Celine knocked on the door to the General’s room. However, upon receiving no response, she decided to open it, making sure he wasn’t inside before resuming her search.
It had already been an hour. No servants had been able to tell her where the Lord had gone.
She peeked through the narrow opening as the door swung open.
Inside, Ren stood as if frozen in place.
Celine followed his gaze—he was staring at the... wall?
Frowning at the strange scene before her, she coughed, clearing her throat.
"Where is the Lord?" she asked.
Ren finally snapped back to reality, turning to face the lady standing before him.
"Miss Celine?" he murmured, narrowing his gaze. "What brings you here?"
"Well, the young master is refusing to attend his classes. If this continues, I doubt he will be able to go to the academy," the teacher sighed, massaging her temples.
"What... how can that be?" Ren blinked. Eiran wasn’t the kind of child to behave like this. "Have you spoken to him?"
"I have been standing in front of his bedchambers for half an hour. When he insisted on not attending his classes, I had no choice but to look for the General." She paused before exhaling. "Although it seems he isn’t in the mansion..." she mumbled, her voice low—though Ren still heard it.
He isn’t home?
Ren’s brows knit together. Where could Zayden have gone?
The thought lingered only briefly before he shook it away. He needed to speak to Eiran first and resolve this issue.
"Alright. I’ll talk to him," Ren said before leaving the General’s room, abandoning the lingering sweetness of yesterday—and the bitterness of that morning’s conversation.
His stomach grumbled; he hadn’t eaten a single piece of bread for hours now.
He glanced back, but thankfully, Celine didn’t seem to have noticed.
After a quiet walk, Ren stopped before Eiran’s room.
The wooden door was bathed in sunlight streaming through the windowpanes. The weather had finally begun to warm, the snow melting like ice cream in summer.
Taking a deep breath, Ren reached for the door handle, trying to open it.
He frowned—the door was locked from the inside.
"Eiran?" Ren called, knocking twice.
When there was no response, he knocked harder, his pulse quickening.
Did something happen to his son?
He swallowed hard, panic rising in his chest at the thought alone.
Just then, a small, faint voice came through.
"...Papa."
The sound was muffled, as if Eiran were inside some kind of box.
"Eiran!" Ren shouted. "Open the door this instant!"
"No!" the boy argued.
Ren’s jaw dropped in shock. His son had never raised his voice at him—not in anger.
"You need to attend your classes," the young man sighed, glancing at Celine, who was fidgeting with her hands.
"No, Papa!"
"Eiran!" Ren snapped—then froze. His eyes widened. He had never raised his voice at the child.
He bit his lip, forcing himself to steady his breathing. He couldn’t let his distress over Zayden spill onto his son. The two were separate matters.
"Alright," he said after a moment, his voice lower now but still firm enough to be heard. "But why?"
"I don’t feel well."
"What’s wrong?!" Ren gasped, trying the door again, only to fail. Just as he was about to force it open—and he certainly could have, given his strength—his son’s voice stopped him.
"Please let me rest, Papa. I promise I’ll study properly and get good grades once I feel better."
Ren exhaled slowly.
"Alright. I will have some food sent to you. Make sure you open the door and take it."
"...Understood."
"If you need anything, just ring the bell in my room. I will come right."
"I will, Papa. Please... go."
His crimson gaze dropped to the ground while Ren turned to leave.
Celine stood there, looking at him, unable to understand why he didn’t force his son.
"Why didn’t you?—"
"Miss Celine. I don’t want to force anything on my son. If he says he is unwell, he must truly be. I believe in him. He won’t lie to me."
Having said so, Ren paced down the hallway, followed by Celine.
***
"Miss Celine, I don’t want to force anything on my son. If he says he’s unwell, then he truly must be. I believe in him. He wouldn’t lie to me."
"Your father certainly trusts you," the dragon flying overhead remarked, grinning.
Curled into a ball inside his closet, Eiran bit his lip. He glanced at his left arm—shimmering scales covered it, something he, as a human, shouldn’t possess. And claws... like a monster’s.
What had become of him?
He had been fine last night. Though the aching pain and the heat rising in his body had been stronger than usual, nothing strange had happened—not until he woke that morning to find his arm in this terrifying state.
He trembled at the thought of his fathers’ reactions.
What if Ren refused to look at him—refused to touch him?
What if Zayden saw the scales, the claws, and called him a monster?
What if they told him they didn’t want a creature like him in their home anymore?
His chest tightened, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He hugged himself tighter, as if that alone might keep him from falling apart—or help him return to his normal appearance.
"Come on, you are making a big deal out of this. I told you—my book says you are a half-dragon!"
"Shut up, Kuro," Eiran growled—
His left arm flared, scales igniting with a blinding shimmer.
"Ah—!" The sound tore from his throat as his fingers twitched, nails darkening and growing longer.
"W-What do I—" His voice cracked. Heat surged through him, crawling up his arm, burning beneath his skin.
Tears blurred his vision.
"I can’t— I can’t let Papa and Dad see this—!" he sobbed, curling in on himself as the glow pulsed again.
This time, the pain increased—worse than before. He bit his lips, covering his mouth with his right hand, trying his best to muffle his sobs.
The dragon stared at him, shaking his head.
"Mortals... I wish you weren’t the one who got my egg," Kuro sighed, clicking his tongue. "I deserved someone less cowardly as a master."
Eiran didn’t say a word. He could only cry—he didn’t know what else to do.
There was no one he could ask for help without fearing he would be abandoned.