looking for the Lord?"
The boy jolted as if caught committing a crime, quickly shaking his head.
"Of course not. He will come when he is free," his lips twitched, forcing a smile.
Ren saw through the lie but chose not to press. Any child would be eager to see their father. However, he still couldn’t bring himself to ask. If Eiran knew Zayden wasn’t his father, then surely, he knew Ren wasn’t either.
So why did he insist on calling him papa all this time?
It couldn’t simply be because he was the one who first came in contact with Eiran, right?
Ren’s steps faltered. Surrounded by a sea of strangers—creatures unlike him, non-human and unfamiliar—he once again felt the sting of not belonging here. Some flaunted sharp fangs, a few pointed ears twitched when the music displeased them, while others held long sceptres, ready to cast powerful spells.
It seemed he would be swallowed by them until a hand reached out, resting on his shoulder.
He looked up—and found a figure he hadn’t seen in weeks, covered in scarlet threads. A figure he thought he would never see again. Yet there he was, standing before him, his red eyes softer than Ren had ever known.
A faint smile tugged at Zayden’s lips before he leaned closer, the music loud enough to swallow his words.
His gaze dropped to Ren’s neck, hidden beneath the fall of his long silver hair. He hadn’t tied it back, not even today.
Zayden wondered, examining him closely.
Ren’s well-built frame was wrapped in a white shirt beneath the black suit given to all the servants for the banquet. And the scent of pheromones—faint but intoxicating—brushed against Zayden’s senses as he stood close.
He looked around, wondering if he was the only one who could smell it, and it seemed to be the case. None of the guests noticed the faint scent trailing off from his neck.
As long as no one comes close to him—
He stared at Ren who stood still.
The servant clearly did not know what to say.
Just hearing the voice, the tone, was enough for Ren to know it was the General.
Still, he reached out, fingers brushing against Zayden’s bare hand—wanting to see his face at least once before leaving this place.
He locked gaze with the man, praying he wouldn’t notice the touch. Although the question lingered in his mind: could he escape, with the General’s return?
After all, the soldiers would increase at every exit as soon as night fell and it was sunset now.
Thankfully, Za didn’t look at Ren’s hand. His eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across his face. He sensed the soft touch against his skin. Cold. Yet warm.
What is wrong with him, now? He couldn’t have missed me—
The thought didn’t make sense. A servant who never looked back every time he left wouldn’t act .
It must be a mistake. The source of this content ɪs NoveI(F)ire.net
Zayden’s heart raced nevertheless.
The demonic strings slowly parted, shifting behind until they revealed Zayden’s face. His power couldn’t erase them.
I was mistaken... These are... life strings.
Life strings—born the moment a life was taken. Humans. Beastmen. Witches. Vampires. All carried their own threads. Demons, however, bore the longest and strongest of all.
It was rare for anyone to see them. Ren, for some reason, could see these regardless of hiding his other eyes. He had seen those before coming to Revhara: however, he couldn’t imagine it being life strings—so similar to demonic strings.
How could someone have so many?
Humans, the frailest, could take nothing from it. Each life taken gave them nothing in return, as if fate mocked their hunger for immortality in a world they were bound to leave.
However, demons were also bound by a curse. Long ago, the dragons laid a curse after centuries of bloodshed among demons—no demon may kill another, no matter how much they injured each other.
To kill a human or any lesser creature, however, was different. Their years flowed easily into scarlet red strings. Pride restrained most from lowering themselves to such kills, but not all. Some cared little for honor, feeding on anything that breathed.
Other beings remained in between. A witch, a beastman, a vampire—taking lifespan from humans gave them little, a mere year, yet from demons they could draw a hundred. Among themselves, the stronger devoured the weaker. An unspoken law that ruled over them for centuries.
Each craved one thing in common, to ascend a rank no one could obtain—immortality.
This man was not as innocent as his words—or his face—made him seem.
He killed Eiran’s mother too... didn’t he?
He examined the man before him.
Gentle red eyes locked into his, a faint smile tugging at coral lips. Long dark-blue lashes cast shadows over ruby-like irises. Hair framed a sharp jawline, slightly combed on the side. Undoubtedly, he was beautiful. Like any mystical beings whose myths he had heard before.
However, which one was he?
Zayden sighed, his breath brushing against Ren’s neck, making him touch his nape unconsciously.
He noticed. But he said nothing. He simply turned and disappeared into the crowd.
When he arrived at the mansion, it was almost down. Some were still deep asleep. Meanwhile, a few servants were working on the remaining preparations while others remained at the building where the guests were staying.
He didn’t bother announcing his arrival. He climbed the mansion walls like a thief—he was experienced at it. He had snuck in and out of the palace countless times despite the restrictions his parents put on him.
When he opened the window and snapped his fingers to light the dark hall, he found his room neatly cleaned.
"My attendant must have done this," he chuckled, stepping on the floor.
However, the grin on his face dropped when he stepped toward the closet, rummaged through it, trying to find something.
"Where did I put it?" Zayden muttered, searching the closet thoroughly.
The room had once again turned into a mess, clothes scattered on the ground and the bed but he still couldn’t find the object.
Until he spotted a glittering piece under the bed.