"But next year, you need to find out when my birthday is and prepare a gift."

Ren stifled a small chuckle.

Childish.

He thought, but nodded anyway. Maybe it was a good idea. Zayden had given him a life he could only dream of. If Ren could, he would give him anything he desired.

"No, not like this. You have to make a pinky promise." Zayden extended his small finger, waiting for Ren’s. But the man seemed unsure what was expected from him, frozen in place.

"Ren," Zayden said, gently tapping the omega’s bony knuckles. "You need to wrap your pinky around mine," he explained patiently.

He did not scold Ren for not understanding or making him feel stupid for not knowing like most did.

A faint tint of red bloomed on Ren’s cheeks, and he quickly lowered his head, letting his short hair hide his face. Slowly, he raised his hand and did as Zayden instructed.

The touch felt electric. They locked eyes, and the silence stretched comfortably between them.

Finally, Zayden cleared his throat, pulling his hand back reluctantly. Ren mirrored the movement, unsure what to say.

"Since we’re talking about lifespans..." Zayden began, raising an eyebrow. "What about Eiran? He’s born from two humans...?"

Ren hesitated, then said quietly, "My mate... he was a wizard."

The word mate pierced him like a sharp blade, but Zayden forced himself to smile. He nodded faintly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"But... since he was in a dragon’s egg, the dragon must have showered him with its mana. That means he would have inherited at least some of its power."

Ren blinked, surprised.

"Even if he wasn’t a dragon?"

Zayden shrugged. "Dragons don’t care. Their magic touches everything inside the egg. Some traits stick, even to those who aren’t their offspring."

"Does this mean he doesn’t have a human’s lifespan?"

Zayden nodded, but then a thought crossed his mind. He didn’t even know Ren’s age. The young man looked to be in his twenties, but then again, so did Zayden—despite having lived for almost three centuries.

But he probably doesn’t know... just like his birthday.

Zayden lowered his head slightly, concluding.

"I’ll let you get some rest," he said, walking backward until his back collided with the door.

"Alright. Good night," Ren said calmly, though he held back the urge to laugh. For some reason, the general was unusually clumsy tonight.

Was he tired? But all he did was talk with that man...

"Good night," Zayden grinned, opening the door and stepping out soon after. He glanced back, as if hoping Ren would stop him—call his name—but that didn’t happen.

***

Last night’s discussion with Ren felt like a forgotten dream when Zayden opened his eyes. A groan escaped him as he tried to rise from the bed. He had visited the physician for his injury, but in vain. The wound was fatal—caused by a weapon that only affected demons, one designed solely to kill them.

"I should find that bastard and kill him—" he muttered, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

In front of him stood Ren, holding a tray with a cup of tea—white steam curling into the air—and a plate containing two pieces of bread, a jar of apple jam and butter, and a knife to make the toast.

"Why’d you bring it here? I was going to join you and Eiran for breakfast in the dining hall," he said, stepping slowly onto the floor and slipping on his slippers.

Ren didn’t say a word as he set the tray on the table. Then, he lifted the curtains. Zayden covered his face—the bright, dazzling sunlight nearly blinded him.

"My Lord, it is past noon."

Zayden’s jaw dropped.

"Wait, what? How can that be? I slept for only a few hours—"

Ren chuckled, quickly covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he coughed, clearing his throat.

"This is what happens when you visit a friend late at night."

Zayden narrowed his eyes, but soon smiled, shaking his head. His messy hair fell over his forehead, slightly tangled.

"You’ve gotten better at your jests."

"Are you mad?" Ren asked, regaining his composure immediately. He was acting like a child. Unprofessional. Just because Zayden said they were friends didn’t mean that—

"Of course not. Friends are allowed to joke with each other."

Ren’s breath caught in his throat. Did Zayden have the power to read minds? Otherwise, how could he say the complete opposite of what he’d just been thinking?

Zayden turned toward the servant after brushing his hair back with his fingers. He didn’t want to look this messy in front of Ren.

"Because you have a disease called overthinking."

Ren flinched, clutching his shirt nervously. He was... right?

"Of course, I can’t read your mind," Zayden laughed. "You’re just... easier to read nowadays."

Perhaps because you’ve finally let your guard down. Finally.

"You brought all this for me?" He asked, eyeing the simple meal. He sat on the couch, looking up at the man who had begun buttering the bread. "You even remembered the jam I like."

"I told Sarah to prepare it," Ren said quickly, but the faint tint of red on his cheeks betrayed him.

Zayden leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee.

"Still, you brought it yourself."

"Because you were hurt," Ren replied flatly, though his tone softened near the end. "You shouldn’t be walking around too much."

Zayden blinked.

"Wait, how do you?—" He didn’t tell him that the wound still hurt.

Ren averted his gaze, guilty. He had done something he shouldn’t have.

"I... I visited the physician for some medicines to keep my pheromones and heat from rising like last time. My suppressants take time to take effect. That is when he told me about your injury. You behave as if it is nothing but—"

"You sound like Eiran." The General sighed. "Like father, like son."

"That’s because you act like him," Ren muttered under his breath. "And he ought to behave like his father," he stated proudly only to gasp.

Zayden laughed—a low, genuine sound that made Ren glance up without meaning to.

"You aren’t..."

"Sad? Why? I cherish Eiran, and will do so in the future."

"He is not even your real son–"

"Ren," Zayden’s voice rose without realizing. "Even if he were not your son, I would have raised him as mine. And we, demons, as bad as our reputation might be, don’t go back on our words."

Ren nodded, lowering his gaze.

"Have your breakfast," He said softly. He had angered Zayen without realizing it. He wanted to ask why lately he had been referring to himself as a demon without losing his rationality but held back.

Now wasn’t the time.