From inside the room, faint voices could be heard. One was unmistakably Eiran’s—light, lively, easy to recognize.

But the other... softer, almost swallowed by the silence. So quiet that it was hard to tell if it was really there, or merely imagined.

Ren knocked without waiting another second.

The voices inside fell silent instantly.

"Who is it?" Eiran called out—annoyance unmistakable in his tone.

Ren crossed his arms.

"Your father."

Eiran, who had been sitting on his bed, stiffened. Panic flickered across his face, his breath shortening.

The dragon—he couldn’t let them see him.

Papa and Dad will definitely tell me not to talk to him and ask me to send him away...

His eyes darted frantically around the room before he leaned close to his new companion.

"Hide. Closet—now!"

The dragon blinked, confused but obedient. With a soft rush of fluttering wings, he darted across the room and slipped into the narrow space between coats and blankets. The doors closed with the faintest click.

Growing impatient, Zayden pushed the door open himself.

Ren’s lips parted slightly, though no words came out. It wasn’t proper to barge into a child’s room—especially when said child looked like he was hiding something.

"What are you doing locking yourself away the moment you return, little one?" Zayden asked with a grin that was a little too casual.

He spoke lightly, playfully, but there was calculation behind it. He wanted Eiran to relax. Because he knew he had heard another voice coming from these walls.

His eyes swept the room—corners, curtains, under the table, anywhere someone or something could be. But the space was spotless, almost suspiciously so. Too still.

My hearing can’t be wrong...

He bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing the frown that threatened to rise.

"W-What are you looking at?" Eiran blurted out, jumping to his feet as though caught doing something forbidden.

He forced a smile—too stiff, too bright to be real.

Yet neither of his fathers commented on it. They exchanged a knowing glance. If they pressed, the child would surely spout a lie. And it might burden the boy even more because he was just not good at lying.

At least... until now.

"Nothing," Zayden replied instead, the smile that followed far more convincing than the child’s.

He stepped forward and scooped Eiran up as per usual. Although the child had grown taller, he still weighed less than ever.

Eiran didn’t resist. He didn’t complain.

He simply clung to Zayden’s shoulder, his fingers curling into the man’s collar—eyes flicking once toward the closet, praying that he wouldn’t get caught.

His only concern was not getting caught.

Not with the dragon still inside the room.

He needed the little creature to help him understand himself better—because no one else could.

He had overheard pieces of conversations between his fathers, but instead of answers, their words only tangled more questions in his head. Was he a dragon or not?

When he asked Ren, he was told he was born with a wizard’s blood and a human.

But if that were true, then why...?

Why did his left arm shimmer at times—glowing faintly, aching as if something inside was trying to break through?

And why, at other moments, did that same arm turn cold—not the kind a winter breeze brings, but a deep, unnatural cold that crawled under his skin?

No human should feel that.

He knew that much.

He had never seen his Papa like this.

Still, Eiran couldn’t understand.

And worse—he couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

Not when the mention of his real father alone could darken Papa’s expression—the same expression that had only just begun to brighten again.

And certainly not now, when Ren and Zayden finally seemed at peace.

The cold between them had melted. Their words flowed softly, gently—no longer weighed down by the heavy silence they used to breathe. They looked at each other like two people who had found something they never expected to regain.

If he asked—if the truth stood different than what they believed...

Would their peace crack again?

Would they look at him differently?

Fear him? Regret him?

The thought wrapped around his heart, squeezing.

So Eiran limited the questions to himself. He didn’t want to shatter that. He didn’t want to be the reason everything shattered all over again.

And the dragon—hidden in his room—was the only one who might know what he truly was.

"Why are you refusing to eat?" Ren finally asked, snapping the child back to reality.

Eiran blinked, eyes sharpening as if waking from a dream.

"Well... I’m not hungry."

Just then, his stomach growled loudly, betraying him and his words.

Ugh...

He shut his eyes tight, cheeks flushing red. Clearly embarrassed.

Zayden furrowed his eyebrows, clearly displeased.

"It seems my son has learned the art of lying."

Eiran stiffened.

He was caught.

He bit his lip, gaze darting nervously toward Ren while Zayden still held him in his arms.

Only his Papa could help him in this situation. Even if his Dad was kind, Eiran knew that he didn’t go easy on those who lied to him.

With a sigh, the General set him down gently on the carpet.

The boy looked up at both men.

Ren took in a quick breath, followed by a calm, patient voice.

"Ha ha ha," he forced a laugh to ease the strangely heavy atmosphere. "It’s normal for children to lie sometimes. They get scared, or embarrassed—"

Zayden shot him a sharp look.

"This is not funny, Ren. Lying is still wrong. Do you want our son to grow up as someone we can’t trust because he lies too often? It starts with a small thing and then—it never ends."

Ren’s words died on his tongue. He closed his mouth, the unspoken "But sometimes lying is necessary," hanging between them like invisible strings.

Zayden despised lies. He stated so countless times to those who stabbed him in the back during missions while they were tortured. During those times, the omega simply stood beside the General, watching it unfold before his eyes.

And Ren... was a liar from the very beginning.

His throat tightened. The realization struck him like lightning.

The biggest liar in the room wasn’t the child.

It was him.

"I-I am sorry, please don’t fight!" Eiran blurted, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"I—" Zayden stood there, confused as to what to say. He didn’t mean to make the boy cry—

Ren rushed toward the child, hugging him gently.

"Shhh. It’s alright. No one is mad at you," he murmured, trying his best to comfort the crying child.

When Zayden locked gaze with Ren, he was glaring at him.

Great. Looks like I have successfully ruined my happy family moment.

The alpha sighed.

***

Zayden stepped out of the room, leaving Ren to handle Eiran. He didn’t want his presence to upset the child again.

He shut himself in his study, closing the door softly behind him. Not long after, Hannah appeared, bowing respectfully.

"My Lord," she began, her voice calm but efficient. "Here is everything that happened while you were away."

She went on to report on the household—how she had managed the staff, overseen the daily routines, and ensured the mansion ran smoothly in his absence. She even included updates on finances and supplies, presenting the information clearly and concisely.

Zayden listened quietly, absorbing every detail, though only half of his attention remained on the reports.

The rest lingered on the expression Ren had worn when he saw Eiran in his room—an image that refused to leave his mind.

Once Hannah finished, she bowed respectfully and exited the study, leaving Zayden alone with his thoughts.

He grabbed the quill lying flat on the desk and opened the bottle of ink. Dipping it carefully, he prepared to write.

But what should he write?

He paused, staring at the blank page. Words didn’t come easily to him—he wasn’t the very expressive kind of man. Mostly when demon blood—known to be emotionless—ran through his veins as much as he hated it.

And to whom should the letter even be addressed? The question lingered, unanswered, as the quill hovered above the paper. A drop of ink fell, smudging the page.

He inhaled deeply, crumpled the paper beneath his palms, and tossed it into the small garbage bin under his desk.

A knock broke the silence.

Without asking who it was, Zayden’s voice echoed faintly, "Come in." His eyes stayed fixed on the pile of blank papers.

The door swung open, and a familiar scent filled the room—one he would never fail to recognize.

He looked up to see Ren standing there. Subconsciously, a small smile tugged at his lips. He sprang to his feet, closing the distance between them.

"You are here!" he exclaimed, relief clear in his voice. He had feared he might have upset Ren too much—so much that the man wouldn’t want to see him again.

Yet, the thought alone made his breath freeze.

"My Lord," Ren began.

Zayden’s brow furrowed, his chest tightening. It had been a while since Ren had called him that—so cold, so distant.

Is he mad?... Fuck.

He pursed his lips, lowering his gaze, unsure how to respond.

"Yes?" he finally asked, voice quiet, cautious.