The season changed, and slowly the rainy days stopped. It was bright outside. The wind had blown warmer, and the flowers bloomed more beautifully than during the spring.
The child had grown faster than any human within a few months. He could now walk, talk almost like a toddler despite his young age.
The midsummer sunlight casted shadows upon the large trees that swept across the landscape.
The little boy perched on a tree branch, holding an apple in his hand. He wore a red short-sleeved shirt, and black pants that reached above his small ankles.
His eyes darted towards the open window where Zayden sat as his gaze focused on his work.
"Young Master," Ren whispered, panting. "I have been looking everywhere for you."
"Shh…" The little boy looked down at the ground, pressing a finger against his lips.
"Get down from there, please!"
"No!" The boy protested. "I can see Dad from here."
Ren sighed, his gaze following the little boy's—to the general.
How could he tell him to get down when he knew that the child had been yearning for his father for a while?
The young man leaned against the tree trunk, his arms crossed. At first, his duty only revolved around General Zayden. However, when Eiran—the name Zayden gave to the boy—was born, his duty began involving him as well.
The boy would stay with his nanny throughout the day but when night fell, his cries wouldn't let anyone in the mansion sleep. Only Ren's presence stopped the boy's restlessness, soothing him to sleep.
Zayden told Ren that his salary would increase if he took both of the jobs.
"But you might choose to refuse," he added, his eyes, however, speaking otherwise. He knew Ren wouldn't refuse a bigger salary.
Just as the general predicted, although hesitant, Ren agreed.
The little boy hopped down from the branch, landing on his feet. His knees buckled, and he tumbled to the ground.
"Oh, lord! What do you think you are?" Ren sighed, quickly scooping him up.
"Not sure, Papa," Eiran giggled, covering his mouth with his small hands, his small body shaking.
Ren froze mid-step. The word hit him like a blade between the ribs.
Papa.
His jaw tightened. He wasn't this boy's father. He had nothing to do with him. Yet the small arms around his neck clung as if they'd never let go, the warmth seeping through his shirt in a way that felt dangerous. Unwanted affection.
One day, he would leave this place. This mansion. These people. Everything was temporary.
The first word Eiran said was, "Papa."
And he hadn't meant Zayden. He'd meant Ren. He looked Ren in the eyes, a bright grin on his tiny face.
It had stunned every servant in the room into silence. No matter how many times everyone, including Ren, tried to correct him, the boy never wavered—Ren was his papa.
"Young Master," Ren sighed. "Do not call me that. Your father is the general."
Eiran tilted his head as if clueless.
"So? You're also my father," his bright green eyes glimmered under the sunlight.
Ren could not say another word. He looked away, swallowing his breath, along with his words.
"Papa again," a servant whispered, glancing at them.
"I heard it too," the other replied.
"Maybe…" Her voice dropped lower. "Maybe he is his father. Look at their similar hair colours…"
"That's impossible. He's a beta!"
"Shh! Lower your voice!"
"Then why else—"
Ren passed by without slowing, his gaze fixed ahead.
Words were just words. Gossip no longer bothered him. The servants grew hostile to him. Some tried to cause trouble but Ren managed to escape each of their schemes. At times, he wished to return the favor. Like he did with Cael. Then, he'd laugh at himself.
"You are not here to harm anyone," he'd whisper.
They didn't matter.
They shouldn't matter.
By nightfall, Eiran was restless again. The nanny, Mrs. Eden, had tried twice to put him to sleep, to no avail.
She exited the room and asked Ren to come.
Ren stepped into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed.
The child sat on the soft mattress, grabbing Ren's hand.
"Papa!" His eyes shone as if they were precious gems.
Ren parted his lips to stop him from saying so but closed them, smiling softly.
He placed the child in his lap.
Zayden stopped before Eiran's room once he heard a faint sound.
Someone was there.
He visited the boy every night, but he barely had the chance to talk as he was always asleep by the time he got there.
He gently opened the door. Inside, Ren sat on the bed, holding the little boy in his arms. His lips moved, soft and beautiful melodies sweeping from his mouth. But the language—an ancient one. No one spoke about it. A speech no one was aware of, apart from those who had lived for centuries. It was banned by the temple because Dragwari was a language used by dragons to talk to the Gods.
Ren glanced at Eiran, whose breathing softened, his small fingers loosening their grip on Ren's sleeve.
"You…"
Ren turned his head. Zayden stood in the doorway, shadow cutting across his face.
But instead of asking about the lullaby, he asked, "Did he fall asleep already?"
Ren nodded, his fingers stilled in the boy's hair.
Zayden stepped into the room, his gaze steady.
"What did he do today?" He sat at the other edge of the bed.
"He ate more than usual. I believe he likes sweets. He had plenty of them. He played in the garden for a long time… But more than anything, he misses you."
Zayden's eyebrows furrowed.
"And how do you know that?" He forced a smile.
He was certain a child only needed a place to stay, enough food to not starve, clothes to dress well, and a good environment.
Yet, every time he looked at Ren, he knew that wasn't true. The reason Eiran grew up to be such a well-mannered and mature boy despite his young age was that Ren made sure the boy had a balanced emotional life.
Whenever Eiran complained that he wished to see Zayden, Ren wouldn't delay it. He would inform the general right away and arrange a meeting. Although lately Zayden was caught up in cases related to Omegas who wished to escape from their abusive Alpha partners.
"He was watching you for a long time. You might not have noticed but he climbed a tree to be able to see you. He even injured himself," Ren sighed, a slight frown on his face.
Almost instinctively, Zayden caressed the center of Ren's forehead.
The servant flinched, pulling his head away, the frown only deepening.
"You shouldn't frown. Humans age fast. Frowning would make you get wrinkles," Zayden retracted his hand, forcing a laugh.
Why did I do that?
He clenched his fist, looking away.
"I will arrange a meeting for you both. You have some free time in two days. Would that be alright?" Ren asked.
The red strings on Zayden began moving. Now, he could see Zayden's forehead.
So far, he understood that physical contact made the demonic strings disappear. But he couldn't remove them all at once. It was too dangerous.
His powers required him to take the pain of the person he tried to cure on his own body. And demonic strings were dangerous to humans. They could be bewitched, and even die.
Ren couldn't die yet. Not until he found that.
"Alright," Zayden paused before adding. "He still calls you papa, does he not? Do you truly not mind it?"
Ren gently laid the boy on the pillow, pulling away the strands of silver hair on his pale face.
"He will stop."
"What if he doesn't?"
"He will stop once I leave the mansion," Ren locked gaze with Zayden, his face unreadable.