Dark clouds hung over the mansion. Lying on his bed, Eiran stared at the partially opened curtains to his left. A few droplets of water rolled down the windowpanes, glimmering as the golden lights outside reflected on them.
He remembered what had happened at the banquet. He had followed Ren, yet the man hadn't paid him any attention. When he had called him Papa, Ren had stared at him as if he had said something wrong—something he shouldn't say.
It brought back memories from long ago. He never understood why he acted like this. Memories of when Ren and Zayden—everyone in the mansion—used to insist Ren wasn't his father.
But from the moment he could think, Eiran had known Ren was his father. Zayden, however, was not—but he was kind, always watching over him in his quiet, careful way.
"Why does Papa say I am not his son?" he had wondered countless times, yet the answer never came.
