— Sometimes, I'm petrified by the lies I say. What if I am not deceiving them, but myself? —
"Picked up? And… from where?" Zayden arched an eyebrow.
A speech like that… it had vanished from the world. No one should have known about it. No one but the Temple of Hianshu—and those who had lived long enough to witness every book that once taught it burned to ashes.
Ren shifted slightly, as if weighing his answer—should he speak or not?
Finally, he muttered, "I met a very, very old demon in the forest once. He used to sing that song."
It was a lie. Another one he had to remember, so that his deception wouldn't be exposed altogether one day. He had never met any demons. He only knew saints all his life.
Zayden didn't break eye contact, narrowing his gaze, letting the silence hang like a guillotine's blade over a criminal awaiting execution.
