Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~Where?~

The moment had finally arrived. The final step to Cale Henituse’s long-awaited slacker life was right before him—stabbing that damn radish.

Not just a simple stab. If anyone asked, he would say that.

With the entire world watching—his family, his allies—broadcasted live through the communication orb, Cale did the unthinkable. With one decisive motion, he drove the blade through himself and the White Star.

A sharp, searing pain erupted in his chest. His breath hitched, and blood dripped from his lips, staining his already battered form. The world around him wavered, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay upright. He barely registered the sight of the White Star fading away, his form disintegrating into nothingness.

But something was wrong.

Cale’s heart was still pounding—far too fast, far too strong. Why? He had been stabbed, so why was it still beating like this? The rhythmic thudding in his chest felt unnatural, erratic, as if his body was desperately clinging to life in defiance of reality. His ears rang, muffling the world around him, making it impossible to hear the final words of his fallen enemy.

Then, his body swayed.

Before he could crumple to the ground, a pair of strong arms caught him. Arms that trembled, betraying the terror coursing through their owner.

With great effort, Cale forced his heavy eyelids to lift, his blurry vision focusing on the face before him—Choi Han.

Tears streaked the swordmaster’s face, his usual calm and composed demeanor shattered beyond recognition. His obsidian eyes, always sharp and unyielding in battle, were now filled with sheer horror. The sight of him trembling, clutching Cale’s bloodied hand as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality, was… unsettling.

This wasn’t the face of a man who had slain countless enemies with unwavering resolve. No, this was the face of someone who is losing something—someone—precious.

Cale’s brows furrowed.

‘Damn it, this hurts like hell…’ He grimaced internally. The burning in his chest was only getting worse. ‘Why isn’t it healing?’

His ancient powers—normally so loud, so insistent—were silent. Not a single whisper, not even a flicker of their usual presence. That alone sent a chill down his spine.

His ears still rang, drowning out Choi Han’s desperate words. He could see his friend's lips moving, could feel the warmth of his trembling hands grasping his own, but the sounds never reached him.

More figures appeared behind Choi Han—blurs of red, gold, and other familiar shades. Family. Allies. Friends.

But his vision was darkening. His eyelids grew heavier, his body sinking further into the abyss of exhaustion.

No… something was truly, terribly wrong.

The World Tree’s prophecy… the God of Death’s words…

They had all been a lie.

And now, Cale was paying the price.

In those fleeting seconds, the world lost a light—one that had arrived unnoticed, unheralded, slipping into existence without fanfare. And yet, now that it flickered and waned, the world trembled in mourning.

A soul that had once been an enigma, its origins unknown, had become irreplaceable. Precious beyond measure. It was a cruel truth of existence—one never truly grasps the worth of something until it is wrenched away, leaving only the hollow ache of absence.

Cale Henituse had been a given—an unwavering constant, a savior the world had taken for granted. He had never sought the pedestal they placed him upon, yet they had relied on him all the same. And now, as his presence slipped through their grasp like grains of sand, the world would weep.

For the hero they never asked for.

For the slacker who had never wanted to be one.

For the man who had carried the weight of salvation upon weary shoulders, only to be left with nothing in return.

Now, at last, the world would grieve.

~~~~~~

Cale felt his body—no, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t sure if he even had a body. There was no pain, no sensation, only an inexplicable awareness of cold, one that seeped into the very essence of his being. It wasn’t the chill of winter nor the bite of death—it was something far more unsettling.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t even tell if he still had eyes to open.

A flicker of irritation sparked within him, pushing through the void’s eerie stillness. 'Seriously? Did I really die? Just like that?'

It was almost laughable.

He had survived countless near-death experiences, had dragged himself through blood-soaked battlefields, had been battered, burned, and beaten within an inch of his life—only to end up here, wherever here was.

Cale exhaled—or at least, he thought he did. There was no sound, no breath, only the lingering exasperation that simmered beneath his confusion.

People spoke of heaven and hell, of afterlives filled with judgment or eternal rest. Not that he had ever put much faith in such things. But still, he had expected… something. Light. Fire. Angels. Demons. Anything.

Yet, there was only this endless abyss.

'Am I in a void?' The thought curled through his mind like a whisper.

His senses—sharp, honed, almost supernatural in their awareness—were failing him. There was nothing to hear, nothing to see, nothing to grasp onto. The silence was absolute, the emptiness stretching into infinity.

For the first time in a long while, Cale Henituse didn’t have an answer.

And that unsettled him more than anything else.

Moments passed, and then—faint, distant noises. Muffled, frantic, laced with alarm.

'Did I… become a ghost?'

The idea was almost believable. After all, he wasn’t entirely sure if he even had a body. The eerie weightlessness, the numb detachment from reality—it all felt too surreal.

But his assumption shattered the moment sensation returned.

A shift. A subtle but undeniable awareness of existence. He wasn’t floating in some spectral realm; he was somewhere, pulled out of that suffocating void and thrust into a place far too real.

The air was different now—crisper, colder, yet oddly comforting in its tangible bite. It was the kind of chill that seeped into his bones, too sharp, too present for his liking. 'Tsk. Too much of a hassle.'

Then, something even more telling.

Movement.

His body—his actual body—responded instinctively, muscles twitching, lungs pulling in a ragged breath as if reclaiming their long-lost function. That alone was proof enough—he wasn’t some wandering soul, adrift in the afterlife.

He was alive.

A cacophony of voices crashed into his ears, breaking through the lingering fog in his mind. Shouts. Cries. One particularly distinct voice—a child’s—rang out above the rest, sharp and desperate.

His fingers twitched. His chest ached with the effort, but he forced his limbs to respond.

With sheer willpower, Cale fought against the weight dragging him down and forced his eyes to open.

Cale’s eyes fluttered open, but the world around him was nothing more than a hazy blur. Shapes and colors bled together, indistinct and frustratingly out of focus. He strained to make sense of his surroundings, but it was like looking through the unfocused eyes of a newborn—wait.

'Wait… no way.'

'That’s not it, right?'

A sharp, uneasy pause cut through his thoughts.

But before he could dwell on the absurdity of that idea, movement caught his eye. A fog of golden hues drifted closer. Cale squinted, trying to make sense of it. The figure was unrecognizable, an amalgamation of color and shifting light. Yet, even through his impaired vision, he could make out the unmistakable gleam of blonde—no, not just blonde. It shimmered, reflecting light almost unnaturally. 'Gold?'

His gaze trailed downward, picking up hints of other colors—clothing, perhaps. But none of it held his attention like those twin, gleaming dots of blue.

They shone like gemstones, dazzling and sharp, twinkling against the blur of his vision. A thought—ridiculous yet utterly compelling—formed in his muddled mind.

'Diamonds? What kind of jewel shines like that?'

An odd sort of greed stirred within him, an instinctive pull. Cale felt an undeniable urge to grab them, to inspect them with his own hands. His arms, weak yet driven by sheer curiosity, flailed toward the distant golden figure, grasping for the twin lights.

But then—

A voice.

Low, chilling.

It wasn’t the tenderness which makes Cale disgusted.No, it was far more unnerving—a coldness of anger or menace it made his skin crawl. It was the kind of tone one might use when speaking about something trivial, detached, almost indifferent.

And yet, Cale couldn’t understand a single word.

His body stilled, a deep discomfort settling in his bones.

Whoever that man was, whatever he was saying—it set off every warning bell in Cale’s mind.

~~~~~

A sharp scoff, laced with an icy disdain, echoed through the room. Each syllable carried a weight of mockery, a bitter edge that sent an unspoken chill through the air.

"Athanasia and Kallen De Alger Obelia, huh?"

The name rolled off the speaker’s tongue, not with reverence, but with something far colder—disinterest, perhaps even amusement, as if the very mention of it was a joke only they understood. The voice, crisp and cutting, seemed to linger in the silence that followed, leaving behind an unsettling sense of finality.

Chapter Text

~Twin, Not Older!~

It had been some time now. Kallen—formerly Cale Henituse—lay in his crib, gazing—no, staring—at the ceiling as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

If someone were to ask why he was so fixated on it, he could only shift his still slightly  jewel rose coloured-eyes toward the other side of the room.

Where, in another crib, lay the source of his current predicament.

Noisy. Relentless. Loud.

His supposed twin sister.

Kallen let out a near-silent sigh, his tiny body barely capable of expressing his exasperation. Every few moments, an ear-piercing wail would erupt from the other crib, echoing through the nursery like some sort of battle cry. It was annoying. Painfully annoying.

Oh, and apparently, his name was Kallen now. The maids had been calling him that enough times for him to realize it wasn’t some cruel joke.

He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, resigning himself to his fate.

'I can’t believe this… Reborn? In a baby’s body? This is ridiculous. My limbs are useless, I can’t even sit up properly, and—' Kallen winced as another high-pitched shriek filled the air. '—can’t she lower her volume even a little? I’m getting a headache…'

Not that he had anything against her personally. She was just a baby, after all. But considering his current circumstances, he had every right to be annoyed at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Kallen sighed again, as much as a baby could, and closed his eyes.

This was going to be a long, long infancy.

With his eyes shut, Kallen did his best to ignore the maid’s excessive fussing. Her voice was far too loud for his liking, and he had no interest in whatever overblown concerns she had about infant care.

However, the continuous noise refused to be ignored. With a sigh—at least, as much of a sigh as a baby could manage—he reluctantly opened his eyes and turned his gaze toward the source of the commotion.

His twin sister was no longer in her crib.

Instead, she lay sprawled on a soft mat on the floor, a fallen rattle lying just out of her reach. Kallen frowned, confusion flickering through his still-blue eyes. 'What exactly had happened here? Had she fallen? Crawled out? Was she some kind of prodigy in escaping cribs?'

Meanwhile, the so-called escapee, Athanasia, let out a loud, frustrated wail.

“Uwwwaa!”

Kallen winced. 'Loud.'

Unbeknownst to him, his sister wasn’t just crying over the rattle. No—she had just recalled something terrifying. A novel. A horror story, at least in her opinion. A tragic tale where a forgotten princess met a miserable end. A princess who just so happened to share her name.

Athanasia lay on the mat, utterly distraught.

The maid, who had been watching with an expression of thinly veiled displeasure, finally stood from her chair and walked over with a sigh. Picking up the rattle, she unceremoniously placed it back in Athanasia’s tiny hands.

“Oh, bother. How clumsy. She keeps dropping it,” the woman muttered with an air of exasperation.

Kallen, who had been silently observing, felt his tiny brow twitch in irritation.

'Is she dumb or something? Babies don’t have a good grip!'

At that exact moment, Athanasia, who had also been listening, narrowed her eyes at the maid.

'Babies don’t have good grip!'

Both infants blinked.

'Huh?' Kallen thought, startled.

'Wha—who?!' Athanasia internally squeaked, her baby mind momentarily thrown into chaos.

Her wide, blurry eyes darted around the room in search of the unexpected voice, only for her gaze to land on her younger twin brother. Until now, she had never gotten a proper look at him, her newborn vision preventing her from making out anything more than vague shapes.

But now—

Now she could finally see him clearly.

Golden hair that shimmered under the soft nursery light. Jewel-like rosy eyes that held a sharpness unusual for a baby. Her brother was—

'So cute!'

Kallen, caught completely off guard, stiffened.

'Uh… thank you?'

The sheer enthusiasm in her voice—her thoughts—was baffling. And yet, he found himself sighing internally, already resigning himself to this strange new reality.

Because if there was one thing he had learned from his past lives, it was this:

His life was never normal.

Still, there was one thing he could confirm.

Athanasia—his sister—was like him.

She could think. She could remember.

She could understand.

Kallen wasn’t alone in this absurd second life, ahem, Third..?

Athanasia wiggled her frail little arms toward Kallen’s crib, letting out an excited string of baby noises.

“Uwwaa!”

The maid, though clearly exasperated, couldn’t help but soften at the sight. Her initial annoyance melted away, replaced by reluctant fondness as she gazed at the two infants.

“I see, so the princess is quite eager to stay close to her twin brother?” she mused, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Athanasia blinked at the statement before making even more noises, this time with clear intent.

'You idiot! He’s my little brother!' she huffed internally, a ridiculous sense of pride swelling in her tiny chest.

Kallen, who had been watching her from his own crib, let out a near-imperceptible sigh before promptly wiggling to the other side, as if physically distancing himself from the sheer absurdity of the situation.

'Just a few mere seconds doesn’t make you older' he thought, unimpressed.

'Still! I opened my eyes before you! So I am your older sister, little brother!'

Kallen stopped mid-wiggle, blinking at her with an expression that could only be described as bewildered disbelief.

Was she being serious?

His sister—his self-proclaimed older sister—was actually trying to use that as her justification?

For a brief moment, he genuinely considered responding. Then, he sighed, as much as a baby could, and resigned himself to silence.

'This is absurd.'

As if this entire situation wasn’t already enough of a mess, now he had a sibling who was stubbornly insisting on seniority based on the order of eye-opening?

He couldn’t decide if he was more exasperated or amused.

What did mildly disappoint him, however, was her complete failure to notice something rather obvious—his way of thinking, his mannerisms, his reactions—none of them were remotely normal for a newborn. And yet, she hadn’t questioned it.

'She’s kind of dumb, huh?'

Not that he particularly cared. Attracting unnecessary attention was the last thing he wanted.

Still, as much as he would rather not admit it—

At least things wouldn’t be boring.

As the maid finally moved Athanasia beside Kallen, she wasted no time in turning to face her brother, her big doe-like eyes sparkling with excitement.

'Up close, he is even cuter!'

Athanasia could hardly contain herself. Tiny fists clenched and wiggled as she reached toward him, her mind filled with nothing but adoration.

'Are you sleepy, baby brother?' she cooed, tilting her head as she eagerly awaited a response.

Silence.

Kallen didn’t so much as acknowledge her.

Athanasia pouted, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

'Are you ignoring me? Come on~!'

Kallen, who had been attempting—keyword: attempting—to sleep, felt a flicker of irritation at the persistent disturbance. And before he could stop himself, an unconscious baby whimper escaped his lips.

“Wah…”

It was an automatic reaction, a mere product of his infant body’s emotions.

But in his mind, his response was far less baby-like.

'What?'

Athanasia furrowed her brows at his unimpressed tone, a mischievous glint flashing through her eyes.

'Now, now, little brother, that’s no way to speak to your older sister.'

Kallen’s tiny face scrunched up, his patience wearing thin.

'Twin. Not older.'

Athanasia, in true sibling fashion, completely ignored the correction. Instead, she shifted her thoughts to something else, her expression turning ever-so-slightly serious.

'Baby brother,' she began, her voice carrying an odd weight, 'do you know about our father?'

Kallen, momentarily intrigued, turned his head towards her, his jewel-like rosy eyes blinking in curiosity.

'Father?'

Athanasia nearly squealed out loud.

'How is he so cute?!'

She had seen baby fat before, but her brother’s chubby cheeks? Perfect. Absolutely biteable. Pinkish and plump, they made her tiny hands itch to squish them.

But she had more pressing matters to discuss.

Her expression darkened as she dramatically declared,

'Yes! And he’s a douchebag! Don’t go near him, ever!!'

Kallen blinked.

'Douchebag.?'

The word rolled through his mind as he processed it with the same level of seriousness as one might consider a life-altering revelation.

Athanasia, however, gasped.

'Wait—no, no! Don’t say those words, baby brother!' she panicked, as if she hadn’t been the one to introduce him to the term in the first place.

Kallen resisted the urge to sigh, feeling an oncoming headache as she launched into an excited ramble about—what was this?

A novel?

'Wait...'

'Novel?'

A strange sense of déjà vu crept over him.

Just what kind of world had he been reborn into?

~~~~~

As Athanasia continued rambling about the novel—her enthusiasm rivaling that of a child gushing over their favorite candy—a disturbance arrived in the form of several maids entering the nursery.

One of them furrowed her brows upon seeing the still-awake twins.

“They’re still not sleeping?” she muttered, sounding unimpressed.

Another maid, wearing a slightly thoughtful expression, shrugged. “Do we really need to be here? It’s not like they can get up and walk away.”

The third sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You know how much Lady Lillian fusses over them. If we leave and they start crying, we’ll be the ones getting scolded.”

The second maid let out a weary sigh as her gaze drifted toward the cribs. Her brows furrowed slightly. “I suppose… But honestly? I can understand the princess. She fusses, makes noise, and cries like any normal baby.”

She hesitated before continuing in a lower voice, “But the prince… Have you noticed? He hasn’t cried once.”

A fourth maid gasped, hurriedly shushing her. “Shh! Lower your voice! Do you want Lillian to hear you?”

But another, far bolder maid scoffed. “Well, she’s not wrong. That boy—he just stares.” Her arms crossed as she glanced toward Kallen’s crib, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s… unsettling. Like a doll. A pretty little baby doll that breathes but doesn’t show any emotions.”

A shiver ran through the group at her words.

“Stop it!” one of them hissed. “You’re talking nonsense!”

The bold maid simply shrugged, unbothered. “I’m just saying—he only makes noise when he’s hungry. It’s unnatural.”

Gasps echoed around the room, followed by frantic hushing as if speaking ill of the young prince would summon some kind of misfortune.

Meanwhile, in the crib—

Athanasia felt rage.

Her tiny baby fists clenched under the blanket as she glared at the gossiping maids.

How dare they say such things about her baby brother?!

'A doll? Creepy? How insulting!'

If Kallen was a doll, then how was he talking to her? Huh?! These maids clearly didn’t know anything!

So what if he didn’t cry? That didn’t matter!

She huffed and turned to her brother, ready to loudly defend him—

Only to pause.

Kallen lay facing away from her, eerily silent, as if already asleep.

Her frustration melted into concern.

Softly, she whispered, 'Don’t take their words to heart… They don’t know anything.'

But no response came.

Athanasia frowned, worry creeping into her mind.

'Had those words gotten to him?'

:Was he hurting?'

She didn’t know.

But one thing was certain—

She hate seeing him like this.

•^^^•