"Ren..." Zayden whispered, his face resting against Ren’s shoulder. Even knowing he might be pushed away, he mustered the courage to wrap his arms around the omega’s figure.
"Oh, dear. What do I do? I’m terrified."
Ren frowned.
"Are you mocking me?" he asked under his breath, suppressing his irritation.
Why would the Imperial General Zayden be terrified? There was nothing he could fear. Rather, it was others who feared him.
Zayden’s arms tightened—not too much, but enough for Ren to feel the rapid beating of his heart.
The servant inhaled slowly, unmoving. He judged it best not to argue with a drunk man.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked, playing along just so he could finally sleep. If he had known this was what awaited him after drinking with the General, he would have never agreed.
At least I’m sober
He sighed inwardly.
Zayden’s grip grew slightly firmer, holding him closer. His pheromones trailed from his nape, faint but lingering. The omega stiffened, trapped in that warmth, forcing himself to remain composed.
"I told you, didn’t I?" Zayden murmured. "Victory comes with a cost. And..."
He paused, his gaze distant, eyes unfocused as if staring into something only he could see. The hand gripping Ren’s sleeve trembled faintly.
"And I paid mine long ago."
Ren said nothing, watching the man’s lips move with a strange, stillness although he spoke of something that could only have brought him pain.
"There used to be... a girl," Zayden began, his voice hoarse. "An omega. She and her mate—they were my closest friends. We almost grew up together, before Revhara became what it is now. Before there were proper soldiers or order in this land... back when everyone thought they could take whatever they wanted simply because the country’s economy was unstable."
He stopped, swallowing hard, as if the words themselves burned.
"She trusted me when I told her I’d protect her." A bitter laugh slipped from his lips. "But I wasn’t there when she needed me. And when I came... it was already too late. And my other best friend—her mate—also left me in this hell, in this guilt, forever."
He let out a shaky breath, the words slurring slightly, "Humans don’t live long, Ren."
Ren’s brows furrowed, a dull ache forming in his chest at the tone of Zayden’s voice—the emptiness that had replaced pain after years of trying to bury it. He knew that feeling too. The same helplessness Zayden must have felt when he couldn’t save someone he held dear.
"So that’s my victory," Zayden said, his voice low, laced with self-mockery. "People call me a hero. But I couldn’t even save two people who mattered most to me."
His grip on Ren tightened—not rough, but desperate, like someone holding onto the last piece of a dream.
"I don’t even remember their faces anymore," he whispered.
Ren felt something twist inside his chest—pity, sorrow, and an unfamiliar heaviness he didn’t know how to name. And now he understood: they might not have lived in the same country, nor under the same circumstances, but there was one thing they shared. Sorrow. Guilt.
When he parted his lips to speak, Ren suddenly felt Zayden’s body grow heavier against him, sliding down. He quickly caught him, stopping him from falling.
"M-My Lord!"
He dropped to his knees, realizing Zayden had passed out.
"Why drink if you’re going to reveal your darkest secrets?" he muttered under his breath, carefully lifting him in his arms. He never thought there would come a day when he would be the one carrying Zayden to bed. It was laughable—yet he didn’t find it amusing. Not after hearing all that.
Was he developing a soft spot for this man?
Ren shook his head.
That’s impossible.
He told himself, yet strangely, he gently laid Zayden on the soft mattress. Once he pulled the blanket over his body, making sure he wouldn’t catch a cold, Ren grabbed another blanket and headed for the couch. He sat down, staring at the dim glow of the fire.
For a long time, he thought about what Zayden had told him. Nothing was clear—only that somewhere deep within, the man had buried his pain and guilt, never allowing it to see the light again.
***
The dazzling sun shone brightly outside after the long hours of the storm. Its rays struck Zayden’s face, stirring him awake. He groaned, a sharp headache slicing through his skull the moment consciousness returned.
He rose from the bed and sat upright, eyes darting around the room, searching.
Once he spotted the empty couch, the neatly folded blanket resting there, a flicker of panic shot through him.
"Where did he go?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
Bits of last night returned in fragments—vague, blurred, but impossible to ignore. The fire, the drink, the way Ren had held him...
Ugh... why did I tell him all that?
He slammed his palm against his forehead, wishing he could erase the memory. The prideful general who had never faltered in front of armies, who had always been in control reduced to a trembling, over-sharing drunk in front of his servant. Again. And worse, someone he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Zayden sank onto the edge of the bed, guilt weighing him down. He’d hoped to share some part of himself—his grief, his regret—with someone who might understand. But had he done the opposite? Had he burdened Ren with the darkness he had spent years burying?
The thought of Ren walking away, leaving him alone with his memories, tightened the pit in his stomach. He had no right to demand his attention, no right to expect any loyalty. And yet... he wanted him here. He needed him in a way he never had with anyone else. Not with his soldiers, not with advisors, not with anyone who had ever called him "friend."
Was this how an alpha felt for his mated omega?
The thought made him laugh bitterly—quiet, almost inaudible. Laughable. Because the omega in question, the one who had somehow burrowed into the cracks of his heart... had only ever had space for his late fated mate.
The door creaked open, the quiet footsteps faltering at the threshold.
"When did you wake up, My Lord?"
Ren’s voice came, low, but Zayden immediately turned. The suffocating knot in his stomach began to vanish as if it had never existed.
"Ren..." he sighed, relieved.
He didn’t leave...